<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334778660729619079</id><updated>2012-02-16T03:53:18.682-06:00</updated><category term='ME'/><category term='reallife'/><category term='family'/><category term='lists'/><title type='text'>Dreaming Up Daisy</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Daisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15043899795396390393</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6LViJkThjs/SwodAR8WPtI/AAAAAAAAACU/EEMkp7E6jQI/S220/daisy.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334778660729619079.post-5075826187471866111</id><published>2010-03-14T16:13:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-14T16:15:02.861-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate spammers...</title><content type='html'>I pretty much delete my blog, all except like 5 entries that seem to attract spammers like crazy. So I'm hoping if I post this, most of the spam comments will start going to this entry rather than the entries that actually matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. I hope all the jerks who leave all the spam comments get chronic explosive diarrhea.  :-)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1334778660729619079-5075826187471866111?l=dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/5075826187471866111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1334778660729619079&amp;postID=5075826187471866111' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/5075826187471866111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/5075826187471866111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-hate-spammers.html' title='I hate spammers...'/><author><name>Daisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15043899795396390393</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6LViJkThjs/SwodAR8WPtI/AAAAAAAAACU/EEMkp7E6jQI/S220/daisy.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334778660729619079.post-4274582057696254930</id><published>2008-04-12T11:36:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-04-12T13:07:08.311-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='reallife'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>My Youngest Brother</title><content type='html'>&lt;embed src="http://services.brightcove.com/services/viewer/federated_f8/713321302" bgcolor="#FFFFFF" flashVars="videoId=1498051684&amp;linkBaseURL=http://www.newsok.tv/?titleID=1498051684&amp;playerId=713321302&amp;viewerSecureGatewayURL=https://services.brightcove.com/services/amfgateway&amp;servicesURL=http://services.brightcove.com/services&amp;cdnURL=http://admin.brightcove.com&amp;domain=embed&amp;autoStart=false&amp;" base="http://admin.brightcove.com" name="flashObj" width="486" height="412" seamlesstabbing="false" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" swLiveConnect="true" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/shockwave/download/index.cgi?P1_Prod_Version=ShockwaveFlash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;::Disclaimer:: I have never before written about this event that has so touched my life. Please forgive me if I sound dramatic or disorganized.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most of us go through our days, never really experiencing anything truly spectacular. We live pretty normal lives that contain the occasional struggles and obstacles, but so few of us ever have to experience the very real threat of our own mortality and then live to tell the tale. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My youngest brother is not one of those people. Those of you who knew me two years ago know that my family was rocked by the tragedy of my youngest brother being burned in a horrific grass fire that took the life of his partner. I've never been more afraid, and I've never cried as hard as I did when I saw his face and arms bandaged, covering the burns he'd received during that blaze. Of course, being the character he is, he still managed to ask me if I wanted to see the ones that covered the burns on his butt. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a tragic few weeks. In the days after the fire, his partner fought for his life in a hospital while my brother went home to his family. Though bandaged and in pain, the emotions he endured were probably much worse than any physical sensation he felt. After his partner died, he wondered--I think we all may have wondered--why was he alive? It wasn't fair. They both had children and wives and families who loved them. Why was one taken and the other spared?  Some chalked it up to God's will and some believed it was the irrational forces of the universe. Whatever the reason, my little brother survived and would have to live with that question for the rest of his life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, he'll probably never read this, so I can say what I want, but Larry Joe is the most sensitive, selfless, loving person I've ever known. He was the baby of our family, and I often felt a fierce protectiveness over him. I would try to beat up my middle brother if he made my little brother cry. I watched over him like a mother when our own mom worked late nights and early mornings to support our little family. The day came that he decided to move in with my dad and my middle brother (Who could blame him--living in a house with two women versus growing up with his brother and father?), and I felt like something was missing from that point on. I worried about him constantly. Was he okay? Was he being picked on? How were his grades? Was he happy?  I never worried about my middle brother because, to me, he was the strong one.  But Larry Joe needed protection and special care. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sitting here almost twenty years in the future, I see the irony of it all. The person who will forever be a beautiful little 9 year old in my eyes is now a grown man &lt;a href="http://newsok.com/article/keyword/3228496/"&gt;who has garnered the respect of a community&lt;/a&gt;, if not an entire state, for the second time in his early adulthood.  The silly little boy with a tousled blond mop of hair is now the one who does the protecting and saving.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past fall, I had a little meltdown, and all my fears and sadness about his near-death experience erupted. As it is becoming a habit of his, he swooped in and helped me deal with it all. I held his hands that are scarred by that day in March of 2006 and begged him to never leave me. Because he is who he is, I think it bothered him more listening to his big sister fall apart than it bothered me letting all those emotions out.  I find myself going to him more and more for help and advice rather than the opposite. In some ways, the roles have been reversed, and now, he is a rock for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knowing my youngest brother, I'm sure he doesn't like being called a hero. He is a volunteer fireman, an EMT, and an employee for the sheriff's department because he loves being there for people. If there is a possibility he can lend a hand, he is there. And every time I see him, I can't help but to look at that hand--scarred, smooth, discolored--that serves as a badge of a hero.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1334778660729619079-4274582057696254930?l=dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/4274582057696254930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1334778660729619079&amp;postID=4274582057696254930' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/4274582057696254930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/4274582057696254930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/2008/04/my-youngest-brother.html' title='My Youngest Brother'/><author><name>Daisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15043899795396390393</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6LViJkThjs/SwodAR8WPtI/AAAAAAAAACU/EEMkp7E6jQI/S220/daisy.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334778660729619079.post-541917221805846711</id><published>2007-12-06T14:56:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T18:32:08.040-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ME'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>100 Things, Part IV</title><content type='html'>Here's the final installment of my 100 Things...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;1.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My best friend who I met in 1&lt;sup&gt;st&lt;/sup&gt; grade died at the age of 27.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I still miss him everyday, but I think I understand why he left this world when he did. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;2.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I believe that dreaming is a gateway that allows us to communicate with people we can’t physically speak to at the time.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;3.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I can watch a rodeo and predict the scores of a saddle bronc ride within a couple of points. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;4.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I wish I could believe in God.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;5.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I do believe in the power of the moob. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;6.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I think my husband and I are perfect for one another because no one else would have either of us. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;7.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Mr. D is my best friend and the sexiest, funniest, awesomest guy I know. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;8.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I almost didn’t go out with him because he reminded me too much of my middle brother.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;9.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I think of my cousin as my sister because the older we get, the closer we are, and I don’t think “cousins” describes our bond.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;10.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I almost lost my youngest brother two years ago, and it was the most frightening experience of my life.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;11.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Speaking of the youngest, I can’t watch Larry the Cable Guy without thinking of him. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;12.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’d be a great stand-up comedian if someone else would write my material.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;13.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’ve never been afraid of speaking in public, even if there were 100,000 eyes on me. One-on-one conversations are much more stressful.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;14.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;If I had one wish, I’d probably give it to someone who needed it more than I did.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;15.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I like NASCAR and #99 Carl Edwards.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;16.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’ve never eaten fondue.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;17.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;After giving birth, I had a whole new respect for nurses.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;18.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I predict I’ll die in bizarre circumstances.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;19.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My favorite color is blue, or purple, or blurple.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;20.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I hate wearing jewelry—especially big jewelry—and traded my engagement ring with a gazillion diamonds for a simple silver band.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;21.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;90% of my clothes are from Old Navy.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;22.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;If I could only eat one food for the rest of my life, it would be pizza. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;23.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Joaquin Phoenix is my sworn nemesis.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;24.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Someday I’ll meet Brian Posehn and recreate this picture.  &lt;a href="http://photobucket.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i178.photobucket.com/albums/w265/wfkate/stalk.jpg" alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.25in;"&gt;25. This list took me 2 days to compile, and I considered re-arranging it and editing it, but the newfound free spirit in me punched the grammar nerd in the throat, so I left it as is. (I’m a damn liar, because I did end up going back through and editing it after I wrote this.)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1334778660729619079-541917221805846711?l=dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/541917221805846711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1334778660729619079&amp;postID=541917221805846711' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/541917221805846711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/541917221805846711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/2007/12/100-things-part-iv.html' title='100 Things, Part IV'/><author><name>Daisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15043899795396390393</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6LViJkThjs/SwodAR8WPtI/AAAAAAAAACU/EEMkp7E6jQI/S220/daisy.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334778660729619079.post-5436129748623958387</id><published>2007-12-05T13:24:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T18:32:33.570-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ME'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>100 Things, Part III</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;1.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’d torture spammers and hackers by making them sit in a darkened room and watch games of Pong for hours on end.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;2.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’ve always wanted to make out with a guy who has long hair.  Oh wait, I just remembered, I have done that... many moons ago...&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:12;"  &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;3.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I dream about my high school boyfriend far too often.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;4.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;The women at my last job inspired me more than anyone I’ve ever worked with because they showed me that it is possible to be professional, strong, compassionate all at the same time.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;5.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I cannot remember dates (birthdays, anniversaries, etc.), and if you receive acknowledgment of your special day from me, it’s only because of Google Calendar.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;6.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I have six e-mail accounts, five active blogs, two networking profiles, and one super-secret forum, so I’d probably die if I couldn’t be online.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;7.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I can’t remember life and socialization before the Internet.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;8.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I consider my online friends “real” friends, especially my super-secret forum friends.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;9.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;All that being said, I’m so glad the Internet wasn’t around (except for the extreme geeky) when I was in high school.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;10.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My thoughts are so sporadic, it’s not unusual for me to lose people in conversation.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;11.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I like Hot Pockets.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;12.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My short-term memory is getting worse, and it bothers me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;13.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I listen to Coast to Coast AM everyday via podcast, and I tend believe much of what I hear on there.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;14.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I had a crush on Richie Rich (yes, the cartoon) when I was 5 and even wrote a song about it. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;15.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I like gross meats made various animal byproducts. And after they’re done and they scrape the bottom of the vat to make potted meat, I like that too.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;16.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’ll pretty much try any kind of food placed in front of me as long as it’s cooked well-done. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;17.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I have no preference between OU and OSU, but Stillwater seems more like my kind of town.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;18.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I have a secret wish for my daughter to go to school at Cornell.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;19.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’m the most indecisive person I know and even little decisions freak me out, especially if there’s a time limit to making them.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;20.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I believe I could have been more intelligent if I’d had more opportunities growing up. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;21.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Basketball is my favorite sport to watch in person. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;22.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I was a cheerleader, though not a very good one, but I loved every minute of it. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;23.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My eyes change color, and when I cry, they’re the most brilliant aquamarine that I wish were my permanent eye color. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;24.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I didn’t understand the true joy of having girlfriends until I was 26. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;25.&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;font-size:7;"  &gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;In high school, I really wanted to be a football homecoming candidate but pretended I didn’t care when I didn’t get it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1334778660729619079-5436129748623958387?l=dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/5436129748623958387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1334778660729619079&amp;postID=5436129748623958387' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/5436129748623958387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/5436129748623958387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/2007/12/100-things-part-iii.html' title='100 Things, Part III'/><author><name>Daisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15043899795396390393</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6LViJkThjs/SwodAR8WPtI/AAAAAAAAACU/EEMkp7E6jQI/S220/daisy.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334778660729619079.post-309920799947610818</id><published>2007-12-04T07:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T18:32:58.904-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ME'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>100 Things, Part II</title><content type='html'>And it continues... (It re-started the numbering at 1 because I pasted it from Word)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;1.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My cat Kiki is rapidly becoming my favorite pet. Though she’s a skittish bitch who hates everyone else, in the last few weeks she’s fallen in love with me and won’t leave my side.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;2.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I wish I could go back to college and get a degree in Chemistry.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;3.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’d change my first and middle names in a heartbeat if I could… Seriously…&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;4.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I can’t stand long toenails and always keep mine trimmed extremely short.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;5.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;The only time I regret eloping is when I see people’s beautiful wedding photos.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;6.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I hate romantic, sappy, feel-good books and movies.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;7.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’m not easy to surprise because I’m very intuitive and usually pick up on things before people have the chance to implement their plans.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;8.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’m not attracted to pretty-boy model types (though I can appreciate their lickableness) and would rather have a nerdy funny guy any day! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;9.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I believe in a form of reincarnation, but I think it’s completely random.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;10.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I have a thing for hairy chests, and body hair overall doesn’t really bother me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;11.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Baldness doesn’t matter to me either, and it never has (I’m not just saying it because I’m married to Mr. D! haha).&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;12.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’m addicted to Air America, and it’s the only reason I went with XM over Sirius, though I loves me some Hair Nation.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;13.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I have NEVER felt the urge to have another child… never… not once…&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;14.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Little D is the greatest source of joy in my life.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;15.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Having said that, there are days I want to ship her to NY for her Grammy to raise! &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;16.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I think my love for my brothers is much stronger than most people’s love for their siblings, and they know why.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;17.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;As I grow older, I see that I’m nothing like my mom, and I think she wanted that.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;18.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Luckily, she did give me her strength, but she also gave me her damn stubbornness. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;19.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’d give anything to have a dad, and I often wonder what it would be like if I did have one who was involved in my life.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;20.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I’m a die-hard bleeding-heart liberal Democrat, but I have a few values that most would consider conservative.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;21.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’ve voted in every election since I was 18. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;22.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Gary Allan makes me melt.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;23.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’m addicted to Starbucks, and I hate that I love it so much. I only allow myself 2-3 trips a week or we’d go broke from my habit. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;24.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I still wear Doc Marten-esque boots circa 1994 and I will probably never give them up.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;25.&lt;span style="" times="" new="" roman=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I feel safe with very long hair, much like Sampson, and only cut it when I’m feeling vulnerable.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;span times="" new="" roman=""  style="font-size:12;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class="multiply:no_crosspost"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1334778660729619079-309920799947610818?l=dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/309920799947610818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1334778660729619079&amp;postID=309920799947610818' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/309920799947610818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/309920799947610818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/2007/12/100-things-part-ii.html' title='100 Things, Part II'/><author><name>Daisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15043899795396390393</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6LViJkThjs/SwodAR8WPtI/AAAAAAAAACU/EEMkp7E6jQI/S220/daisy.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1334778660729619079.post-8653899340659204534</id><published>2007-12-03T11:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T18:33:35.381-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ME'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lists'/><title type='text'>100 Things, Part I</title><content type='html'>In keeping up with the blogging fiend &lt;a href="http://achicknamedchuck.blogspot.com/"&gt;Chuck &lt;/a&gt;and the fantabulous &lt;a href="http://lizandnate.blogspot.com/"&gt;Liz&lt;/a&gt;, I've accumulated a 100 Things... list, mine also being focused on... ME!  This is a huge step for me to put so much personal information out in a public blog, but here you go.  I've decided to break the 100 into smaller sets because no one really wants to read 100 things all at once AND it gives me four days worth of blog material without having to think too hard! I now present you with the first installment of "100 Things about ME!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;1.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I sing “Ain’t to Proud to Beg” by The Temptations, “What You Give” by Tesla, and “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas” out loud, very loudly, every time I hear those songs, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/RfyFI-4ZsaE&amp;amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/RfyFI-4ZsaE&amp;amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;2.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I wish I could speak Spanish, Russian, and American Sign Language fluently.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;3.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I scored in the high-90’s on the grammar section of my teacher certification exams, but I hardly ever use correct grammar in blogs or e-mails. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;4.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I have an idea for a non-fiction book that only one other person knows about and I fully intend to start the project when Little D starts school.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;5.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I have a big secret that no one in my life knows. It affects me everyday, but I don’t think I’ll ever share it.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;6.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I have another secret that only a select few people know that is my greatest embarrassment and it pains me when it’s brought up, though those mentioning it may not realize it.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;7.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My feelings are easily and often hurt, but rarely do I show it. I try to believe certain comments aren’t seriously meant, but they feel like a knife in my heart.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;8.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;In spite of my shortness, I think I would’ve been good at volleyball if it had been offered as a competitive sport at my school.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;9.&lt;span style=""&gt;      &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Since studying Buddhism, I feel like I’m a better person. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;10.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I don’t worry about losing my “stuff” anymore, and I think I’d be perfectly fine if a tornado took it all away as long as my family was fine.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;11.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I sometimes feel guilty for not struggling. I grew up poor, and the guilt I have for being comfortable bothers me all the time.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;12.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My dog Sarah was named after my cat Sarah (from college) who was named after Sarah McLachlan.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;13.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I was voted “Most Likely to Succeed” in my senior class, but rarely do I feel I’ve lived up to the label.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;14.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I’ve never had surgery of any kind and fear that one day I’ll need one.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;15.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My favorite day is Thursday because it’s the “almost the weekend” day. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;16.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Oklahoma will ALWAYS be home to me, no matter where I live. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;17.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;People who speak badly about OK without ever having been there piss me off because it’s not really different from any other place not on a coast!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;18.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I wanted to move to Alaska after I got my degree, but once again, I let a lack of self-confidence and a man get in the way.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;19.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;My goal is to one day take my best girlfriends camping and “rough it” (not as pervy as it sounds)!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;20.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I don’t think I’ve found what I’m meant to do in this world yet. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;21.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;In the past couple of years, I’ve come to understand that my degrees don’t really mean that much because I know too many people who are much smarter than I who don’t have the pieces of paper.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;22.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I was on the B-list of popularity when I was in high school, but I always felt like the class genius, so I didn’t care.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;23.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;Getting my nose pierced was one of my most favorite things I’ve ever done for myself.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;!--[if !supportLists]--&gt;24.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;I can’t wait to be a grandma, and I know I’ll be called “Granny” in honor of my own Granny.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;25. I don't fear growing old because with age comes wisdom. I'm happier at 31 than I was at 21, and I'm guessing that my 60's are going to rock.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: -0.25in;"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1334778660729619079-8653899340659204534?l=dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/feeds/8653899340659204534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1334778660729619079&amp;postID=8653899340659204534' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/8653899340659204534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1334778660729619079/posts/default/8653899340659204534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dreamingupdaisy.blogspot.com/2007/12/100-things-part-i.html' title='100 Things, Part I'/><author><name>Daisy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15043899795396390393</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_y6LViJkThjs/SwodAR8WPtI/AAAAAAAAACU/EEMkp7E6jQI/S220/daisy.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry></feed>
