<?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-6467160665392627541</id><updated>2012-02-15T23:11:17.656-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Neglected Internet Space</title><subtitle type='html'>I'm sure it doesn't feel too badly about itself.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>28</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-2566846940928614323</id><published>2011-04-20T16:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-20T22:18:26.356-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stuff My Boyfriend Says While Watching Jane Austen Movies</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Dear six readers,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My boyfriend likes to kill aliens/bad guys/whoever on his video games. He watches movies through my Netflix account and with such gems as &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0762125/"&gt;Planet 51&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt; and &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/video/screenplay/vi1064306457/"&gt;Ninja's Creed&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/i&gt;and &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1480660/"&gt;Halo Legends&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt; now popping up in my Watch Instantly feed, he's really messing up Netflix's opinion of me and my taste in movies. Clearly, we agree to disagree on many things, and while I have faith in the power of Ms. Austen and her literary masterpieces to transcend gender, space, and time, I figured this would be one of those things.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I was lying despondently in bed a few weeks ago, drained from a week of marathon thesis writing and starving (why do I lose the ability to buy normal people food when deadlines are coming up...), boyfriend magically appeared with a jr. bacon cheeseburger and a back rub. (That's right...I asked for a cheeseburger and he brought me one with bacon on it. That's like asking for a man and getting an Astronaut Mike Dexter!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nAKwqMbLHII/Ta-59CKrowI/AAAAAAAAAKk/LtbH2Dgv8NA/s1600/IMG_2530.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nAKwqMbLHII/Ta-59CKrowI/AAAAAAAAAKk/LtbH2Dgv8NA/s320/IMG_2530.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597897320049648386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;It's true--both he and jr. bacon cheeseburgers are delicious&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; As if that wasn't sexy enough, he even agreed to watch &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0114388/"&gt;Sense and Sensibility&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/i&gt;with me until I fell asleep. Hoping against hope that he'd give it a fair chance and not just stubbornly decide to hate it and stew quietly until he could sneak out, I told him it was okay if it wasn't his thing and if he wanted, we could watch it in installments.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well, six gentle readers, ten minutes into the movie, and he was captivated. Enraptured. Falling in love with Emma Thompson before my very tired eyes. I didn't allow myself to fall asleep because I was having such fun watching him watch the movie. Within the first five minutes, he soundly pronounced &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wapc1pZx0lw"&gt;Fanny Dashwood&lt;/a&gt; a bitch, and referred to her as such every time she came on screen. (PS the video I linked to there is just about the most ridiculous thing in the world...) He finally came to understand why Emma Thompson is on my "If I Swung That Way" list, and he rejoiced when Edward announced he was not married to "that other bitch", Lucy Steele.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SeuizpyDIfk/Ta5uqI1oGPI/AAAAAAAAAKM/nWOOR4RWBG4/s320/men-who-read-jane-austen.jpeg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597533057074075890" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Not boyfriend...though he was almost this moved&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Since &lt;i&gt;Sense and Sensibility &lt;/i&gt;was such a hit,&lt;i&gt; &lt;/i&gt;I thought it might be time to try &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pride_and_Prejudice_(1995_TV_serial)"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Pride and Prejudice&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/a&gt;...you know, the five hour work of genius with Colin Firth and Jennifer Ehle. As we started it, he warned me he probably wouldn't like it as much as he did &lt;i&gt;S and S&lt;/i&gt;...and then he met Mr. Bennet and it was over. He was hooked again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O1eCVqbkB9c/Ta5u-I96FdI/AAAAAAAAAKU/ejK0owCM9yc/s320/imgres.jpeg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 168px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597533400706192850" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Boyfriend+Mr. Bennet=Guy Luv&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He yelled at the characters. He predicted the ending. He shushed me when I talked and he couldn't hear the dialogue. He invited me over at all hours to watch it some more (we finished it in about three installments). He pined after Jennifer Ehle and decided to watch more Colin Firth movies. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About halfway through, I realized I needed to write down some of the things he was saying. I had texted some of his responses to my sisters, and they were just too good to not record. I hereby present to you a partial list of &lt;b&gt;Stuff My Boyfriend Says While Watching Jane Austen Movies:&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt; &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To Caroline Bingley: Shut your face, she's so much prettier than your ass!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About Mr. Wickham: Yeah, he's totally lying. Dude, you just told the whole story and then said you'd never tell it! Idiot.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy: I want Colin Firth to end up with her. I think he likes her even though he doesn't want to admit it, and she kind of likes him, too. She calls him on his bull-shit and he likes it. I like that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About Mary, playing at the ball: She's precious...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To Mrs. Bennet, loudly at ball: (facepalm) She needs to SHUT UP.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About Mr. Collins' proposal: "I'm the best you'll ever do." Is that what you got from that? Self-righteous little bastard.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Rewinding many times to look at Collins' awkward face at end of scene: WHAT WAS THAT?! It kinda reminded of Lord Voldemort! No no, Barty Crouch with his tongue!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mr. Bennet, siding with Lizzie after Collins' proposal: I love him!! (fist pump)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mr. Collins: Way to go Mr. Collins, you're a pimp. (eyeroll) Not really.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About Jennifer Ehle: When was this movie made? (&lt;i&gt;me: '94 or '95? Why?&lt;/i&gt;) She's goooorgeous. The more I watch, the more I fall in love with her (said quite shyly). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Frustrated about Mr. Wickham: Now she's in love with him. Ugh. It's okay, she'll end up with Darcy...Wait...If she doesn't end up with Mr. Darcy, I'm going to shit all over your car!!!!! (ten points to whichever family member gets that reference)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About his hero Mr. Bennet: Oh I love him! I just...I can't even put it into words!! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't remember the exact context: Nice house, crappy door&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About Elizabeth: I like how she just walks around everywhere...she's got strong legs.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To Elizabeth: Go to London! You'll see Mr. Darcy! (hip thrust)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About Mr. Wickham: I can't stop staring at his penis flap....DON'T WRITE THAT!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Later: Just cause I can't stop staring at another's man crotch, you don't have to tell the whole world about it. (after I just laughed but didn't start typing) OH and THAT doesn't get written down....I thought that was the funnier one...I'm done with you!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About, who else, Mr. Bennet: I honestly wish I could be like him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mr. Collins' tour of his house: Whoa whoa wait, the most prominent feature of your house is the angle of your staircase??!! "Oh isn't this the most elegant staircase you've ever seen? Oh, I agree with the depth very kindly." Seriously, what's wrong with him?? I want to know. If they don't explain by the end of the movie, we all know what's going to happen to somebody's car...homeboy is killing me. (PS I love that line so much..."I agree with the depth very kindly..." What does that mean, boyfriend??)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About Lady Catherine's entrance: It's Lady Rosenbottom! Who cares...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Collins reassuring Lizzie about her dress on their visit to Rosings: ...that's like giving you a backhanded compliment while backhanding you twice in the face!! Idiot...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lady Catherine: self-righteous bitch...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To Mr. Darcy, visiting awkwardly then leaving abruptly: Why can't you just talk to her, you know you want to! I feel like I'm giving Nick Long advice through the TV. (Sorry, Nick)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;About Mr. Darcy: His penis flap isn't as noticeable as the other guy's! Eh, or maybe it just looks better.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Again, Mr. Darcy's awkward visit: No! No, dumbass, keep going!! It was an awkward start, but at least you started!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Pontificating: If I had lived back then, I would have been a pimp. I would have gotten all the ladies, but I wouldn't have gotten married. Cause they would have found out that I'm a dumbass. Am I giving you some good material there?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mr. Collins: I don't know why he doesn't just marry Lady Catherine...he's already trying to get into her pants as it is.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To Mr. Darcy, who has come to propose but can't get any words out: Come on....you can get over your stutter...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Darcy starts strong and confesses his love...then blows it: You are a pimp! (fistpump)...Ah you dick, why would you say that!?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After Darcy leaves: That was only slightly better than Mr. Collins's proposal...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To Elizabeth's scalding refusal: Well done.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We can learn many things from this. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;#1: Jane Austen has all the knowledge when it comes to characters. Boyfriend had about half the characters of &lt;i&gt;P and P &lt;/i&gt;labeled as different friends/acquaintances. Who hasn't met at a Mary or a Mr. Collins or a Lydia before? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;#2: My boyfriend cusses while playing video games and apparently watching Jane Austen movies. See, the two aren't so incompatible after all!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;#3: Colin Firth is a god, and everyone knows it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LsLt7_QDNOI/Ta5v20GC5EI/AAAAAAAAAKc/tIL5Y55OHu4/s1600/imgres-1.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 259px; height: 194px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-LsLt7_QDNOI/Ta5v20GC5EI/AAAAAAAAAKc/tIL5Y55OHu4/s320/imgres-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5597534374355723330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;True fact: Google "Colin Firth is a god" and this is the first image. Told you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-2566846940928614323?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/2566846940928614323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=2566846940928614323&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/2566846940928614323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/2566846940928614323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2011/04/stuff-my-boyfriend-says-while-watching.html' title='Stuff My Boyfriend Says While Watching Jane Austen Movies'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nAKwqMbLHII/Ta-59CKrowI/AAAAAAAAAKk/LtbH2Dgv8NA/s72-c/IMG_2530.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-592490878368201707</id><published>2010-07-07T16:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-07T16:39:45.975-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crafty Crafty ME! (Or: Lauren blogging about things you don't want to read about)</title><content type='html'>Guys, guess what. This is my second post THIS WEEK. I am boss of internetting. Plus, I'm going to talk about CRAFTS!!!! I am unstoppable in my Mormon girl blogging skills. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's the story:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A few months ago I bought an item. Since my brother makes up one-fifth of my regular readership, I'll refrain from going into details about this item (though I was going to write a post about my friends "Pammie" "Tammie" and "Cammie" and my introduction to them at different ages...) but I will say that it's awesome. Not for the faint of heart, but awesome (and you're welcome, Julie, for changing my phrasing there). There's just one thing I HATE about this item--it came with the most embarrassing little bag to carry it around in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/TDUL5AVs6KI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/7I-3yyDD43s/s1600/DSC00575.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 264px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/TDUL5AVs6KI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/7I-3yyDD43s/s320/DSC00575.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491308394619660450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Really? I didn't even ever carry a purse regularly until I was 23, and they want me to haul this little sparkly purple monstrosity around with me wherever I go? Yes, my then nine year old cousin might have called me a diva, but...really? Need my personal hygiene item proclaim that to the world? My soul is dying. There needed to be a better way. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, in the middle of a recent Buffy/Angel binge, I sat down with some newfangled supplies I had just bought at WalMart at midnight and tried to remember anything from my eighth grade sewing class that didn't have to do with that one time that little hussy Linda grabbed me by my bangs and slapped me. (Lesson learned--bangs are bad.) Something must have stuck, because I think it turned out amazing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/TDUPoord2kI/AAAAAAAAAJo/rwrTGMwkZeo/s1600/DSC00577.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/TDUPoord2kI/AAAAAAAAAJo/rwrTGMwkZeo/s320/DSC00577.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491312511437101634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much better. Plus, Cammie's happy to have a new home away from home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Too much?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-592490878368201707?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/592490878368201707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=592490878368201707&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/592490878368201707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/592490878368201707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2010/07/crafty-crafty-me-or-lauren-blogging.html' title='Crafty Crafty ME! (Or: Lauren blogging about things you don&apos;t want to read about)'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/TDUL5AVs6KI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/7I-3yyDD43s/s72-c/DSC00575.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-3419009144194680820</id><published>2010-07-02T16:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-02T17:21:29.379-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In Which I Prove I Am Not A Procrastinator</title><content type='html'>Y'all, I'm not very good at this whole time thing. Surprise. Oh this paper was due yesterday/last year? My bad. Church doesn't start at 1:15? Weird!  Being late to work every single day isn't a good idea? Why didn't someone say something!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT. I'm about to prove all you naysayers wrong, for yesterday while waiting for World of Color at DCA to start I planned for three deadlines--seven weeks from now, five months from now, and a year from now. That's right, I've started planning for something that is over a year from now! I officially win the internet! Right? It gets even better--these plans are AWEsome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1-August 24: release of &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Mockingjay&lt;/span&gt;. We have yet to find a bookstore near us that's doing a midnight release party (let's start a petition! a revolt! a sit in!) so we're going to dress up, get there first thing when they open, and then have Hannah's read-a-thon themed birthday party. I was going to find a tunic of some kind and wear that with my brown leggings and awesome brown boots, but then I found this &lt;a href="http://thesecretadventuresofwritergirl.blogspot.com/2009/11/happy-halloween-katniss-everdeen-style.html"&gt;post&lt;/a&gt; and really like the pants/shirt/jacket look. But I'm keeping my boots. I lurve them.&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/TC58VInWq4I/AAAAAAAAAI4/0g0qq2Olz4s/s320/boots.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489461698342857602" /&gt;2-November 19: Harry Potter Seven part 1!! There aren't very many things better than dressing up for Harry Potter events. (Point of fact, I just realized this is my second Harry Potter post in a row...and I don't even care. I post so seldom, be grateful for what you get!) Last year's excursion to see Half-Blood Prince was probably the third greatest night of last summer (don't get me started on nights one and two...STEAMROLLER!) Here's photographic evidence:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/TC5-S5SlpkI/AAAAAAAAAJA/8PnqN0o06wU/s320/photo.jpeg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5489463858892744258" /&gt; Amazing, right? How could we possibly top this? We have Bellatrix, Voldemort, Pansy Parkinson, a random Gryffindor, Tonks, Rita Skeeter, Moaning Myrtle, Luna, and Prof. Trelawney! Fear not, dear readers, you won't be let down. Right now the plan is to dress up as members of Bill/Fleur's wedding party and various guests. Dress robes! Wedding dresses! Secret signs! Maybe even a lynx! I've already called that I get to be Fleur (no battle) so the hunt is on for a tall hot man who won't mind us drawing scars on his face. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3-July 15 2010: Harry Potter Seven part 2! The theme of this release party is going to be Epic Final Battles. Hannah and I are definitely doing Mrs. Weasley vs. Bellatrix, but we can't decide who should be who. Vote in the comments! Also, we have a killer idea for Neville vs. Nagini. Let's just say we're going to be visiting a lot of carnival games to try to win a wrap-around plush snake...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Seriously, guys, I've impressed myself here. We made all these plans LAST NIGHT and I blogged about them TODAY. It's like I'm growing up before your very eyes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-3419009144194680820?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/3419009144194680820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=3419009144194680820&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3419009144194680820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3419009144194680820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2010/07/in-which-i-prove-i-am-not.html' title='In Which I Prove I Am Not A Procrastinator'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/TC58VInWq4I/AAAAAAAAAI4/0g0qq2Olz4s/s72-c/boots.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-9143751044918022783</id><published>2010-03-23T15:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-23T16:38:51.356-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I think this means I'm doing something right. Or wrong. I get the two confused.</title><content type='html'>So I was texting the lovely Liz earlier today when I gleefully realized that within the month that I've had this phone, I'd already texted the word Voldemort at least once so it's saved in my predictive text. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;True story, last night I had my second Harry Potter dream in six months. As in, I have now twice dreamed that I was Harry Potter. Last night the aforementioned Liz was my loyal sidekick. When I realized that I was indeed Harry Potter, I immediately started looking for the golden snitch that would have the resurrection stone in it. Liz handed it to me, saying something like, "Oh yeah, this is the part of the story when we find this, huh?" I tried to put it away in my pocket so I could save it for the end...or the "close" (I'm killing myself with my nerdiness right now) but it was made of this really cheap plastic and the clasp kept opening. This was very frustrating because I wasn't ready to fight Voldemort yet and it was ruining the storyline. I think I might have tried to eat it. Huh. But then apparently it was time to fight, because I went in to some cheap restaurant building, and there you-know-who was. Except, well, he looked like a cross between Kenneth Branagh and my friend Andrew. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/S6lMy6GnAoI/AAAAAAAAAIA/O9rUa1GJjmo/s1600-h/24-kenneth-branagh.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/S6lMy6GnAoI/AAAAAAAAAIA/O9rUa1GJjmo/s1600-h/24-kenneth-branagh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 199px; height: 228px; " src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/S6lMy6GnAoI/AAAAAAAAAIA/O9rUa1GJjmo/s320/24-kenneth-branagh.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451973261382845058" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;My paint skills are incredible, I know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So everything was pretty fuzzy after that, mostly because I think I was really confused at having to kill a Voldemort who looked like that. Who could resist that face? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And in case you were wondering just how nerdy I get, here's a little gem I made after my first "Hi I'm Harry Potter" dream: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/S6lO9hACq2I/AAAAAAAAAII/zR4fyDZUmok/s1600-h/potterharry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/S6lO9hACq2I/AAAAAAAAAII/zR4fyDZUmok/s320/potterharry.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451975642646227810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;I'm especially proud of my scar. And my glasses.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Wow. Thanks for being my friends, guys. Sometimes it can get lonely on the special bus.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-9143751044918022783?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/9143751044918022783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=9143751044918022783&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/9143751044918022783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/9143751044918022783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2010/03/i-think-this-means-im-doing-something.html' title='I think this means I&apos;m doing something right. Or wrong. I get the two confused.'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/S6lMy6GnAoI/AAAAAAAAAIA/O9rUa1GJjmo/s72-c/24-kenneth-branagh.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-6655884377952251733</id><published>2010-02-08T00:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-08T01:48:36.464-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Two "Real" Men and a Sex Doll</title><content type='html'>I don't go a week without my &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.hulu.com/modern-family"&gt;Modern Family&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/i&gt;fix. I honestly have spent time pondering how I could somehow squeeze my way into Mitchell and Cam's relationship. I adore them. I even love Jay, who I always refer to as "the Al Bundy guy." But I have mixed feelings about Phil. He's an idiot. A lovable, well-intentioned idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. His wife Claire has to constantly fix the messes he gets himself and their kids in. He does have his redeeming qualities, but unfortunately his idiocy plays in to a widely-held media notion that men (specifically husbands) are clueless oafs who mean well, but really can't do anything right when it comes to their home and family. Case in point: In the pilot, Phil gets his son an air soft gun on the condition that if he shoots anyone with it (even accidentally), he'll shoot him as punishment. This made for some great comedy, but really? Later, Phil jumps the gun and punishes the kids by cancelling Christmas on Christmas Eve morning. Phil's blunders are always made up for by his wife's intervention or his own good-nature, but that doesn't change the fact that he's a husband and father who is stumbling around in the dark, a figure of pity, and a creator of cringe-worthy moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would write this off as just one funny, idiotic, lovable character, but how many times have we seen this character repeated in films and television? Raymond? Tim Taylor? Even advertisers are playing on this theme. &lt;a href="http://current.com/sarah-haskins/new/"&gt;Sarah Haskins,&lt;/a&gt; brilliant lampooner of female-centered marketing, created this amazing montage celebrating the doofy husbands we love to pat on the head and say, "Oh isn't that cute...he sure tried!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;object id="ce_90569059" width="400" height="300"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://current.com/e/90569059/en_US"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" src="http://current.com/e/90569059/en_US" width="400" height="300" wmode="transparent" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This leads me to the title of the post (isn't it great?) and one of my favorite movies. &lt;i&gt;Lars and the Real Girl&lt;/i&gt; is about a lonely man in his twenties who falls in love with a life-size anatomically correct doll he bought online. And I love it. Lars has a mental illness and the respect and love his family and friends give him while he works through his issues is nothing but exemplary. Every time I watch I'm struck by a different character and her or his importance in helping Lars heal. Recently that character has been Gus, Lars' older brother. Gus and his wife live in the old family house while Lars (of his own choosing) lives in the garage. Even though it's been a few months since I saw it last, I still can't get over the brilliance of this particular scene. (sorry it's such a huge clip, the actual scene starts at 3:13 and ends at 6:24)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/c82lDPUhNP0&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/c82lDPUhNP0&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lars comes to Gus and asks him how he knows if he's become a man yet. Gus usually doesn't have much to say, and has the hardest time of everyone accepting Lars' delusion. You can tell he's uncomfortable with the conversation, and he starts off shaky, but eventually he opens up. In his own straightforward terms, he talks to Lars like an equal. In the end he admits some of his own possible guilt in contributing to Lars' problems and apologizes, taking his own advice and acting "like a man." For the conversation alone the scene is great, but add to that the context. What is Gus doing as he explains to his little brother what it means to be a man--he's chopping vegetables for dinner. Then the buzzer sounds so they move down to the basement where he starts folding towels fresh from the dryer. "Macho", "manly", hesitant-to-talk-about-feelings Gus, amazingly, is capable of helping around the house and willingly does so. He also says the right words to help Lars start overcoming his demons and risk real relationships. Gus takes all of the good intentions embodied by characters like Phil and puts them into action. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I dislike the idea of there being "real men"--as in "real men don't eat quiche", the first suggestion google gave me--and "other kinds of men". But if I bought into that idea, I'd say something like, "Real men fold towels and empathize with people who are struggling." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I should put that on a t-shirt. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-6655884377952251733?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/6655884377952251733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=6655884377952251733&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6655884377952251733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6655884377952251733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2010/02/two-real-men-and-sex-doll.html' title='Two &quot;Real&quot; Men and a Sex Doll'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-8295952139658333219</id><published>2010-01-18T00:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T01:13:39.665-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures in Celibacy</title><content type='html'>I seldom watch videos that people post on their blogs, especially if they're over a minute long. That's mostly because I'm a snob and rarely trust other people's tastes. You pretty much need to guarantee that the video will either 1-make me snort-laugh; 2- make me feel much smarter than everyone else around me; 3- wow me into silence; or 4- cause me to swoon, drool, and basically lose my shit.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This video is the epitome of option 4. I have yet to see a better screen kiss. Were I feeling super nerdy (don't worry, I got most of my nerd out already by playing online Settlers of Catan), I'd elaborate ad nauseam as to why this is the best. kiss. ever and how my expectations are now so unrealistically high I'll never be satisfied and spend the rest of my life bitter and unfulfilled. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh crap. This is Mormon girl p*rn. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I just can't stop.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="445" height="364"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/cyYiwD1Q1aY&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x234900&amp;color2=0x4e9e00&amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/cyYiwD1Q1aY&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x234900&amp;color2=0x4e9e00&amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-8295952139658333219?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/8295952139658333219/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=8295952139658333219&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/8295952139658333219'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/8295952139658333219'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2010/01/adventures-in-celibacy.html' title='Adventures in Celibacy'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-1237483695257124591</id><published>2010-01-18T00:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T00:51:04.975-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shirts and Skins</title><content type='html'>Best compliment I've ever received:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"You are beautiful and nice also non naked."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Basically, Spain finds me attractive and kind whether I have clothes on or not. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-1237483695257124591?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/1237483695257124591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=1237483695257124591&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/1237483695257124591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/1237483695257124591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2010/01/shirts-and-skins.html' title='Shirts and Skins'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-5939610622744946827</id><published>2009-11-21T12:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-21T15:56:49.535-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How to Instantly Improve Your Mental Health for Just $120!! (plus the cost of food)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(Prologue: I write this post as its subject is moping outside. He's being punished for threatening Dumbo...again. This might impair the treaclyness of my writing.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;My friends call me Debby. Debby Downer. Actually, they don't. But I do, and if I'm not my own friend, then we've got big trouble.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;So this past year has not been my best year, mentally healthily speaking. Something about grad school sucking the living soul out of me, quarter life crises, a severe lack of money and budgeting skills--really, who knows what's caused it? I think it's healthiest to blame all the single men in southern California.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this low time in my life, I did what any self-respecting single 25 year old Mormon girl does. I adopted a dog. Yes. I'm dirt poor, depressed, shoulder-deep in student loans, and have very little soul left. This is the perfect time to become solely responsible for the care and maintenance of a living creature.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've always always always wanted a dog. When I was a kid, my siblings and I got to the Sunday paper before Mom and Dad one week and drew cat and dog faces on all the people in it. We were pet-starved children. I told myself that as soon as I was able, I'd adopt a dog. I can't tell you how many hours Dan and I have spent looking at adorable pictures of puppies online and FREAKING out. All sorts of freaking over the adorableness. We spent our two week vacation to Europe talking about how I was going to name my dog "Bay-bee Dawwg" (insert awful voice here) and giggled the whole way through at least five countries.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In June, I decided to move into a house with some friends. This is the perfect house for a dog. It has a huge yard, front and back, that's completely enclosed. The house itself is pretty big, so he'd have plenty of room inside as well. I knew it was time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I started my search for the perfect dog. He had to be just the right size, have short, soft fur, floppy ears, and a goofy face. I researched breeds, visited&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt; animal shelters, spent hours online on craig's list and shelter websites. I thought I found one in July. He was adorable--just the right size, beautiful color, seemed very sweet. But something just didn't feel right. Later, at the end of August, I was considering two others at another shelter. They were all right, but again, I just didn't feel like either of them would be the best fit. Was I being too picky? Yes. But I figured, if I'm going to have this dog for the rest of its life, I want to get it right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;The end of September came and I was starting to think I'd just have to pick one and be okay with it. I really wanted to adopt before I went home the first weekend in October so that my family (aka Mom and Dad) could meet him and be okay with him coming home for a longer stay over Christmas break. The Saturday before I was supposed to leave, I had a few dogs in mind that I had seen online, but they were spread out all over a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;nd I would probably only have time to make it to one shelter. Frustrated, I headed to the shelter where I already had an approved application, even though I wasn't especially thrilled about what I saw online. The dog I most wanted to see there had kennel cough and couldn't be shown. They showed me another dog who was okay, but probably a little yappy. Then they brought him in. &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Warning! Because of high cheese levels, the remainder of this post not recommended for the lactose intolerant!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;He had the cutest little wrinkled eyebrows, the fuzziest little floppy ears ever, and had the softest, most beautiful, brownish reddish coat. This guy &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;was a total lover. He just came right over and plopped himself down next to me and let me pet him to both our hearts' content. The shelter assistant knew it. I knew it. This was my dog. I finished the rest of the paperwork, worked out a schedule for him to be neutered and then turned over to me, and left the shelter nervous and excited. I called my roommate and told her what was going on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(You were warned! The cheese is off the charts here! Stay away!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;You know how when you say something, and all the sudde&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;n it hits you that what you're saying is the complete truth? Well, when I told my roommate that I had found my dog, it hit me like that. I'm not saying it's destiny, or divine intervention, or anything like that. I just knew that I really had found my dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, nearly two months later, what's happened to our depressed, crisis-riddled, soulless, dimeless heroine? I'm still pulling myself out of this depression, still questioning the direction my life is headed, still getting the soul sucked out of me, and still in horrendous debt. But I'll be okay. I wouldn't credit all of that to my dog, but there's no denying it. Life is just better when this little guy settles in to keep my feet warm at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SwhbrA_AdjI/AAAAAAAAAHM/BsyGmtplOBk/s1600/116.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SwhbrA_AdjI/AAAAAAAAAHM/BsyGmtplOBk/s320/116.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406672147215054386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(Epilogue: What do you know? Treaclyness unimpaired by subject's naughtiness! Subject has done his penance and is now licking peanut butter off my fingers. I submit there's nothing better than a keyboard covered in peanut butter and dog drool. Wait. What am I saying? That's sick.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-5939610622744946827?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/5939610622744946827/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=5939610622744946827&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/5939610622744946827'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/5939610622744946827'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2009/11/how-to-instantly-improve-your-mental.html' title='How to Instantly Improve Your Mental Health for Just $120!! (plus the cost of food)'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SwhbrA_AdjI/AAAAAAAAAHM/BsyGmtplOBk/s72-c/116.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-6431421551865163012</id><published>2009-11-18T22:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T23:09:33.505-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Conversation With My Sister</title><content type='html'>Sister: You won't even give conservative guys the time of day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Not true! If I met an open-minded, intelligent, thoughtful conservative guy, I'd definitely give him a fighting chance...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...I just haven't met any of those yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sister: You are never going to have sex.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THIS is why families are great.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-6431421551865163012?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/6431421551865163012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=6431421551865163012&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6431421551865163012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6431421551865163012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2009/11/conversation-with-my-sister.html' title='Conversation With My Sister'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-3856748500944978057</id><published>2009-05-11T21:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T21:19:22.532-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Relieved</title><content type='html'>Last night I dreamed I watched the Atlantis space shuttle launch.The shuttle was shaped like a gigantic R2D2, and after it rose off the launch pad and I was starting to think everything was going to be okay, the top lifted off like it was on a hinge, it flipped over, and crashed back into the earth, creating a debris storm and shockwaves that knocked out an entire city.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad that didn't really happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/Sgj4loW9QGI/AAAAAAAAAHE/-BKu-JJC9bs/s1600-h/space_shuttle_blastoff.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/Sgj4loW9QGI/AAAAAAAAAHE/-BKu-JJC9bs/s320/space_shuttle_blastoff.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334787083992907874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-3856748500944978057?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/3856748500944978057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=3856748500944978057&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3856748500944978057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3856748500944978057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2009/05/relieved.html' title='Relieved'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/Sgj4loW9QGI/AAAAAAAAAHE/-BKu-JJC9bs/s72-c/space_shuttle_blastoff.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-8477447017468522898</id><published>2009-04-24T22:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-28T01:43:49.131-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stories I Like To Tell</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*Names have not been changed in order to incriminate the guilty.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I anticipated experiencing many different things my first year of college. Waking up on a Saturday morning alone on my English professor's basement floor was not one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite that rather scandalous introduction, this story suffers from a severe lack of hanky-panky and a serious overabundance of Disney movies.  Let's start at the beginning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to a very small private college in rural Virginia. My first year there I was one of only 4oo students, and we were a tight-knit community. My roommates were friends with one of the English professor's sons, who was also a student. Let's call him Jared. I knew him somewhat through our interactions in choir and because of our mutual friends. At the end of the school year, Jared invited everyone (literally, everyone) to a party at his parents' house to watch Disney movies all night long. (Yes, we're all very Mormon.)  After assisting us in dropping brownies off (in a very co-ed Mormon way) at the doorstep of a house full of cute boys, my friend (let's call him Luke) had given me and a few other friends a ride to the party where we met the rest of the group, including my roommate (let's call her Bethany).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The house was full of reveling Mormon college students looking for some post-semester stress relief. The Sprite and hormones flowed freely. My friends and I grabbed handfuls of chips and fun-size candy bars and headed down into the basement, hoping to nab some prime real-estate next to one of SVU's few eligible bachelors. I don't think I was successful in cuddling with the aforementioned Luke (who I definitely had my eye on), since he was at the time making overtures at another girl (who shall remain nameless because she didn't leave me alone on the basement floor). Despite the sad lack of passionate freshman cuddling, I did my best to enjoy the night, sandwiched among my good friends on  bean bag chairs and pillows watching Disney movies to our hearts' content. Somewhere around 3 or 4 in the morning, just as &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Fox and the Hound&lt;/span&gt; was coming to its heartbreaking conclusion, I began to fall asleep, sure in the knowledge that surely either my dear roommate or the gentlemanly boy who gave me a ride would wake me when it was time to leave. Surrounded by a basement-full of friends and acquaintances, many of whom were also dozing, I drifted into a world-famous deep Lauren sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I heard was a strange hissing noise. Peeling my eyes open, I realized that the room was markedly lighter than it had been when I'd fallen asleep. I also noticed that my limbs had their full-range of motion--I was no longer shmooshed between thousands of sleeping college students. I heard the noise again and lifted my head to the stairs. Jared stood, perched over the railing, halfway down the staircase. "Hey, girl. Girl! Wake up," I now realized he had been saying/hissing. I was very much alone. On the basement floor. "Where'deverybodygowhattimeisit?" I sat up and squawked groggily. "Almost nine, and I don't know," he said, stifling a laugh. Apparently, sometime during the night he stumbled up to his room to sleep, which happened around the same time my friends LEFT me ALONE on the basement floor. When the respected English professor awoke and strolled down to his basement, he received quite the shock upon seeing my awkwardly sleeping form, ALONE on his basement floor. He woke his son, saying, "Jared, there's a girl in the basement."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jared offered to give me a ride back to campus as I was still quite visibly confused as to what the hell just happened to me. I grabbed my jacket and tried to rub the nasty gunk out from the corners of my eyes and followed him up the stairs. The respected English professor's family sat cozily at the kitchen table, enjoying their Saturday morning breakfast, and respected English professor's wife graciously invited me to join them. Still trying to regain my normal person voice, I squawked out what I hope was a polite "nothankyou," scrambled out the door and into the car, and thus endured one of the most awkward five minute car rides of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Properly deposited in front of my dorm, I climbed the stairs to the third floor (C-3 what what), promptly woke the offending abandoners, and demanded an explanation. I don't remember their excuses, which surely means they were pathetic and not worth remembering, but each of them found it OHSOFUNNY that I spent the night alone on the respected English professor's basement floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who's laughing now, offending abandoners??!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-8477447017468522898?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/8477447017468522898/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=8477447017468522898&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/8477447017468522898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/8477447017468522898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2009/04/stories-i-like-to-tell.html' title='Stories I Like To Tell'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-3418206212473415659</id><published>2009-04-14T03:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T03:39:50.735-07:00</updated><title type='text'>STATUS UPDATE!</title><content type='html'>why? because reading it once on facebook just isn't enough.&lt;br /&gt;the so-far status updates of 2009:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;january&lt;br /&gt;3: hold me close, young tony danza&lt;br /&gt;13: loves emails that include the word buttloads&lt;br /&gt;17: is finally back in the state of the bluths, tanners, and cohens&lt;br /&gt;19: got a little pink in the sun on the beach today!!!!&lt;br /&gt;20: can't wait to chill with m-i-c-k-e-y tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;22: got dissssed by a turtle&lt;br /&gt;23: back in the library for an exciting evening&lt;br /&gt;24: finally organized her crazy jumble of mission pics. a year and a half later...&lt;br /&gt;25: is awkward the new charming? please...?&lt;br /&gt;27: placed a temporary hold on her personal mucinex boycott&lt;br /&gt;28: feels like poop poop poop, and bought tylenol cold so she can resume her boycott&lt;br /&gt;29: (still whining) hates that she can't eat triscuits 'cause her throat still hurts. also, the weird popping in the left ear is getting old...&lt;br /&gt;30: a little more phem and a little less eu&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;february&lt;br /&gt;1: sliiiiim pickin's&lt;br /&gt;2: has a job again!&lt;br /&gt;3: wants to go camping something fierce&lt;br /&gt;5: wants to go to there&lt;br /&gt;6: doesn't know what to wear to this toga party&lt;br /&gt;7: is making babies in the library...http://www.vw.com/vwhype/babymaker/en/us/&lt;br /&gt;11: is in the library again. unfortunately, no babies are being made&lt;br /&gt;13: hearts the d-land crew&lt;br /&gt;17: wishes you all a happy Life Day&lt;br /&gt;18: is old enough to know, but too young to care&lt;br /&gt;20: is angry at the wii-fit&lt;br /&gt;21: knows a date is successful when you get a free pair of socks&lt;br /&gt;22: would like to thank the academy...for hugh jackman's singing and dancing&lt;br /&gt;24: asks "is this about what happened in the bathroom? 'cause there wasn't enough room to cuddle"&lt;br /&gt;28: is studying...on the beach&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;march&lt;br /&gt;1: imaginsiff&lt;br /&gt;2: is a riot on an empty street&lt;br /&gt;3: can't rule out buried treasure. fiji, anyone?&lt;br /&gt;4: thinks it should never rain in fiji&lt;br /&gt;5: nobody's gonna rain on my parade&lt;br /&gt;5: wishes she weren't such a procrastinator and could join the giant game of library tag. sigh.&lt;br /&gt;6: can enjoy the weekend now! woot!&lt;br /&gt;7: politics+religion+second date=bad news bears&lt;br /&gt;8: is tired of bears&lt;br /&gt;10: my kingdom for a foot massage!&lt;br /&gt;12: whoa overtimes&lt;br /&gt;13: dear new facebook, i like you even less than the old new facebook. please change. for me. love, lauren&lt;br /&gt;15: laughcoughlaughcoughlaughcoughlaughcough&lt;br /&gt;16: doctors aren't allowed to go on spring break&lt;br /&gt;18: is getting ready to cough all over disneyland&lt;br /&gt;20: i'm FINALLY going to see slumdog! text if'n you wanna come&lt;br /&gt;21: well, that was a freebie&lt;br /&gt;23: is the star of her new favorite song&lt;br /&gt;25: strep, mono, mrs. barlow, fruit plates, o'dea, messy room, the beach, docility, and bears&lt;br /&gt;27: LOVED IT&lt;br /&gt;29: is off to write that hit song, alone in my principles&lt;br /&gt;31: my creepy stalking skills have failed me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;april&lt;br /&gt;2: dreams of horses&lt;br /&gt;5: lost at sequence, dumped by bob, spilled my dinner. worst. day. ever.&lt;br /&gt;5: made up with bob, ticked off hannah, ate two cinnamon rolls. best. day. ever.&lt;br /&gt;6: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8b39gIMMqr8&lt;br /&gt;9: has sehnsucht, thanks to her skinny, lung-dwelling-fat-kid brother&lt;br /&gt;10: won't be setting any personal records today :-( hahaha&lt;br /&gt;11: hehehe i'm evading taskmaster bianca!!! look at me reveling in my freeeeeedom!!!&lt;br /&gt;12: evaded and reveled too much&lt;br /&gt;12: i am not amused. how am i supposed to change my siblings' profile pics to resemble mine if they all go and get new passwords and conveniently forget to tell me!! y'all have ruined my easter fun&lt;br /&gt;13: 30 days!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i need an intervention.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-3418206212473415659?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/3418206212473415659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=3418206212473415659&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3418206212473415659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3418206212473415659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2009/04/status-update.html' title='STATUS UPDATE!'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-6936604238358553655</id><published>2009-01-31T02:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T03:34:06.887-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Joey and Janice's Day of Fun...s!!!!</title><content type='html'>So...I'm poor. Poorer than I was when I came into this world. Thus, for Christmas I decided to give the gift of time. I spent an evening each with Mum &amp;amp; Dad, Julie &amp;amp; Jana, and Dan &amp;amp; Grandma, with a twelve dollar spending limit each night. It was, if I say so myself, quite ballin'. Here's a recap of our &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EIfOaJgsjcg"&gt;Joey and Janice's Day of Fun...s!!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evening the First:&lt;br /&gt;I went with Mum and Dad to the Salt Lake City Library to explore. We spent most of our time in the basement in the children's collection and found some great international kids books, most notably the German favorite &lt;a href="http://www.amazon.de/gp/product/387294407X/ref=s9_subs_c5_s1_p14_t1?pf_rd_m=A3JWKAKR8XB7XF&amp;amp;pf_rd_s=center-1&amp;amp;pf_rd_r=1CPD9X44CG14RCA6P4P5&amp;amp;pf_rd_t=101&amp;amp;pf_rd_p=463375193&amp;amp;pf_rd_i=301128"&gt;"Vom Kleinen Maulwurf, Der Wis&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.amazon.de/gp/product/387294407X/ref=s9_subs_c5_s1_p14_t1?pf_rd_m=A3JWKAKR8XB7XF&amp;amp;pf_rd_s=center-1&amp;amp;pf_rd_r=1CPD9X44CG14RCA6P4P5&amp;amp;pf_rd_t=101&amp;amp;pf_rd_p=463375193&amp;amp;pf_rd_i=301128"&gt;sen Wollte, Wer Ihm Auf Den Kopf Gemacht Hat"&lt;/a&gt; (The Little Mole Who Wanted to Know Who Pooped On His Head). We curled up on a LoveSac and I read/translated. Truly, this was quite the literary moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQ0i9FSIzI/AAAAAAAAAF0/4pYxkkH00zI/s1600-h/aufdenkopfgemacht.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 233px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQ0i9FSIzI/AAAAAAAAAF0/4pYxkkH00zI/s320/aufdenkopfgemacht.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297416836811465522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Other highlights include three-tiered fireplaces, being mistaken for a teenager, and shakes at Hires afterwards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evening the Second:&lt;br /&gt;I went to Ikea with Jana and helped pick out some stellar window treatments and light fixtures for her condo. We picked up some treats and a movie and went home to lounge about with Julie. We took some pics of us lookin' reeeeaal good. Here's a sample:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQ1sk0fpjI/AAAAAAAAAF8/fG4XvYacfBI/s1600-h/sistas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQ1sk0fpjI/AAAAAAAAAF8/fG4XvYacfBI/s320/sistas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297418101608916530" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We are real good looking. We know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Evening the Third:&lt;br /&gt;I picked up some Del Taco and met Dan at Grandma's. We ate, watched a basketball game, and pulled out the cards for a killer game of Old Maid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQ2dtUR7SI/AAAAAAAAAGE/W2nzsBdwvcQ/s1600-h/oldmaid.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 258px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQ2dtUR7SI/AAAAAAAAAGE/W2nzsBdwvcQ/s320/oldmaid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297418945703308578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We're also real good at Slap Jack, Connect Four, and Hungry Hungry Hippos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Joey and Janice's Day of Fun...s were a hit, if I say so myself. Thanks for playing, kids!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-6936604238358553655?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/6936604238358553655/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=6936604238358553655&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6936604238358553655'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6936604238358553655'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2009/01/joey-and-janices-day-of-funs.html' title='Joey and Janice&apos;s Day of Fun...s!!!!'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQ0i9FSIzI/AAAAAAAAAF0/4pYxkkH00zI/s72-c/aufdenkopfgemacht.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-8524682028631776787</id><published>2009-01-31T02:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T02:48:20.586-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mosaic</title><content type='html'>Here's Lauren in photo-mosaic form, a'la Flickr:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQjnPhxvTI/AAAAAAAAAFs/xQz0RiMGGbU/s1600-h/mosaic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQjnPhxvTI/AAAAAAAAAFs/xQz0RiMGGbU/s320/mosaic.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297398218784619826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;1. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/never_surrender/427183321/"&gt;Shelby. And Lauren. We like the latter.&lt;/a&gt;, 2. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/quizz/716207468/"&gt;Leda&lt;/a&gt;, 3. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/vwmang/67808088/"&gt;Untitled&lt;/a&gt;, 4. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/nsukhia/226699557/"&gt;Are You Looking At Me ???&lt;/a&gt;, 5. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/obxcrew/2848308119/"&gt;A little fight in you. I like that.&lt;/a&gt;, 6. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/haikugarry/1151377027/"&gt;ready for limeade&lt;/a&gt;, 7. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jup3nep/2814865508/"&gt;Green velvet&lt;/a&gt;, 8. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/neatocoolville/1642143031/"&gt;McCormick Pumpkin Pie Spice Tin&lt;/a&gt;, 9. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/icarusjj/131153020/"&gt;Professor_Mom&lt;/a&gt;, 10. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bacillus/353725304/"&gt;The Earth is God's Canvas.&lt;/a&gt;, 11. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/satorarepo/2753480424/"&gt;Enjoy summer (and beer)&lt;/a&gt;, 12. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/siese/2996539844/"&gt;Lou Reed&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you want to play, here's how:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Type your answer to each of the questions below into a Flickr search. Using only the first page, choose your favorite image, then copy and paste each of the URL’s into the &lt;a href="http://bighugelabs.com/flickr/mosaic.php"&gt;mosaic maker&lt;/a&gt; (3 columns, 4 rows). Leave me a comment if you do it, so I can check it out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The questions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. what is your first name? (Lauren)&lt;br /&gt;2. what is your favorite food? (bread)&lt;br /&gt;3. what high school did you attend? (Hillcrest)&lt;br /&gt;4. what is your favorite color? (brown)&lt;br /&gt;5. who is your celebrity crush? (Christian Bale)&lt;br /&gt;6. favorite drink? (limeade)&lt;br /&gt;7. dream vacation? (Switzerland--and the pic is from Montreux!))&lt;br /&gt;8. favorite dessert? (pumpkin pie)&lt;br /&gt;9. what do you want to be when you grow up? (professor-mom)&lt;br /&gt;10. what do you love most in life? (joy)&lt;br /&gt;11. one word to describe you. (fun)&lt;br /&gt;12. your flickr name. (laurielou29--nothing showed up so i searched laurie lou)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-8524682028631776787?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/8524682028631776787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=8524682028631776787&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/8524682028631776787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/8524682028631776787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2009/01/mosaic.html' title='Mosaic'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SYQjnPhxvTI/AAAAAAAAAFs/xQz0RiMGGbU/s72-c/mosaic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-4142757789333388780</id><published>2009-01-20T22:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T20:14:03.727-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lesson Learned, Tough stuff.</title><content type='html'>I'm a genius. Things that don't look like they'll fit into slots in your computer probably will not fit into said slots and should not be forced in anyway. Lesson learned. The computer is fine. The brand new 4gb memory stick, however, is not. This means that all the pics on it are...gone. Gone gone gone. Gone are the hopes of new Facebook albums, and illustrated blog posts detailing winter break fun. Gone are the videos of my attempts at hip-hop immortality (this is actually a very shiny silver lining...)&lt;br /&gt;It could be worse. The pictures/videos on now-defunct memory stick are actually very small in number and fall into three categories: 1)Joey and Janice's Day of Fun...s, 2)Roadtrip with the ickle Dannykins back to California, including a pit-stop in St. George to see my favorite sister missionary, and 3)January 19 Beach Trip of Sunshiny Goodness with Hannah and aforementioned ickle Dannykins.&lt;br /&gt;What's that? You can only imagine how spectacular these pictures and their accompanying stories were? You want nothing more than to get a taste of what was lost, no matter how pathetic the attempt to recreate such memories? Fear not, huddled masses. I understand.&lt;br /&gt;Coming soon: Pathetic Attempts at Re(-)creation...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-4142757789333388780?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/4142757789333388780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=4142757789333388780&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/4142757789333388780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/4142757789333388780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2009/01/lesson-learned-tough-stuff.html' title='Lesson Learned, Tough stuff.'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-5497445736755747208</id><published>2008-12-09T00:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T01:25:51.658-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bare Naked Snobbery and Righteous Indignation</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Note: Reading through this, it really is pure, unadulterated snobbery and indignation. Consider yourself warned. I also don't mean this as a personal attack on anyone I know and love...maybe on some I know and don't love, though...jk :-) I write this as a response to a general attitude. I promise. Heartsi&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;es :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/ST45ACbNgkI/AAAAAAAAAE8/GfOrudDYquw/s1600-h/twiligh-absurd.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/ST45ACbNgkI/AAAAAAAAAE8/GfOrudDYquw/s320/twiligh-absurd.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277718486138585666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Twilight&lt;/span&gt;. I love hating &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Twilight&lt;/span&gt;. Hating &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Twilight &lt;/span&gt;has become a passion of mine. I can't let it die. I read the first three books. I couldn't put them down. I hated myself for that. By the end of the third book, I hated all of the characters (though Rosalie was starting to grow on me, mostly because she was the only one that recognized just how mentally deficient Bella was). I wanted the fourth book to be two pages long: Edward bites Bella. He loses control. Bella dies. Edward, the psychopath that he is, laughs and finds another personality-less teenager to manipulate. That's a whole lot of hate and uncharitable feelings to be coming from one average-sized girl. I refused to read the fourth book, out of principle, but still wanted to know what happens. I looked it up online. I swear I vomited at least three times just reading the synopsis. Really? REALLY?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could attack &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Twilight&lt;/span&gt; for its writing style. I'm not a very good writer, but I'm convinced I could write better dialogue than Stephenie Meyer. I'll leave that alone for now, though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those who defend &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Twilight&lt;/span&gt; say it's just harmless fantasy lit. Escapist fluff. This terrifies me. What are these women escaping to? An abusive (yes, abusive. I'll say it again, ABUSIVE) relationship with a vampire?! Really? REALLY? A vampire who is infinitely stronger, smarter, faster, richer, and more powerful than you? And the only way you'll ever become anything close to his equal is by sacrificing your own life and future to attach yourself to him for eternity? This is what we want?? What a message to be sending to the media, who can't help but fixate on Meyer's Mormonism. To those who would tell me to stop thinking about it so hard, it's just a fun story, I would strike a deal. I'll stop thinking about it so hard as soon as you start thinking about it a little. I know, I'm a snob and a jerk about it. Here is a &lt;a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/film/2008/dec/04/twilight-film-vampire"&gt;great article&lt;/a&gt; to get you started thinking. :-)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not a fan of censorship or dictating what others should or shouldn't read. But I wish I had sat down and had a frank discussion about this with the teenage girls I used to work with who called &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Twilight &lt;/span&gt;their Bible, instead of just rolling my eyes whenever they started read it for the umpteenth time. I think (/hope/pray) that this is just a fad. Once all the movies have been made and people start coming to their senses, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Twilight&lt;/span&gt; will die an ignominious death. If however, my teenage daughters one day in the distant future stumble across it (or any other such "escapist" chick-lit) and want to read it, that's fine. I only hope I will have taught them well enough that they'll laugh at all the wrong parts, feel sorry for Bella, and walk away emotionally unharmed. If not, well, we'll have a good long chat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-5497445736755747208?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/5497445736755747208/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=5497445736755747208&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/5497445736755747208'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/5497445736755747208'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/12/bare-naked-snobbery-and-righteous.html' title='Bare Naked Snobbery and Righteous Indignation'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/ST45ACbNgkI/AAAAAAAAAE8/GfOrudDYquw/s72-c/twiligh-absurd.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-1813814210268388213</id><published>2008-11-05T13:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T22:32:24.876-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Year in Books</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SRKOXuiRjQI/AAAAAAAAAE0/0reAliybaHY/s1600-h/yearinbooks.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265427452629454082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 238px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SRKOXuiRjQI/AAAAAAAAAE0/0reAliybaHY/s320/yearinbooks.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know it's only the beginning of November, but considering the amount of work I've been procrastinating, I'm not going to leave the library until Christmas break. So I might as well procrastinate a little more today and review the books I've read this year that I really dug and have stayed with me through the months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Out of the Silent Planet&lt;/em&gt; by C.S. Lewis:&lt;/strong&gt; I got it for Christmas last year, and though I'm not usually in to much science fiction, I'm definitely in to C.S. Lewis. It's a little thin on plot, but big on ideas. Basically a British philologist is captured by two bad guys and they take him to Mars to offer him up as sacrifice to the ruling beings there. He escapes when they arrive and travels the planet, studying and making friends with the different life forms there. He learns that all the planets were originally connected, each with their own ruling spirit that could communicate with the spirits over other planets. Earth, however, rebelled and destroyed its ruling spirit, and so they call it the Silent Planet. Because this is Lewis, there are of course billions of religious undertones, and they're the most interesting parts of the book. This is the first in a series of three, and is definitely my favorite. The second, &lt;em&gt;Perelandra, &lt;/em&gt;is about the philologist's trip to Venus. Again, it's definitely thin on plot, but the ideas about The Fall are fascinating. &lt;em&gt;That Hideous Strength &lt;/em&gt;is set on Earth and is sort of a "Last Days" book. This one is more plot driven, and mostly succeeds in creeping me out a little. Again, some great ideas on spirituality, but weird imagery. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Catcher in the Rye&lt;/em&gt; by J.D. Salinger: &lt;/strong&gt;I remember hearing about this book in middle school because it was one of the optional books for our group reports, but required parental permission to read. The kids that read it were the rebels :-) I picked it up one day at work to read while watching the showers and immediately fell in love with Holden Caulfield. He was honestly one of the most relatable characters I had read in a long time. I wonder what that says about me...:-) I would much much much rather my teenagers read this book instead of something inane and ridiculous like &lt;em&gt;Twilight&lt;/em&gt;. Both have ridiculously flawed main characters who are emotionally unstable, but in &lt;em&gt;Twilight&lt;/em&gt; that's apparently a good attribute. I'd take a Holden over a Bella any day. And yes, it really really really really pains me to admit I've read &lt;em&gt;Twilight.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;A Thousand Splendid Suns&lt;/em&gt; by Khaled Hosseini: &lt;/strong&gt;I read &lt;em&gt;The Kite Runner &lt;/em&gt;last year and loved the imagery, the characters, and the humanity depicted. Then, this summer my Mum recommended Hosseini's second book. I read it in about three hours, then cried for another two. Hosseini's gift is creating characters who are so real, even though they're so foreign to American readers. Dan read it after I did, and one night he, Mum, and I sat on Mum's bed discussing it. All we had to say was "Maryam..." and look at each other and we almost started crying again. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Life of Pi &lt;/em&gt;by Yann Martel: &lt;/strong&gt;After hearing that I had been accepted to CGU to study religion, a friend at work recommended this book. I loved it all-- Pi's devotion to any religion he can find, his relationship with the Bengal Tiger Richard Parker, the open ending. Yes, it's about a boy trapped on the ocean in a lifeboat with a tiger. Read it anyway. Nay, read it for that reason. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;The Secret Life of Bees &lt;/em&gt;by Sue Monk Kidd: &lt;/strong&gt;Julie sent me this book right after I moved to CA, so I read it one Saturday night before I found a social life and had too much homework. The prose is very lyrical--I had to read some things twice they were so beautifully said. That's a rarity for me :-) The conclusion is fairly obvious, but the images of the female divine make it all worth it. This book is very female-empowered, but not to the point of disempowering men. A profound story of a girl discovering her individual divinity. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;A Mormon Mother&lt;/em&gt; by Annie Clark Tanner: &lt;/strong&gt;I read this book for my "Mormonism Through the Eyes of Women" class and it broke my heart. Annie Tanner tells her own story of becoming a polygamous wife in late 19th century Utah, raising children alone, watching the church disavow polygamy, and coming to terms with a rapidly modernized society. She's my new hero. Most heart-breaking moment: being dropped off at the train station by her new husband and his first wife so she can go home to her mother's house. She can't tell anyone she just got married, and won't see her husband again for a few weeks. She sits at the table eating bread, thinking of all her friends who were lucky enough to be first wives and all the fun things involved in their weddings. Oh Annie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ender's Game&lt;/em&gt; by Orson Scott Card: &lt;/strong&gt;I went to an Anberlin show a couple weeks ago in Pomona. I was by myself and had no interest in the three opening bands, so I wandered around the shops in the neighborhood for awhile. I found this in a 2nd-hand book store, had always heard good things about it, had an hour or so to kill, and it was only a couple bucks. I absolutely loved the first two-thirds. Ender's development into a powerful leader is really well written, and the war-games, I must admit, are tons of fun to read about. The last third seemed really rushed to me, and the conclusion therefore was unsatisfying. But overall, like most of Card's stuff that I've read, the characters make it worth it.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-1813814210268388213?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/1813814210268388213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=1813814210268388213&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/1813814210268388213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/1813814210268388213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/11/year-in-books.html' title='The Year in Books'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SRKOXuiRjQI/AAAAAAAAAE0/0reAliybaHY/s72-c/yearinbooks.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-6447029065778570639</id><published>2008-10-17T16:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T16:50:45.561-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Grandma Knows Best</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SPkkqlE6bTI/AAAAAAAAAEs/-vXXX5jUag0/s1600-h/granma.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258274353857588530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SPkkqlE6bTI/AAAAAAAAAEs/-vXXX5jUag0/s320/granma.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just got off the phone with my favorite "Ol' Girl". Some highlights of our conversation: (make sure you imagine a sweet 83 year old grandma voice saying these things)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;-"I just think McCain is such a smart-ass."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;-"Just think, if something happened to him, all the tea parties she'd throw..." (regarding Sarah Palin, in a really disgusted voice)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;-"He's just such a smart-alec." Me: "That's not what you said earlier, Grandma." Grandma: "Well, I'm trying to clean my language up," followed by a giggle because we both know that's never going to happen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yeah, my grandma rocks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-6447029065778570639?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/6447029065778570639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=6447029065778570639&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6447029065778570639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6447029065778570639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/10/grandma-knows-best.html' title='Grandma Knows Best'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SPkkqlE6bTI/AAAAAAAAAEs/-vXXX5jUag0/s72-c/granma.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-2758544904699999521</id><published>2008-10-07T16:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T18:00:46.616-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rwanda</title><content type='html'>Today is my mum's birthday. In honor of such a tremendous event, I'd like to pay tribute to her by relating an embarrassing story about her, and I do so with love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;One fall evening last year, the Kennards were lounging about the living room trying to decide where to go for dinner. Of course, any decision requires a long, drawn-out discussion with much bandying about (it's the Kennard way, you see), so we were lounging for quite a while. In the midst of the lounging, my brother mentioned that he had been amazed to text the word "Rwanda" successfully with his phone in predictive mode. Determined to prove or disprove his claim, we each pulled out our phones and tried it. It worked. Then, still with no dinner-plan conclusion in sight, my siblings and I decided to each text "Rwanda" to another family member. I sent the message to my dear mum, knowing that a) she hadn't been paying much attention to our discussion, and b) she never turns her phone on. We enjoyed our thirty seconds of fun, finally reached a satisfying conclusion, and left for dinner. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our story now jumps forward five or six days. In the darkest hours of the night, I was enjoying a peaceful slumber. My door swung suddenly open and I was rudely awakened by the beam of the hall light shining directly into my sleepy face. My mum stood in the doorway in her robe and slippers, hunched with fatigue and hair awry. I'm sure I said something quite intelligent, such as, "Well, Mother, whatever could the matter be that you would so rudely waken me," but I fear only a muffled "Whuh?" came to be articulated. She whispered, "Just making sure you're okay. Go back to sleep," and closed the door. I, being most bewildered, but grateful to return to my comatose state, quickly forgot the matter and fell promptly asleep. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The event remained mostly forgotten the next day, until my brother came to pick me up after work and I learned the full tale of what had transpired in the night. Mum had been awoken by the sound of the home phone ringing strangely. She picked it up, and heard nothing--not even a dialtone. She hung up, then tried again. Still, nothing. Dad was away on business, and Mum's first thought was of the urban legend, "The Babysitter," and that someone had cut the phone lines (overactive imaginationing is also the Kennard way, in addition to bandying about). She panicked when she heard movement downstairs, but managed to calm herself down enough to realize it was probably my older sister getting up to use the bathroom (that's the Julie way). She gathered her courage and went down to see if Julie, if indeed it was Julie, knew what was wrong with the phones. Julie, showing great presence of mind at such an hour, remembered that the phone company had recently informed us they'd be doing maintenance and we'd therefore be out of service for a few hours. Accepting this answer, yet still slightly frazzled, Mum trudged back upstairs to bed. She decided that since the phone was out, she'd better pull out her cell phone to have at the ready, should the need arise. She turned the phone on, then received quite a startle when the phone immediately--and loudly--beeped, informing her of a text message from her darling daughter, me. "But why on earth would my darling daughter send me a text at such an ungodly hour?" Mum wondered. Her weary befuddlement was amplified when she saw the content of the message: a single word, "Rwanda." Her motherly and imaginative instincts now in full swing, she concluded that someone had, indeed, broken into the home, was in my room about to end my young, promising life, and that my only opportunity to cry for help was to reach for my phone and beg my mum to save me, only I just had time for one word, and the one word that most exemplified my distress was "RWANDA!!!!!!" Mum, as any warm-blooded mother would, sprang from her room and burst into mine, ready to bare-handedly beat away the nefarious foe who would seek to end such an innocent life. Imagine her joy, and perhaps her feeling of underappreciation, when her efforts were met with a gruff "whuh," and a sleepy glare. Satisfied that her cubs were safe, my mama bear trudged back to bed and the restful sleep of the victor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I tell this story because, well, we think it's funny (it's the Kennard way) and therefore make some reference to it at least once a week. Does Mum protest? Nay! She laughs along with us. Indeed, I believe it was my mum who first coined the phrase "good sport" and therefore should be earning handsome copyright profits. This is truly an example to be emulated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;In all seriousness, I love how my mom doesn't take herself so seriously. Seriously. This is something I still need to work on (seriously. Jana, if I have to hear the bulimic bohemian story one more time...). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254581294797802178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SOwF2P_VysI/AAAAAAAAAEk/EXpCYFtx8_M/s320/mum.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-2758544904699999521?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/2758544904699999521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=2758544904699999521&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/2758544904699999521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/2758544904699999521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/10/rwanda.html' title='Rwanda'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SOwF2P_VysI/AAAAAAAAAEk/EXpCYFtx8_M/s72-c/mum.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-3254957364525636102</id><published>2008-09-25T14:02:00.007-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T16:04:46.586-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Post That Mom and Grandma Aren't Allowed to Read</title><content type='html'>This post is subtitled: "What Goes to Vegas, Stays in Vegas," or "The American Girl Who Went to Vegas With a Car...And Came Back Without." (yes, that's a slightly pathetic attempt to spoof a Hugh Grant movie)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's the story:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Jana was in Vegas on her very first grown-up business trip and since it's only about a three and a half hour drive from Claremont, I decided to drive up Tuesday after class and party with her. I packed a light overnight bag, hopped in my trusty, rusty '93 blue Oldsmobile "Brunhilde" (which, by the way, just a month ago drove all the way from Salt Lake to Claremont with NO problems whatsoever) and planned on getting to the Monte Carlo by 7:30. At about 6:30 I was jamming out to Journey's "Seperate Ways," a song which demands volume. I checked my rear-view mirror and saw that everyone behind me was merging away. I was a little offended until I noticed the smoke Bruni was puffing into their faces. Not. Good. I quickly pulled off onto the shoulder, and, assuming the car had overheated, let her sit for about thirty minutes or so. On the plus-side, there was a really cool sunset. Way to go, Sunset. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250075371762301154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SNwDvAnrOOI/AAAAAAAAAD4/d2kh27HvDV8/s320/vegassunset.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;After a proper cool down, Bruni seemed ready to roll again. We set off with my eyes glued to the thermometer and ears pealed for strange noises. Such noises appeared around 7:30, just about half an hour outside of Vegas, and they were bad noises. Very bad. I pulled over again and knew she wasn't going to make it. I made some phone calls to Jana and AAA (thanks for the membership, Papa Bear!) and hunkered down to wait for the tow-truck. He showed up between 8:30 and 9 and towed me to Silverado Ranch, about 9 miles from the strip, singing country songs all the way. Jana had carpooled with her coworkers so she didn't have her car, and they were all at dinner west of Vegas, so I walked from the auto-shop to Walmart and bought a Lunchable to hold me over until Jana's coworkers finished dinner and could come pick me up. I don't know why a Lunchable, it just sounded good at the time. I decided to walk a little over a mile down to Las Vegas Blvd to see if there were any buses that could take me down to the strip. There weren't. Jana called and said that her coworkers were on their way and I should stay put so they could find me. I found a bench at a deserted bus stop and sat down to eat and decided to get some homework done while I was waiting. When John and Dave found me, they joked that they were excited to get home and tell their wives that they picked up a young blonde on Vegas Blvd. I assume they're going to leave off the part about how said blonde was eating a Lunchable and reading Kierkegaard.... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I finally arrived at the casino around 11 and was reunited with my long lost sister. I dumped my stuff in Jana's room, we got a quick, LATE, dinner at the food court and strolled down to the Bellagio to watch the fountains. I liked 'em. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250083465996353474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SNwLGJ_dP8I/AAAAAAAAAEA/Spe3FO7kJDE/s320/000_0010.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We wandered around a bit more and headed back to the Monte Carlo around 12:30 or 1 to find the guys deeply absorbed in the craps table and Diablo's Wheel. I decided to try my luck... :-) John had won about $500 at craps but lacked the patience to teach me how to play, so I just handed him 40 bucks and let him win it for me :-) I stood next to him and every once in a while he'd say, "we want a six...we really want a six" so then I'd cheer if a six was rolled. I'm real good at craps. In about twenty minutes John had turned my 40 into 125 big ones. I gave him a $5 tip for not losing my money, and happily pocketed my $80 extra. We stayed at the craps tables, with Jana playing wife/mother by holding on to the guys' winnings so they wouldn't blow them, until about 2:30 then called it a night. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I slept in the next morning while Jana went to class, then woke up and had to deal with grown-up things. No fun. I called the auto-shop and they told me that my engine was eating itself. Seriously, those are the words they used. They just laughed when I said "So you're telling me I'm not gonna make it back to Southern California..." Bruni was officially dead. Mad props to Jana for helping me be a grown-up. I booked a seat on a Greyhound back to Claremont and made arrangements to donate my dead car to some charity. Then some of the guys needed to go to H&amp;amp;M to get stuff for their wives, and Jana and I certainly weren't going to turn down that opportunity, so we went to H&amp;amp;M with about 6 of her male coworkers who told us that we had a twenty minute maximum. Ha. Mad props to them for not being too mad at us for going thirty minutes over our alloted time :-) They then took us out to the auto shop to clean my car out and for me to kiss her goodbye. Sigh. My poor girl.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250089963267393938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SNwRAWNliZI/AAAAAAAAAEI/PsXUmMMo4Tw/s320/000_0014.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Jana and I really wanted to go on the roller coaster at New York New York before we left so the guys, even though they really just wanted to get on the road, took pity on us and we all blew $14 on a roller coaster. That was pretty good times...maybe not $14 worth of good times, but good times nonetheless. Who knew real-estate appraisers could be so fun? I sure didn't. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250091891436211842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SNwSwlM2zoI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/_8uwZSUmfAg/s320/000_0016.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;After the roller coaster the guys dropped me off at the Vegas Greyhound station. I love Greyhound, it's such an adventure! Three years ago I took a Greyhound to Colorado and back for a friend's wedding and had a great time. I made a new pot-head friend named Zane who involved me in a deep philosophical conversation, bought me a Gatorade, and fell asleep on my shoulder. He was good times. As I was waiting in line to board the bus to LA, a man walked in the door, stumbled up to me and muttered something like "You look like the kind of girl who wants to go to Nashville," followed by some unintelligble grumbling. I don't know why I don't find things like that scary...maybe it's because we dealt with it every day in Germany (missionaries are crazy magnets...ask anyone). I rolled my eyes, took a step back, and said "Excuse me, sir," in my most bored voice. He stumbled off for a minute, then came back and said "I know what you're like...girls are all the same," and stumbled out the door. It was kinda funny/sad. I got on the bus and had a row to myself. There was a little girl in front of me who looked to be about a little over a year old. She kept offering to share her Cheetos with me and in the process smashed them all over the back of her seat. I love Greyhound. I turned on my iPod, listened to some amazing music (I have excellent taste, what can I say), watched another beautiful sunset, and had great views of the stars out my window. The rest of the ride passed without incident. We got in to Claremont around 9:45, and I debated about whether to call someone to pick me up from the station or not since my roommates are out of town. My stubbornly independent streak got the best of me, and I decided that two miles really isn't that far to walk through a little college town. I forgot I had two heavy bags and was wearing $3 Old Navy flip-flops. But it was a nice night, and I had plenty of time to think about the advantages of not having a car (more to come on that in a later post). I got home, fed the cat, and crashed. I was carless, out about $100, had sore, filthy feet, but felt that life was great :-)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A super big shout-out to Jana, for rocking it up with me despite the stress, and to the guys at Integra. Again, who knew that real-estate appraisers were so much fun?? Thanks, y'all!!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-3254957364525636102?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/3254957364525636102/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=3254957364525636102&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3254957364525636102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3254957364525636102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/09/post-that-mom-and-grandma-arent-allowed.html' title='The Post That Mom and Grandma Aren&apos;t Allowed to Read'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SNwDvAnrOOI/AAAAAAAAAD4/d2kh27HvDV8/s72-c/vegassunset.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-7204828660333252079</id><published>2008-09-12T17:55:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-14T02:50:46.975-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Soundtrack</title><content type='html'>So I started this blog with the idea that I'd talk about songs and other things that get randomly stuck in my head. Funnily enough, that idea didn't stick. (oh, I SLAY me!) Not that I post that often...or have really found a direction that I'd want to take...but I digress. A friend of mine just started a blog (and yes, I am blog-stalking you) and she posted about what her life's soundtrack would look like. Which got me thinking...which led me to peruse my iTunes...which led to THIS!!!!!!:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1-You Make Me Feel So Young, Frank Sinatra&lt;br /&gt;2-The Unwinding Cable Car, Anberlin&lt;br /&gt;3-Jupiter from "The Planets", Gustav Holst&lt;br /&gt;4-Motorcycle Drive By, Third Eye Blind&lt;br /&gt;5-Rose Tint My World, Hopefield&lt;br /&gt;6-What About, Peter Breinholt&lt;br /&gt;7-Jesu, the Very Thought is Sweet, Mack Wilberg and the MoTabbers&lt;br /&gt;8-People Should Smile More, Newton Faulkner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;9-Don't Stop Believin', Journey&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;If my life were  played to 44 minutes of footage, this is what you'd hear. What you'd see, however, is a completely different beast.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And, yes, blog-stalked friend, I have two of "your" songs on my list. I hate to do this, but I'm going to have to play the "I'm older and probably heard them first" card. So there. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SMsTmkIF2AI/AAAAAAAAADU/kyO4_qsOjtM/s1600-h/elderberries.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5245307744256645122" style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SMsTmkIF2AI/AAAAAAAAADU/kyO4_qsOjtM/s320/elderberries.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-7204828660333252079?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/7204828660333252079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=7204828660333252079&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/7204828660333252079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/7204828660333252079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/09/soundtrack.html' title='Soundtrack'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SMsTmkIF2AI/AAAAAAAAADU/kyO4_qsOjtM/s72-c/elderberries.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-5951104483733949919</id><published>2008-08-17T18:13:00.014-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-17T22:40:56.417-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Real Post!</title><content type='html'>I'm feeling a little nostalgic today. Maybe it's because I'm about to make a big move into the unknown, but a few minutes ago I randomly started missing Switzerland, a place I only spent a few days in this spring. When Dan and I were younger, I used to have to go and comfort him some Sunday nights before he went to bed because he missed the weekend already. Well, now I can empathize a little better. I miss April 20, 2008. So I'm going to tell you all about it :-) &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235664683263550962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjRSij7ZfI/AAAAAAAAAB8/cd_-AqS4bdU/s320/Europalooza+one+200.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After an uncomfortable night on a train from Rome (this trip, however, being much better than the night train from Frankfurt to Florence... instead of 7 people crammed into one cabin there were 3) Dan and I pulled into the still sleeping village of Montreaux. We pulled out our information about the hostel and realized the only instructions they had offered to help us get there were "situated right on the lake-front, about 1km from the middle of town." This place was breathtakingly beautiful, though; so beautiful that I only pretended to be a little grumpy to keep up my reputation as world's worst morning person. (Please note the semi-grumpy, semi-thrilled, definitely weird expression on my face.) It was no hardship at all to haul our backpacks down to the promenade along Lake Geneva, pick a direction to walk in, and bask i&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjSu8eFSZI/AAAAAAAAACE/uUAXfe1U4i8/s1600-h/Europalooza+004.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235666270766320018" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjSu8eFSZI/AAAAAAAAACE/uUAXfe1U4i8/s320/Europalooza+004.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;n the gorgeous Sunday morning we had practically all to ourselves as the sun came up over snow-capped peaks. (I should write travel guides, I know.) This town is seriously amazing. I'm almost out of cheesy adjectives, hence the multitude of pictures. We wandered along at a leisurely pace for about half an hour watching the lake, the mountains, the tulips, and the random Ice Age characters made out of shrubbery, until we suddenly needed to find a bathroom--desparately. In order to protect myself, I won't say which of us needed this bathroom break (oh, wait, dangit!). The problem is, public bath&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjXvxManfI/AAAAAAAAACU/p_9gsFHVuso/s1600-h/Europalooza+009.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235671782477438450" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjXvxManfI/AAAAAAAAACU/p_9gsFHVuso/s320/Europalooza+009.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;rooms--especially in small towns--are few and far between in Europe. They usually cost money and are, well, in a word, disgusting. We still had no idea where the hostel was. All the businesses along the promenade were closed. The situation was getting hairy. Then, what do we behold, but the most clean, open, free European public bathroom I have ever experienced. This was the best morning ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Disaster averted, we finally found th&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjZL2tZGUI/AAAAAAAAACc/oYlhyUfDO78/s1600-h/Europalooza+016.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235673364505893186" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjZL2tZGUI/AAAAAAAAACc/oYlhyUfDO78/s320/Europalooza+016.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;e hostel and checked in. We stowed our bags, and hiked up the mountainside to a church we had seen on our way in. By this time it was about 9:30 or 10 in the morning, so we figured we'd be sure to be able to catch some kind of church service, even though since we were in the French-speaking side of Switzerland we wouldn't understand a thing. We got up there, and it was completely empty. No pastor, no meeting times posted, nothing but an open, empty, old church. It was awesome! We explored a little, then plopped ourselves down on some chairs and decided to sing hymns to&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjakCdl5DI/AAAAAAAAACk/mGC6lU94810/s1600-h/Europalooza+013.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235674879489336370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjakCdl5DI/AAAAAAAAACk/mGC6lU94810/s320/Europalooza+013.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; ourselves. The acoustics were incredible. We tried to sight read some songs from the little French hymnals we found, but mostly ended up laughing at each other's French, sight reading, or both. So we stuck to the old stand-bys: "Come Thou Fount", "Abide With Me", "How Great Thou Art", etc. The perfect Sunday morning--in an old, tiny, mountainside Alpine church, singing hymns with my favorite brother. We spent about an hour there and I'm still amazed that the only other people we saw was a couple from California that wandered in for a few minutes, also perplexed that there was no one around. We drunk in our fill of the atmosphere and the scenery, then headed back down the mountainside to the hostel so we could finally shower and look like humans again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll skip the next few hours because they involved hunger, and though I tried to be as cheery as possible, we all know that a hungry Lauren isn't necessarily a happy Lauren. Sad truth. Needless to say, we eventually found food and a train to Champery. This is where the story ge&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkAgHfctjI/AAAAAAAAACs/DUer0tV2An4/s1600-h/champerybahn.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235716593561679410" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkAgHfctjI/AAAAAAAAACs/DUer0tV2An4/s320/champerybahn.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;ts good again :-) I loved this train. When we got back and people asked for the highlights of our trip, I immediately thought of this train. A little, rickety thing, this train chugged up the mountain from the little town of Aigle, through tiny villages and farms clinging to the mountains, all the way up to Champery. Thirty minutes of pure joy. Heaven is going to be a combination of Montreaux and Champery, I'm convinced of it. We listened to talks by Elder Holland on Dan's iPod and watched waterfalls, steep cliffs, clouds, sheep, hamlets, cows, and trees go by. We go&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkCMUJiU8I/AAAAAAAAAC0/RR_CS2vyjJ8/s1600-h/champery.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235718452385305538" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkCMUJiU8I/AAAAAAAAAC0/RR_CS2vyjJ8/s320/champery.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;t to Champery and, of course, since it was a Sunday afternoon just about everything was closed. We mostly wandered around a lot and just loved it. I've decided that's the only way to travel Europe--to just wander. We found the hotel Dan stayed in when he was there in high school, picked out a restaurant to eat in the next day for his birthday, and wandered some more. After a while w&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkG212bGKI/AAAAAAAAAC8/gawNpZTD20U/s1600-h/Europalooza+027.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235723581032962210" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkG212bGKI/AAAAAAAAAC8/gawNpZTD20U/s320/Europalooza+027.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;e got hungry again and decided to have a picnic of sorts. We went to a little grocery store and got a loaf of good bread, some cheese, a couple bars of chocolate, and some Mövenpick ice cream. We found a bench with an incredible view (not a tough thing to find) and had ourselves some Swiss goodness. I bet you can't get wh&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkJTCMPSOI/AAAAAAAAADE/sqaLafV7zzA/s1600-h/Europalooza+024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235726264405280994" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkJTCMPSOI/AAAAAAAAADE/sqaLafV7zzA/s320/Europalooza+024.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;at we did next--yup, we wandered. Took some pictures, loved life, and meandered about our little Alpine village. It started to get dark, so we got back on the train, listened to some more Elder Holland, and loved life a little more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkKIac17uI/AAAAAAAAADM/DhBt9zhZgVs/s1600-h/Europalooza+025.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5235727181450440418" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKkKIac17uI/AAAAAAAAADM/DhBt9zhZgVs/s320/Europalooza+025.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In summation, I heart Switzerland. If anyone knows any good Swiss men, send them my way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-5951104483733949919?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/5951104483733949919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=5951104483733949919&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/5951104483733949919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/5951104483733949919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/08/real-post.html' title='A Real Post!'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SKjRSij7ZfI/AAAAAAAAAB8/cd_-AqS4bdU/s72-c/Europalooza+one+200.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-4532466386473471756</id><published>2008-08-10T23:23:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T23:37:22.255-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Swear I'll Back off the Lists and Post Something Real....After This One</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I found this sucker and liked it. I've italicized the ones I've done. You do it too. Now.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;1. Touched an iceberg&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;2. Slept under the stars&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Been a part of a hockey fight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;4. Changed a baby’s diaper&lt;br /&gt;5. Watched a meteor shower&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Given more than you can afford to charity&lt;br /&gt;7. Swam with wild dolphins&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;8. Climbed a mountain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;9. Held a tarantula&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;10. Said “I love you” and meant it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;11. Bungee jumped&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;12. Visited Paris&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. Watched a lightning storm at sea&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;14. Stayed up all night long and watched the sun rise&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;15. Seen the Northern Lights&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;16. Gone to a huge sports game&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17. Walked the stairs to the top of the Statue of Liberty&lt;br /&gt;18. Grown and eaten your own vegetables&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;19. Looked up at the night sky through a telescope&lt;br /&gt;20. Had an uncontrollable giggling fit at the worst possible moment &lt;/em&gt;(Have you met me??)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;21. Had a pillow fight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;22. Bet on a winning horse&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill&lt;br /&gt;24. Built a snow fort&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;25. Held a lamb&lt;br /&gt;26. Gone skinny dipping&lt;br /&gt;27. Taken an ice cold bath&lt;br /&gt;28. Had a meaningful conversation with a beggar&lt;br /&gt;29. Seen a total eclipse&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;30. Ridden a roller coaster&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;31. Hit a home run&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;32. Danced like a fool and not cared who was looking &lt;/em&gt;(Have you met me Part 2)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;33. Adopted an accent for fun&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;35. Felt very happy about your life, even for just a moment&lt;br /&gt;36. Loved your job 90% of the time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied&lt;br /&gt;38. Watched wild whales&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;39. Gone rock climbing&lt;br /&gt;40. Gone on a midnight walk on the beach&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;41. Gone sky diving&lt;br /&gt;42. Visited Ireland&lt;br /&gt;43. Ever bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant&lt;br /&gt;44. Visited India&lt;br /&gt;45. Bench-pressed your own weight &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;46. Milked a cow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;47. Alphabetized your personal files&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;48. Ever worn a superhero costume&lt;br /&gt;49. Sung karaoke&lt;br /&gt;50. Lounged around in bed all day&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;51. Gone scuba diving&lt;br /&gt;52. Kissed in the rain&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;53. Played in the mud&lt;br /&gt;54. Gone to a drive-in theater&lt;br /&gt;55. Done something you should regret, but don’t&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;56. Visited the Great Wall of China&lt;br /&gt;57. Started a business&lt;br /&gt;58. Taken a martial arts class&lt;br /&gt;59. Been in a movie&lt;br /&gt;60. Gone without food for 3 days&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;61. Made cookies from scratch&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;62. Won first prize in a costume contest&lt;br /&gt;63. Got flowers for no reason&lt;br /&gt;64. Been in a combat zone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;65. Spoken more than one language fluently&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;66. Gotten into a fight while attempting to defend someone&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;67. Bounced a check&lt;br /&gt;68. Read - and understood - your credit report&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;69. Recently bought and played with a favorite childhood toy&lt;br /&gt;70. Found out something significant that your ancestors did&lt;br /&gt;71. Called or written your Congress person&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;72. Picked up and moved to another city to just start over&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;73. Walked the Golden Gate Bridge&lt;br /&gt;74. Helped an animal give birth&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;75. Been fired or laid off from a job&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;76. Won money&lt;br /&gt;77. Broken a bone&lt;br /&gt;78. Ridden a motorcycle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;79. Driven any land vehicle at a speed of greater than 100 mph&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;80. Hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon &lt;em&gt;(almost!!)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;81. Slept through an entire flight: takeoff, flight, and landing&lt;br /&gt;82. Taken a canoe trip that lasted more than 2 days&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;83. Eaten sushi&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;84. Had your picture in the newspaper&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;85. Read The Bible cover to cover&lt;br /&gt;86. Changed someone’s mind about something you care deeply about&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;87. Gotten someone fired for their actions&lt;br /&gt;88. Gone back to school&lt;br /&gt;89. Changed your name&lt;br /&gt;90. Caught a fly in the air with your bare hands&lt;br /&gt;91. Eaten fried green tomatoes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;92. Read The Iliad&lt;br /&gt;93. Taught yourself an art from scratch&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;94. Killed and prepared an animal for eating&lt;br /&gt;95. Apologized to someone years after inflicting the hurt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;96. Communicated with someone without sharing a common spoken language&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;97. Been elected to public office&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;98. Thought to yourself that you’re living your dream&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;99. Had to put someone you love into hospice care&lt;br /&gt;100. Sold your own artwork to someone who didn’t know you&lt;br /&gt;101. Had a booth at a street fair&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;102. Dyed your hair&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;103. Been a DJ&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;104. Rocked a baby to sleep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;105. Ever dropped a cat from a high place to see if it really lands on all four&lt;br /&gt;106. Raked your carpet &lt;em&gt;(???)&lt;br /&gt;107. Brought out the best in people&lt;br /&gt;108. Brought out the worst in people&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;109. Worn a mood ring&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;110. Ridden a horse&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;111. Carved an animal from a piece of wood or bar of soap&lt;br /&gt;112. Cooked a dish where four or more people asked for the recipe&lt;br /&gt;113. Buried a child&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;114. Gone to a Broadway (or equivalent to your country) play&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;115. Been inside the pyramids&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;116. Shot a basketball into a basket&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;117. Danced at a disco&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;118. Played in a band&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;119. Shot a bird&lt;br /&gt;120. Gone to an arboretum&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;121. Tutored someone&lt;br /&gt;122. Ridden a train&lt;br /&gt;123. Brought an old fad back into style&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;124. Eaten caviar&lt;br /&gt;125. Let a salesman talk you into something you didn’t need&lt;br /&gt;126. Ridden a giraffe or elephant&lt;br /&gt;127. Published a book&lt;br /&gt;128. Pieced a quilt&lt;br /&gt;129. Lived in an historic place&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;130. Acted in a play or performed on a stage&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;131. Asked for a raise&lt;br /&gt;132. Made a hole-in-one &lt;em&gt;(Mini-golf...using my flip-flop. Proudest moment of my life.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;133. Gone deep sea fishing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;134. Gone roller skating&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;135. Run a marathon&lt;br /&gt;136. Learned to surf &lt;em&gt;(This year!! New goal!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;137. Invented something&lt;br /&gt;138. Flown first class&lt;br /&gt;139. Spent the night in a 5-star luxury suite&lt;br /&gt;140. Flown in a helicopter&lt;br /&gt;141. Visited Africa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;142. Sang a solo&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;143. Gone spelunking&lt;br /&gt;144. Learned how to take a compliment&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;145. Written a love-story&lt;br /&gt;146. Seen Michelangelo’s David&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;147. Had your portrait painted&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;148. Written a fan letter&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;149. Spent the night in something haunted&lt;br /&gt;150. Owned a St. Bernard or Great Dane&lt;br /&gt;151. Run away&lt;br /&gt;152. Learned to juggle&lt;br /&gt;153. Been a boss&lt;br /&gt;154. Sat on a jury&lt;br /&gt;155. Lied about your weight&lt;br /&gt;156. Gone on a diet&lt;br /&gt;157. Found an arrowhead or a gold nugget&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;158. Written a poem&lt;br /&gt;159. Carried your lunch in a lunchbox&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;160. Gotten food poisoning&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;161. Gone on a service, humanitarian or religious mission&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;162. Hiked&lt;br /&gt;163. Sat on a park bench and fed the ducks&lt;br /&gt;164. Gone to the opera&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;165. Gotten a letter from someone famous&lt;br /&gt;166. Worn knickers&lt;br /&gt;167. Ridden in a limousine&lt;br /&gt;168. Attended the Olympics&lt;br /&gt;169. Can hula or waltz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;170. Read Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys books&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;171. Been stuck in an elevator&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;172. Had a revelatory dream&lt;br /&gt;173. Thought you might crash in an airplane&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;174. Had a song dedicated to you on the radio or at a concert&lt;br /&gt;175. Saved someone’s life&lt;br /&gt;176. Eaten raw whale&lt;br /&gt;177. Know how to tat, smock or do needlepoint&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;178. Laughed till your side hurt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;179. Straddled the equator&lt;br /&gt;180. Taken a photograph of something other than people that is worth framing&lt;br /&gt;181. Gone to a Shakespeare Festival&lt;br /&gt;182. Sent a message in a bottle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;183. Spent the night in a hostel&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;184. Been a cashier&lt;br /&gt;185. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt&lt;br /&gt;186. Joined a union&lt;br /&gt;187. Donated blood or plasma&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;188. Built a campfire&lt;br /&gt;189. Kept a blog&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;190. Had hives&lt;br /&gt;191. Worn custom made shoes or boots&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;192. Made a PowerPoint presentation&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;193. Taken a Hunter’s Safety Course&lt;br /&gt;194. Served at a soup kitchen&lt;br /&gt;195. Conquered the Rubik’s cube&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;196. Know CPR&lt;br /&gt;197. Ridden in or owned a convertible&lt;br /&gt;198. Found a long lost friend&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;199. Helped solve a crime&lt;br /&gt;200. Worked as a dog catcher&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-4532466386473471756?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/4532466386473471756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=4532466386473471756&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/4532466386473471756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/4532466386473471756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/08/i-swear-ill-back-off-lists-and-post.html' title='I Swear I&apos;ll Back off the Lists and Post Something Real....After This One'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-450684861953112282</id><published>2008-07-03T22:01:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-03T22:24:31.797-07:00</updated><title type='text'>More Lists!!</title><content type='html'>Oh Happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 things I was doing 10 years ago:&lt;br /&gt;1. Working at a cub scout camp&lt;br /&gt;2. Obsessing about the Utah Jazz&lt;br /&gt;3. Planning a super cool 14th birthday party at Lagoon&lt;br /&gt;4. Obsessing about lots of things. Lots. lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 things I was doing 5 years ago:&lt;br /&gt;1. Breaking up with my first boyfriend&lt;br /&gt;2. Trying to find a summer job&lt;br /&gt;3. Dying for school to start again so I could go back to Virginia&lt;br /&gt;4. Loving my c3PO friends&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 things I did yesterday:&lt;br /&gt;1. Went on a date&lt;br /&gt;2. Called a friend at 6:30 a.m. to come jump my dead car&lt;br /&gt;3. Was consequently an hour late for work&lt;br /&gt;4. Got really excited with the girls at work for the new Batman movie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 shows I stop for when flipping through channels:&lt;br /&gt;1. Friends&lt;br /&gt;2. Ninja Warrior&lt;br /&gt;3. What Not to Wear&lt;br /&gt;4. Old-school American Gladiators&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 Biggest Joys of My Life Right Now:&lt;br /&gt;1. Lots of sunshine&lt;br /&gt;2. Things to look forward to&lt;br /&gt;3. Good books&lt;br /&gt;4. The ability to change and grow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4 things that you might not know about me:&lt;br /&gt;1. I dip my Oreos in water, not milk&lt;br /&gt;2. I am repulsed by practically all forms of jewelry&lt;br /&gt;3. My favorite time of day is dusk&lt;br /&gt;4. I have a 49% win percentage on Free Cell and it drives me nuts that it's not 50.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I'm supposed to "tag" someone now. If you're reading this, consider yourself tagged. Yay lists!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-450684861953112282?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/450684861953112282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=450684861953112282&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/450684861953112282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/450684861953112282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/07/more-lists.html' title='More Lists!!'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-7071412732482152455</id><published>2008-06-26T22:31:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T23:27:33.550-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Like to Ride My Bicycle</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SGSDofdZtMI/AAAAAAAAABs/rWxfABqwKEo/s1600-h/bestbikesunset.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216439000064701634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SGSDofdZtMI/AAAAAAAAABs/rWxfABqwKEo/s320/bestbikesunset.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I stole Dan's bike last week and it has become my new best friend. I have discovered the pure joy of the &lt;a href="http://www.utahmountainbiking.com/trails/provorvr.htm"&gt;Provo River Parkway&lt;/a&gt; in the late evening. If I leave my apartment around 8-ish, I can make it to Utah Lake to get amazing views of the sunset and back home without being stuck out in the dark. I've been learning some great life lessons along the way, and since I firmly believe in the list as a serious literary form, I present the nuggets of wisdom collected throughout the past week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Coming to a very abrupt stop on a bike twelve sizes too big for you hurts. A bike made for a Lauren-sized person, where I can actually touch my feet to the ground when seated, tops my birthday wish-list. It really hurts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Don't wear a white shirt unless at the end of the trip you want an accurate count of the number of kamikaze gnats that tried to take you down...and failed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Little kids on trikes are cool. A little dude wasn't watching and drifting into my lane. I slowed way down and said "Watch out, dude" in my best "you're a cute little dude" voice. He looked up, glared at me like he's too cool for school, and proceeded to make the screeching tire noise "Euuurr!" as he came to a complete stop and continued to stare me down. I want a little dude like him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--It's probably not socially acceptable to exclaim "Racooooooon!" like a 10 year old upon sighting your very first live raccoon in the yard of an apartment complex where boys live.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--It's completely socially acceptable to analyze superhero movies in your head whilst riding, then wonder why no man finds you ridiculously irresistible yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Old people strolling along listening to the same iPod are cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Somedays I just really really want to be a hobbit. Like the days I'm a nerd and listen to the &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGYmSOTsZlE"&gt;hobbit song&lt;/a&gt; whilst riding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Gustav Holst should be sainted for the theme from "&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6NopU9K_8M"&gt;Jupiter&lt;/a&gt;". &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L6NopU9K_8M"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--PLEASE WATCH FOR BIKES WHILST DRIVING!!! That's all I'm going to say about that one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--Biking makes me happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SGSEaUNiaMI/AAAAAAAAAB0/IrZXFxS8zqo/s1600-h/they%27regrrreat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5216439856038832322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SGSEaUNiaMI/AAAAAAAAAB0/IrZXFxS8zqo/s320/they%27regrrreat.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-7071412732482152455?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/7071412732482152455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=7071412732482152455&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/7071412732482152455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/7071412732482152455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-like-to-ride-my-bicycle.html' title='I Like to Ride My Bicycle'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SGSDofdZtMI/AAAAAAAAABs/rWxfABqwKEo/s72-c/bestbikesunset.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-1515645087376224143</id><published>2008-05-29T08:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-29T09:43:30.613-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Proof that I'm not Dead Inside</title><content type='html'>I cry in movies, but not in real life. I'll leave that for the therapists of the world to figure out. But I've decided to publish proof that my tear ducts are in fact not frozen shut, in that I will now provide a list of movies that I've cried in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SD7bqabkOvI/AAAAAAAAAA8/4JmMUl3EqHE/s1600-h/lars.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SD7bqabkOvI/AAAAAAAAAA8/4JmMUl3EqHE/s320/lars.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205839740982803186" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Most recently: "Lars and the Real Girl"&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;br /&gt;We've all got a little crazy inside of us. Coolest thing ever watching a little town rally around a delusional dude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Hardest cry: "Sophie Scholl: die Letzten Tage"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This movie &lt;em&gt;destroyed &lt;/em&gt;me. About a girl in Germany in the resistance in World War 2, fighting for truth and right against evil alongside her brother. They get caught. It's set in the winter and there's a whole big sun motif throughout the film. Hmm, parallels to my life at the time? Watched it while on a mission in the winter in Germany. Sun-starved, fighting for truth and right, receiving weekly letters from my brother who was also on a mission. I really embarrassed myself with this one. Definitely the hardest cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;First cry:&lt;/strong&gt; probably &lt;strong&gt;"The Fox and the Hound"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why can't we all just be friends? I'm a hound dog, a wroo wroo wroo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Most obvious: "Schindler's List"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you don't cry in this movie, you're obviously dead inside. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Second most obvious: "Life is Beautiful"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So devastating, yet so life-affirming. And the little boy! He kills me! Speaking of little boys that kill me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Most tear-jerking actor: Freddie Highmore&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SD7UwabkOuI/AAAAAAAAAA0/M-aamtctNf4/s1600-h/freddie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SD7UwabkOuI/AAAAAAAAAA0/M-aamtctNf4/s320/freddie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205832147480623842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This kid could read the dictionary to me and reduce me to tears. His scene on the bench with Johnny Depp in "Finding Neverland" ripped me to shreds. "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" was on TV last week, and just watching the scene where he passes around his chocolate bar to his grandparents made me all misty!! This kid almost made me cry in flaming "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"!! I only saw the first ten minutes of "August Rush" and was in full-out mock mode due to the worst dialogue ever recorded until this kid came on screen and started crying. It's just not fair, Freddie. My little heartstrings just can't take it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Most epic: "Lord of the Rings: Return of the King"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I can't carry it for you, Mr. Frodo, but I can carry you. Come on!&lt;/em&gt; Oh Sam. You're fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SD7c3qbkOwI/AAAAAAAAABE/n01YFf5c_wk/s1600-h/swing+kids.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SD7c3qbkOwI/AAAAAAAAABE/n01YFf5c_wk/s320/swing+kids.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5205841068127697666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The teenage angst cry: "Swing Kids"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Christian Bale turns Nazi, the pre-emo emo kid kills himself with his banned jazz records, Robert Sean Leonard gets sent to prison for dancing...Swing Heil!&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nerdiest cry: "Apollo 13"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't judge. This movie is powerful and had full sway over my life at age 11.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Cry I'm most embarrassed about: "Charly"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was fully prepared and determined &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; to cry. I don't know what happened. Oh wait, yes I do. The grandma took off her shoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Inspirational cry: "Cool Runnings"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Derice, you dead? No mon, but I've got to finish the race.&lt;/em&gt; Go Jam!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I still am not sure why I cried, but I did: "Forever Young"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mel Gibson gets frozen in a time capsule, comes back 50 years later, ages on screen while racing to his woman, and finds her. Lots of old person make-up. I think I had the flu. That's my excuse, what's yours?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Chick-flick cry: "Steel Magnolias"&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a girl, after all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-1515645087376224143?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/1515645087376224143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=1515645087376224143&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/1515645087376224143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/1515645087376224143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/05/proof-that-im-not-dead-inside.html' title='Proof that I&apos;m not Dead Inside'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SD7bqabkOvI/AAAAAAAAAA8/4JmMUl3EqHE/s72-c/lars.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-6338756448168552285</id><published>2008-05-25T21:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-25T22:22:27.618-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gotta Think Twice, Before I Give My Heart Away</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDpHY6bkOrI/AAAAAAAAAAc/5-urMULXH7w/s1600-h/george_michael_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDpHY6bkOrI/AAAAAAAAAAc/5-urMULXH7w/s320/george_michael_1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204550812707338930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ear worms on this lovely Sunday: "Faith" by George Michael (cause you gotta have faith a-faith a-faith), "Oh Come All Ye Faithful," and "Strahlender Morgen" (there's even an enthusiastic elderly German person singing it in my head).&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDpI46bkOtI/AAAAAAAAAAs/YYP4M7yLYtM/s1600-h/fam.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDpI46bkOtI/AAAAAAAAAAs/YYP4M7yLYtM/s320/fam.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5204552461974780626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; On a corny note, I'm grateful for my family this weekend. We rocked it up, with minimal stress from the "freakers". Mad props to you, family. For real. And I am IronMan.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-6338756448168552285?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/6338756448168552285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=6338756448168552285&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6338756448168552285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/6338756448168552285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/05/gotta-think-twice-before-i-give-my.html' title='Gotta Think Twice, Before I Give My Heart Away'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDpHY6bkOrI/AAAAAAAAAAc/5-urMULXH7w/s72-c/george_michael_1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6467160665392627541.post-3831387366631910576</id><published>2008-05-22T22:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-22T23:09:59.501-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ear Worms and Wimps</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDZe9qbkOpI/AAAAAAAAAAM/nyoDo7Jv5hg/s1600-h/trackstar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203450832928127634" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDZe9qbkOpI/AAAAAAAAAAM/nyoDo7Jv5hg/s320/trackstar.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;So today I was thinking about all the songs I get stuck in my head throughout a normal day. Here's a list of some top brain space contenders: "Stars of Track and Field" by Belle and Sebastian, the "Full House" theme, "More Holiness Give Me", plus about 5 gajillion inane songs from the top 40 station we listen to at work. I'm ashamed to admit that Chris Brown, Rihanna,&lt;br /&gt;Jordin Sparks and the like (all of whom were blissfully absent from my brain space 6 months ago) are becoming permanent members of my psyche. And I just spent my first blog post talking about them. Brilliant. So I started thinking about the German phrase for "I have a song stuck in my head," namely, "Ich habe einen Ohrwurm"; which, being translated directly, means "I have an ear worm. Now there's an image. Then I started thinking about other funny German phrases (all whilst brushing my teeth five minutes ago)--specifically, some different ways to say wimp. I'm determined to find some more, but the two I do know are fantastic. The first is "Weichei", which, being translated directly, means "soft-boiled egg". The next is "Sitzpinkler", which, being translated directly, means "man who sits to make his number one-ly business". Fantastic, na? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDZfGabkOqI/AAAAAAAAAAU/EoT8UWx7hvo/s1600-h/sitzpinkler.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5203450983251983010" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 317px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="300" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDZfGabkOqI/AAAAAAAAAAU/EoT8UWx7hvo/s320/sitzpinkler.jpg" width="332" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6467160665392627541-3831387366631910576?l=dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/feeds/3831387366631910576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6467160665392627541&amp;postID=3831387366631910576&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3831387366631910576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6467160665392627541/posts/default/3831387366631910576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dergrosseohrwurm.blogspot.com/2008/05/ear-worms-and-wimps.html' title='Ear Worms and Wimps'/><author><name>laurenlou</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SbbpyRWaFnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/ZEnbPrlh-cY/S220/picyo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_e3sDdSDA5VI/SDZe9qbkOpI/AAAAAAAAAAM/nyoDo7Jv5hg/s72-c/trackstar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
