<?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-8756934</id><updated>2011-04-21T14:47:36.313-05:00</updated><title type='text'>FeelingCrazyToday --- Random Thoughts</title><subtitle type='html'>A little of this, a little of that.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>33</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-112540650512652440</id><published>2005-08-30T07:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-08-30T07:55:05.133-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Wondering</title><content type='html'>Last night we watched a show on exorcists on the National Geographic Channel. The ol' National Geographic crew is really branching out. A typical show from the National Geographic people would be something about orangutans or the destruction of tornados. Now they've moved on to demons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing the show mentioned was that before mental illnesses were understood, people were often exorcised when symptoms show now that they were actually suffering a mental illness. One common thing thought to be demon possession was Tourette's syndrome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know, Tourette's, where the person has ticks that look like outbursts. The most common tick people think of is swearing. Other likely ticks are needing to clear the throat, bug out eyes, jump, or anything really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was wondering about the swearing tick. If someone has a swearing tick but they're too young to have really learned any profane language, do you think they say things like dum-dum head and purple hair?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-112540650512652440?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/112540650512652440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/112540650512652440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2005/08/just-wondering.html' title='Just Wondering'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-112540661890311662</id><published>2005-08-18T09:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-08-30T08:03:29.176-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Smelling Like a Janitor's Closet</title><content type='html'>After my shower I got the whim to wash the bathtub/shower. I still had the towel wrapped around my hair and was only wearing my bra, furiously scrubbing away at soap scum. Quite the scene, huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now my hands smell like the bleach in the cleaner. A few years ago our family stayed overnight at a Holiday Inn with some friends of ours. The Holiday Inn has a lot of indoor pools and hot tubs. For years afterwards anytime I smelled bleach the chlorine reminded of our fun stay at the hotel with our friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope my brain won't decide to remind me of cleaning the bathtub/shower when I smell bleach. I much prefer the fun memories of the hotel with our friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-112540661890311662?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/112540661890311662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/112540661890311662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2005/08/smelling-like-janitors-closet.html' title='Smelling Like a Janitor&apos;s Closet'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110910923757609081</id><published>2005-02-22T15:52:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-02-22T15:53:57.576-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Library Bathroom</title><content type='html'>For people who like to read when they, um, &lt;em&gt;do their business&lt;/em&gt;, do you think the library's bathroom is their favorite bathroom of all?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110910923757609081?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110910923757609081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110910923757609081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2005/02/library-bathroom.html' title='Library Bathroom'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110538457637927969</id><published>2005-01-10T13:02:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-01-10T13:16:16.380-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Saved!</title><content type='html'>Hubby and I watched the dark comedy &lt;a href="http://www.cin-o-matic.com/m.php?MID=400"&gt;Saved!&lt;/a&gt; this morning. The whole idea behind the movie is that being Christian alone doesn't automatically make you a good person, and that you can be a good person if you aren't a zealot Jesus fan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So of course, I loved this movie. I hate when people profess themselves to be good, heaven-bound Christians, but bend the rules to follow their wants. You know those people, the ones who follow the easy rules and ignore/alter the ones that are a little hard or uncomfortable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a scene where one PZ (previous zealot) girl is confronted by her zealot friends. The leader of the zealots get angry at the PZ girl and throws a bible at her. PZ girl responds to the Zealot Leader with, "This isn't a weapon."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a wonderful proclamation! How many people use what they find in (read how they interpret) the bible as weaponry on those who are different? The bible isn't a weapon - I love that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110538457637927969?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110538457637927969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110538457637927969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2005/01/saved.html' title='Saved!'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110519110180203559</id><published>2005-01-08T07:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-01-08T07:31:41.803-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Talk, Talk, Talk...</title><content type='html'>Proven yet again:  I talk too much sober. I talk way too much (and too loud) when I drink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110519110180203559?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110519110180203559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110519110180203559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2005/01/talk-talk-talk.html' title='Talk, Talk, Talk...'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110478369015929767</id><published>2005-01-03T14:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2005-01-03T14:21:30.160-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Thought on Hot Chocolate</title><content type='html'>Adding mini-chocolate chips to your hot chocolate doesn't necessarily make it chocolatier. Turns out they just fall to the bottom and melt there, into that little chocolate mud on the bottom. Better keep that spoon handy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110478369015929767?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110478369015929767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110478369015929767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2005/01/another-thought-on-hot-chocolate.html' title='Another Thought on Hot Chocolate'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110399065758439469</id><published>2004-12-25T10:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-12-25T10:04:17.583-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Great Googly Moogly</title><content type='html'>Wildest Christmas Present:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gift certificate to go sky-diving&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110399065758439469?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110399065758439469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110399065758439469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/12/great-googly-moogly.html' title='Great Googly Moogly'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110360035618255670</id><published>2004-12-20T21:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-12-20T21:39:16.183-06:00</updated><title type='text'>How Silly Am I?</title><content type='html'>After baking and baking and then baking some more until the kitchen counter was covered in tupperware boxes of cookies, I then bought three plates of cookies at a bake sale fundraiser. And just in case that didn't make our kitchen Cookie Central, my hunka-hunka Hubby got a tin of Mrs. Fields cookies in the mail. Can you hear me getting fatter?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110360035618255670?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110360035618255670'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110360035618255670'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/12/how-silly-am-i.html' title='How Silly Am I?'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110308119568146716</id><published>2004-12-14T21:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-12-14T21:26:35.680-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Murphy's Law</title><content type='html'>One of Murphy's Laws must certainly be that if Little Doggie is playing with his Gum Gum Bar (a flexible, stick-like chewing toy), he will most certainly play with it near the couches upstairs and most certainly the toy will roll under the couch where he can't reach it and he will most certainly scratch and scratch at the couch in attempt to get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is even morel likely to happen if you have just gotten the Gum Gum Bar out from under one of the couches and given it back to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110308119568146716?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110308119568146716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110308119568146716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/12/murphys-law.html' title='Murphy&apos;s Law'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110208103027155036</id><published>2004-12-03T07:35:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-12-03T07:37:10.270-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Obnoxious?</title><content type='html'>If someone is parked outside a movie theater and they're blocking traffic, is it really that obnoxious to roll down your window and tell them they are only 15 feet from an open parking spot?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110208103027155036?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110208103027155036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110208103027155036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/12/obnoxious.html' title='Obnoxious?'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110195626642328974</id><published>2004-12-01T20:51:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-12-01T20:57:46.423-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Crazy Neighbor Mom in a Bathrobe</title><content type='html'>I never did shower and put on any clothes besides the workout clothes I've been wearing all day. When I got cold, I threw on my bathrobe. I can't decide if it's a good thing or a bad thing that the neighbor boy who was over earlier didn't mention at all that I was walking around in my bathrobe all afternoon/evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's not a shy boy by any means, so if it occurred to him, he would've mentioned it. Maybe it's a good thing, maybe he didn't think anything of it because his mother also walks around in a bathrobe beyond the typical morning timeframe. But then again, maybe he's just so used to the Crazy Neighbor Mom not necessarily getting dressed by supper time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110195626642328974?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110195626642328974'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110195626642328974'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/12/crazy-neighbor-mom-in-bathrobe.html' title='Crazy Neighbor Mom in a Bathrobe'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110143346543836580</id><published>2004-11-25T19:41:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-25T19:44:25.436-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Additional Thanks</title><content type='html'>I have something else to be thankful for today. I just realized that both Scream and Yell went potty when they were here yesterday, and both did so with 100% accuracy. Yahoo, no puddles to mop up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110143346543836580?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110143346543836580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110143346543836580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/additional-thanks.html' title='Additional Thanks'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110140047483155620</id><published>2004-11-25T10:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-25T10:34:34.833-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling Thankful Today</title><content type='html'>I am blessed to have so many good things in my life. Everyone should be jealous of me and want my life. I am thankful for so many wonderful things in my life, many of which are possible because of wonderful Hubby, so at the top of the list is being &lt;strong&gt;thankful for Hubby&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I am also thankful for :&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;a great son&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;cute dog &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;a life of comfort - enough money to pay the bills and even some left over for fun stuff &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;friends - old and new &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;being a housewife &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;family being near&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;Besides the typical, I am also thankful for:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;such nice walk paths and parks so near by - especially the woodsy places &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;the library and all its free goodies to borrow - saves us thousands a year &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;having a choir carpool - Hallelujah! &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Snakwell's chocolate chip cookies - so yummy it's hard not to eat the whole box in one sitting &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;others enlisting to defend our country so Hubby or I don't have to &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;smiling and laughing every day&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/8756934-110140047483155620?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110140047483155620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110140047483155620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/feeling-thankful-today.html' title='Feeling Thankful Today'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110133663040529307</id><published>2004-11-24T16:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-24T16:50:30.406-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Crazy Pea Eater</title><content type='html'>I'm one of those weirdo healthy people that actually exercises regularly and actually eats fruits and vegetables. And I'm one of those anal-retentive weirdo healthy people that actually counts throughout the day to make sure I've eaten five servings of my fruits and vegetables. I'd much prefer to eat five candy bars and milkshakes a day, so it's a bit of a challenge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far I'm only at two. I've had a glass of orange juice and a bowl of applesauce. I'm usually at least to three by this time of day and get my last two with supper. Is it weird that when I first realized I was so far behind I thought to myself, "I'll just eat a can of peas"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I &lt;em&gt;love&lt;/em&gt; canned peas. No, really. I &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;love&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; canned peas. I've named myself the Crazy Pea Eater. Since we started eating healthier, we switched to frozen vegetables to cut down on the sodium, so it's been a couple years since I had canned peas. I'm totally making up for lost canned pea time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110133663040529307?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110133663040529307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110133663040529307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/crazy-pea-eater.html' title='Crazy Pea Eater'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110126194939397233</id><published>2004-11-23T20:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-23T20:05:49.393-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Hunting Class</title><content type='html'>While a father was telling about taking his sons deer hunting recently, he also mentioned that he thought gun safety should be taught in schools. I suggested it could be a unit in gym class, just like archery already is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you imagine how nuts some of the parents would be? It might be fun to suggest it to the school board just to give those tight-wad kind of parents a headache.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110126194939397233?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110126194939397233'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110126194939397233'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/hunting-class.html' title='Hunting Class'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110122333118798374</id><published>2004-11-23T09:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-23T09:22:11.186-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Who Would I Throw a Drink On?</title><content type='html'>Last night on the radio the two djs from &lt;a href="http://www.ks95.com/"&gt;KS95&lt;/a&gt;'s drive-home show wondering if anybody was so mad at or so disliked someone that they'd throw a drink on them. I started thinking who I might throw a drink on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I describe myself as a housewife with some piss and vinegar. Think &lt;a href="http://www.tvland.com/shows/litbeaver/character1.jhtml"&gt;June Cleaver&lt;/a&gt; with a potty mouth (though I try to keep these posts clean - Grandma does have internet). I can have a quick temper at times, so if caught in the wrong mood, I might throw a drink on anyone who pissed me off. But for the most part I behave. I can grin and bear it to the general public. Unfortunately I haven't mastered being so polite to my own family. Hubby and Son get the crabby lady, but I don't think I'd throw a drink on either of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a couple of guys who definitely deserve having a drink thrown on them. But I have to see them at Christmases, so it wouldn't be a wise thing to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess, after giving it some thought, there really isn't anyone who I would throw a drink on. I have a nasty enough mouth to retaliate with. (My husband recently told me I could be a juvenile corrections officer because I have a way of talking that would scare anyone into doing what they're supposed to...Son calls it the scary voice.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110122333118798374?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110122333118798374'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110122333118798374'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/who-would-i-throw-drink-on.html' title='Who Would I Throw a Drink On?'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110079880078673785</id><published>2004-11-18T11:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-18T11:26:40.786-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Phew! (wipe brow)</title><content type='html'>For some reason the notion that my ninth wedding anniversary was coming got in my head while I was vacuuming just now. I want to do something special for my hubby and I thought I only had six weeks to figure it out. I just looked at a calendar and it turns out I've got more like seven weeks to figure it out. yahoo! Now to think of something really great...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110079880078673785?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110079880078673785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110079880078673785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/phew-wipe-brow.html' title='Phew! (wipe brow)'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110079292864960816</id><published>2004-11-18T09:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-18T09:48:48.650-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Growing and growing and growing</title><content type='html'>Nearby there is a whole new town going up. Well, not really a whole new town, but just about. There's a new theater going up with 14 screens, a Culver's (yuck!), a Wal-Mart Super Store, 3 or 4 little strip malls, and Applebee's is on the way. The area has gotten so developed there's a new set of stop lights too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone who knew the area but hasn't been there for a while would think they were lost if they passed through. They'd probably think, "Something about this place is familiar, but only the number on the highway because nothing else is the same."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New businesses don't just pop up for no reason. There have been, of course, lots of neighborhoods going up in the area too. And this town isn't the only one to be growing like crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This all makes me wonder...are people reproducing so fast that the towns are growing like wildfire? Or are there little towns somewhere being sucked dry as everyone moves closer and closer to the metro area? What will these towns be like in 10 or fifteen years when the baby-boomers are reaching retirement age? Will all the restaurants close and instead bingo halls and denture places will open? Will the daycares change from caring for toddlers to caring for grandmas?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110079292864960816?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110079292864960816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110079292864960816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/growing-and-growing-and-growing.html' title='Growing and growing and growing'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110070534507672182</id><published>2004-11-17T09:25:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-17T09:29:51.890-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Interesting Link</title><content type='html'>I should be reading my assigned pages and poems for my online poetry class, but instead I'm surfing. I came across &lt;a href="http://drunkmenworkhere.org/memetree.php"&gt;this site&lt;/a&gt;. With a name like "Drunk Men Work Here" I was already intrigued. Click the little blue dot and see where it takes you. It's just like hitting the "next blog" button - just another way to surf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110070534507672182?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110070534507672182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110070534507672182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/interesting-link.html' title='Interesting Link'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110043933888195617</id><published>2004-11-14T07:31:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-14T07:35:38.880-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Morning</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Q:&lt;/strong&gt; What's a girl to do when she wakes up at 7 on a Sunday and her hubby is still sleeping (and probably will for hours longer)?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;A:&lt;/strong&gt; Surf the internet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110043933888195617?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110043933888195617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110043933888195617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/good-morning.html' title='Good Morning'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110029589231108198</id><published>2004-11-12T15:43:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-12T15:44:52.310-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Yuck</title><content type='html'>I have been blog-surfing and bent my neck down to stretch it out. The new position gave me a close-up of the keyboard and all the gunk in between and under the keys. Gross.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That reminds me... One day at the computer a few years back, a nasty black bug I had never seen before crawled out from under the keys and before I could grab a kleenex and kill it, it crawled back under the keys. I was too grossed out to use the keyboard for a couple of days, fearing the nasty bug would crawl out under my fingertips. Ew!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110029589231108198?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110029589231108198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110029589231108198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/yuck.html' title='Yuck'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-110019501253453110</id><published>2004-11-11T11:43:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-11T11:43:32.533-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Must....have.....cookie</title><content type='html'>Too bad chocolate chip cookies aren't good for you and aren't little secret pills for keeping your weight under control. If they were I'd be the healthiest, slimmest person around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sure can eat chocolate chip cookies. In fact, today I'm having a really hard time &lt;em&gt;not&lt;/em&gt; eating them. It doesn't help at all that I make some really kick-ass cookies. Think Soft Batch brand cookies, but without the chemical, lab-created taste. And if I should eat so many that I get sick of them (&lt;em&gt;doubt it&lt;/em&gt;), I can switch to my Grandma's recipe...another kick-ass version of the wonderful chocolate chip cookie, dry and crumbly - the perfect cookie for dunking in milk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-110019501253453110?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110019501253453110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/110019501253453110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/musthavecookie.html' title='Must....have.....cookie'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109994689563227097</id><published>2004-11-08T14:33:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-08T14:48:15.633-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Carcass Season</title><content type='html'>It's a bit of an odd thing to be stopped at a red light and realize that the shape stuffed in the back end of the truck in front of you is a dead deer. 'Tis the season.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I saw a weird one today. Again, stopped at a red light, I saw that the trailor in front of me had a deer lying on it. But this deer had eight legs. The second deer was smaller and couldn't be seen unless you really looked for it, except for its legs sticking up in the air. It looked like one, eight-legged mutant deer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109994689563227097?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109994689563227097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109994689563227097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/carcass-season.html' title='Carcass Season'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109959314800433477</id><published>2004-11-04T13:27:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2004-11-04T12:32:28.006-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Daycare Drop-off Blues</title><content type='html'>I feel sad for the working mothers of the world that have to leave their kids at daycare.  I am a housewife now, but my son went to daycarea couple times a week when he was a baby until he was 2.  Lucky for me, he loved to go.  I didn't have to go through the guilt trip that kids typically put on their parents when they're being dropped off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just brought my nephews to their daycare for my sister.  I've done this many times over the years, and rare is the time they go willingly.  There usually is one who is sad to go.  They've gone to 3 or 4 daycares over the years, and haven't liked a single one.  One or both will get such a sad look on their little face when I tell them I'm taking them to daycare instead of my house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It made me feel guilty to leave them there and I thought about just bringing them home with me.  It must really break a mother's heart to do that every morning.  I'm glad it isn't something I have to go through often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109959314800433477?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109959314800433477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109959314800433477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/11/daycare-drop-off-blues.html' title='Daycare Drop-off Blues'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109906399321200298</id><published>2004-10-29T10:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-29T10:39:13.916-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween Question for You</title><content type='html'>My husband went to work as the IT Fairy, complete with all pink clothes, fairy wings, a fairy tu-tu, and a fairy wand. My son is going to be Nintendo's Mario for Halloween. I'm ditching my usual daily fare of a housewife and instead dressing myself as a corporate merger lawyer who took a day off from work. What's your Halloween costume?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109906399321200298?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109906399321200298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109906399321200298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/10/halloween-question-for-you.html' title='Halloween Question for You'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109847204290174514</id><published>2004-10-22T09:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-22T14:07:22.900-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling Cold Today</title><content type='html'>Is it sad that washing the dishes, the chore I like least, feels good today because I am so cold and the water is so warm?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109847204290174514?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109847204290174514'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109847204290174514'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/10/feeling-cold-today.html' title='Feeling Cold Today'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109836384978952866</id><published>2004-10-21T07:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-21T08:04:09.790-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Too Cozy</title><content type='html'>I put our flannel sheets on our bed a couple of days ago. We have regular cotton sheets for the summer, those sheets feel cool to the touch and are great for the warm weather. We have flannel sheets for the winter, they feel warm and cozy to get us through the torture that is winter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both yesterday morning and this morning I had a heck of a time forcing myself to get out of bed. Our bed is very cozy on its own because of the pillowtop mattress, but with the addition of the flannel sheets it's just too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to pee like crazy this morning, but kept holding it because I didn't want to get out of the cozy bed. It's that cozy! I can't believe my son still wants his summer sheets on. Before I made my bed this morning I thought about having him climb in our bed to see what coziness he's missing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109836384978952866?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109836384978952866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109836384978952866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/10/too-cozy.html' title='Too Cozy'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109822249070473133</id><published>2004-10-19T16:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-19T16:48:10.703-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Mayor of Exchange City</title><content type='html'>I'm having a Brady Bunch day. Remember the episode where Jan has a campaign to be voted Most Popular Girl? Well, my son is running for mayor at school as his 5th grade class practice being grown ups on their field trip to &lt;a href="http://www.exchangecityusa.com/Home/default.htm"&gt;Exchange City&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After school he and I made a list of his qualifications for mayor. He has now gone to his friend's house. His friend is his campaign manager. Together they're going to work on his speech and work on making buttons to pass out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I should bake brownies to pass out like Alice would. There are two other kids running for mayor, both are girls. I think the girl votes will be split between those two and the boys will vote for my son. That gives him the advantage. Ha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109822249070473133?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109822249070473133'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109822249070473133'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/10/mayor-of-exchange-city.html' title='Mayor of Exchange City'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109806433802202875</id><published>2004-10-17T20:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-17T20:52:18.023-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Fall Sets In</title><content type='html'>It was another cold, cloudy day today. It drizzled a little this afternoon, and then turned into a freezing rain. Every fall when it first gets cold it's always a bummer to know that the warm days of summer and really over. And even worse to think that the nasty cold days are coming.&lt;br /&gt;I do have one good thing about it getting cold out, besides looking forward to sledding. I have a great fall coat to wear. Super cute. Uncut tan cord with a fur(ish) collar and cuffs. The best part of it...it was only $12. Yeah, $12.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was all set to buy the coat on a shopping spree in August when I thought the coat was $60, and even more ready to buy the coat when I found out it was 40% off. When I finally went up and paid it was on sale even more and rang up at only $11.90 - what a steal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cousin I was shopping was pretty bummed over it though. While I was celebrating my super-huge savings, she was wondering why the coat was $24 for her. I thought it was pretty funny that she was glad to get the coat when it was 40% off of $60, but then it wasn't such a good price when it rang up (probably wrong) for me and was so low.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, ya win some and ya lose some, right. Glad I was a win some this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109806433802202875?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109806433802202875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109806433802202875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/10/fall-sets-in.html' title='Fall Sets In'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109813220114529687</id><published>2004-10-13T11:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-18T15:43:21.146-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Blustery Day</title><content type='html'>Brrr...it sure looks like a chilly day out there. The last few days have been sunshine and 70, the last of the year I'm sure. I knew yesterday was supposed to be the last of the warm weather and then today it was supposed to be yucky so I mowed the lawn yesterday. Hopefully for the last time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today looks like a good day to hide under a blanket and watch a movie. Lucky for me I picked up a couple from the library yesterday. I watched &lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0120679/"&gt;Frida&lt;/a&gt; last night - good movie, interesting lady. I still have &lt;a href="http://www.cin-o-matic.com/m.php?MID=130"&gt;The Station Agent &lt;/a&gt;and the library website shows that &lt;a href="http://www.cin-o-matic.com/m.php?MID=323"&gt;Dirty Dancing: Havanna Nights &lt;/a&gt;came in for me today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That reminds me, I should go to &lt;a href="http://www.blockbuster.com/homepages/LoadBlockbusterHomepage.action"&gt;blockbuster.com&lt;/a&gt; to see what DVDs are coming out soon so I can put them on my request list at the library. Rent overnight for $4...borrow 5 days for free. I can stand to wait a little and get it from the library.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109813220114529687?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109813220114529687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109813220114529687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/10/blustery-day.html' title='Blustery Day'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109813208390967941</id><published>2004-10-12T20:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-18T15:41:23.910-05:00</updated><title type='text'>In Line</title><content type='html'>I read a poem today that was assigned for the current unit in my online poetry class. It's called "Of Time and the Line" by Charles Bernstein. It uses a lot, maybe all, the different meanings for the word line. Never thought about how many there are until I saw them put together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reading the poem reminded me of a great movie moment. In the movie "Michael" starring John Travolta as an angel he says (something like - I'm paraphrasing) "Standing in line...yeah, I invented that."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109813208390967941?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109813208390967941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109813208390967941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/10/in-line.html' title='In Line'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109813227182932442</id><published>2004-10-08T15:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-18T15:44:31.830-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Beauty Of Fall Trees</title><content type='html'>I've been noticing my trees have gone from the green of summer to the lime green and now yellow of fall. I love this time of year. I love to see all the different colors on the trees.A special treat is going out to Lake Maria State Park and hiking through the golden trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last fall I brough my camera with on one of my hike's and took at least a hundred pictures. It was all too good to pass up. Right outside the park ranger station is the best fall tree. It's a big maple tree with a nice rounded shape. This time of year it's a great glow of fiery red and orange. The perfect fall tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so glad that my life is slow enough that I could notice the changes in my own trees. Everyday they have been just a little different. Slight enough that others might not notice, drastic enough that my view out the window is different every day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109813227182932442?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109813227182932442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109813227182932442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/10/beauty-of-fall-trees.html' title='Beauty Of Fall Trees'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8756934.post-109800176413049090</id><published>2004-09-10T03:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-10-22T14:08:59.533-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wasp Nazi</title><content type='html'>I've become the Wasp Nazi. No, not WASP, as in white Anglo-Saxon people, wasp as in buzz, buzz, sting, kill dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of weeks ago my dog was stung by something and had a terrible allergic reaction that made him throw up, collapse, have shallow breathing (think gasping for breath), and then &lt;a href="http://feelingcrazytoday.blogspot.com/2004/09/bumps-and-bumps-of-hives.html"&gt;bumps and bumps of hives&lt;/a&gt; all over his little body. He's a Boston terrier so there isn't much to his body, only 19 lbs. Cute as the dickens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the vet said each allergic reaction will get worse, so we have to keep a syringe of epinepherine in the fridge and bring with us wherever we take him in case he gets stung and needs a shot. Seeings as this last sting was so bad, the next one would probably do him in for sure. We don't want that. He's like a little toddler in our house wearing a furry dog costume. We cuddle him like a baby and my son plays with him (and sometimes squabbles with him) as if he's a brother. He's definately part of the family, not just some mere pet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days ago I saw a few wasps flying above my garage, so I had my husband climb up there and spray killer on what looks like the start of a hive in our overhang. I still have seen some wasps flying above the garage, so I took the screen out of the living room window and have been hanging out the window a bit to spray the little suckers before they can get to my little dog. So far I've sprayed and killed at least ten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like a gun-slinging cowboy in the Old West. I've got my weapon ready for the draw. I sit and watch, waiting for my opportunity, and then it's Go Time. After I've sprayed the little demon I have the urge to blow at the end of my spray can of wasp killer, as if I'm a cowboy blowing away the smoke from the end of a pistol. I'll have to work on my can twirling skills though, and I'll have to find a holster for the can to go in while not in use to be a real wasp-shooting cowboy, er, cow&lt;em&gt;girl&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yee Ha!&lt;br /&gt;I guess now I have to ride off into the sunset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8756934-109800176413049090?l=fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109800176413049090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8756934/posts/default/109800176413049090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fctrandomthoughts.blogspot.com/2004/09/wasp-nazi.html' title='Wasp Nazi'/><author><name>Crazed</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13351348264894016461</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
