tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8372016063589407992024-03-12T23:06:43.216-05:00Everyday UnderwearWhere life meets Cindy Brown and manifests as humor...Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-39978822703640722752015-06-19T15:37:00.000-05:002017-07-23T16:19:16.822-05:00Them Grammar Statistics Ain't Right, Is They?Hello, peeps. I am very busy trying to move out of state (from IL to FL), so I'm dealing with buying and selling, the realtor, the banker, the inspectors, inspectors, inspectors, and all of the fun things involved with moving. Thus, my dear blog has been somewhat silent lately. I hate to ignore my poor blog, so today, being a true blue word nerd, I decided to post an infographic provided by Grammarly.<br />
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<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: black;">What do you think of the profile? Does anything stand out to you?<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"><br /></a></span></span>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"><br /></a>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null"><img a="" alt="Anatomy of a Grammar Nerd Infographic" src="http://www.grammarly.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2015/05/anatomy-01.jpg" height="2800" width="500" /></a>
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Everyday Underwear readers, the thing that stood out to me was the way the statistic about grammar enthusiasts' marital statuses was worded, "50% of grammar enthusiasts are single." Think about that for a moment. My brain immediately went through that statement and pulled out the thought that a high percentage of grammar nerds are single! But that isn't what it says. As many grammar nerds are married as are single, apparently, but the fact that the word single is the only one mentioned makes it stand out and makes your brain think that it's a majority. At least, mine did. I'm curious, did yours do the same thing?<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-2782282644813666072015-05-03T19:14:00.000-05:002015-05-03T19:26:47.283-05:00Penis InterruptusHey, guess what? I'm not dead! And furthermore, I'm doing another penis post! That's right, as if one <a href="http://www.everydayunderwear.com/2014/02/happy-valentines-day-now-put-your-penis.html" target="_blank">penis post</a> on Everyday Underwear wasn't enough... I've had another accidental penis-ing.<br />
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Yes, I believe it's high time I address the <i>longfellow </i>again since I was recently assaulted by such a fleshy intruder. By the way, may I just tell you that I found a resource listing 174 ways to call a penis something other than a penis and so I'll be using that. I'll be using that a lot.<br />
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Have you ever received a one-eyed snake picture out of the blue? I'm not referring to random porn spam. I'm talking about personalized pork sword sent straight to your instant messenger app. No? Just me? <i>Well, that figures</i>.<br />
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Funny story. I had a guest post candidate picked. I had befriended him long ago online and was impressed with his work. I even gave some free criticism and consultation to him on his writing and website. He was a good writer and I accepted his guest post submission, with some tweaking. He presented nothing but professionalism to the highest degree in our dealings. We played Words with Friends, talked writing, and he was a very down to earth and eager writer in search of a leg up.<br />
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One Saturday night around 12:30, I received an instant message notification that he had sent a picture. I was busy doing my own thing and didn't immediately look, but figured it was a beach picture. Odd that he would send one at that time of the night, but whatever. He just so happens to live in the area to which I will soon be moving. Yes, I've been a bit busy selling our house and buying another one in Florida, but more on that another time. Right now, we're talking about the skin flute.<br />
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Before I had a chance to finish what I was doing and look at the picture, I received several panicked messages in a row from him in the following vein:<br />
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"OMG, I'm so sorry!"<br />
"Oh no, I didn't mean to send that to you!"<br />
"Please forgive me. That was meant for someone else!"<br />
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<i>Hmmmm, </i>I thought. I bet I know what it is, but I could be wrong. Sending a picture of a tallywhacker doesn't seem like something he would do at all.<br />
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I held my breath and cautiously opened the message, knowing that I would have to scroll past whatever it was in order to read the messages, and hopefully the explanation for whatever this offending picture could be.<br />
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My face says it all:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsC5WgL2OrsWpGoWHtzyE_X6-iAujC3Pv1_bhw1ofuAKe34sdfj-2mFNu_pbWeqU4YI7Y5hyphenhyphend_nHzr3hlzihZ8OWt3QiyqG-8o15yHq4lGz_ksvpq91CVqd1MmFbGqOf7IkK0Jsor-x9-d/s1600/Penis+Reaction.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsC5WgL2OrsWpGoWHtzyE_X6-iAujC3Pv1_bhw1ofuAKe34sdfj-2mFNu_pbWeqU4YI7Y5hyphenhyphend_nHzr3hlzihZ8OWt3QiyqG-8o15yHq4lGz_ksvpq91CVqd1MmFbGqOf7IkK0Jsor-x9-d/s1600/Penis+Reaction.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Yep, it was, in fact, a schlong-a-long-a-ding-dong, ready for business.<br />
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<i>Oh crap, not this, </i>I thought. What am I supposed to do with that! (Blog about it, of course. <i>Duhhhh!</i>) <i>Oh, dear. Oh, dear. I wasn't expecting this. What the heck?</i><br />
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My immediate thought was to block him from all connected channels without a word. But then, I determined that it probably really was a horrible mistake and I should give the guy the benefit of the doubt that this was a terrible mistake, never to be perpetrated upon me again.<br />
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I don't remember exactly how I responded, but I took the cool cucumber (no pun intended) approach and humorously chided him, telling him it was lucky he sent it to a cool chick like me and not to his mother. I figured by the late Saturday night hour that he was quite possibly intoxicated. I could tell by his responses that he was very embarrassed and regretful and I pointed out to him that he would live in fear for the rest of his life that I would blog about his wiener schnitzel, which I unashamedly am doing - right - now.<br />
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I pointed out to him that I had done a penis post before and shared the link. It was then that he crossed the line just a teeny weeny bit. He asked me what I thought of his junk. I knew better than to respond in any encouraging way and told him that I had already deleted the picture from my memory and would never be thinking of it again. I also deleted the entire message thread so that I couldn't even accidentally see it again. I'm happily married. I have no desire for accidental eye-strange, as I've stated before.<br />
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<a href="http://rachelintheoc.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Rachel Thompson</a> would slap me upside the head for not blocking him immediately. It's truly a sexual abuse survivor's worst nightmare to be accosted by a strange baloney pony. Luckily, I am healed of past transgressions and it was no trigger for me. But for some women, it would be a major setback to have this happen.<br />
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I took some time to let the whole thing sink in and analyze what to do with the situation, and after a great deal of thought, I decided that I could not promote his work on my blog. It was actually a very hard (no pun intended) decision to make. However, I couldn't get past the fact that if he accidentally did this to me, he might accidentally do it to someone else; someone else in a professional capacity, hiring him because I featured him on my blog.<br />
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It was a bad mistake on his part. I e-mailed him and told him of my decision and said that I hoped he could understand why I could no longer put up his post, which was scheduled to be my next one, within the week.<br />
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This next part... well, I just can't even...<br />
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He e-mailed me back and said that he was shocked about my decision, but that it was my blog and <i>whatever</i> and wished me luck.<br />
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As I contemplated how to respond, possibly suggesting an explanation or something rational from him as to why he was sending disco stick pictures to anyone, especially in light of the fact that he had just commented before that on Facebook that he was okay with being alone and not dating, which I was wanting to verify that I remembered correctly, I realized that he had blocked me from every connection we had.<br />
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Yes, you read that right. He. Blocked. Me.<br />
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Wait, he blocked me? Oh my God, he blocked me for real. HE blocked ME.<br />
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Well, I never. The audacity! His maturity level presented itself in a glorious all-time low. I refrained from responding or reacting publicly because - well, why? I had better things to focus on at the time.<br />
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I am now compelled to add this rule to my guest blogging guidelines.<br />
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"If you, at any point, either accidentally or purposefully, send me a picture of your genitalia, I will be forced to remove you as a candidate for publication on Everyday Underwear."<br />
--<i>Sincerely, the Management</i><br />
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Thank you and good night.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-76829532420605606452015-01-27T20:26:00.000-06:002015-01-28T19:21:43.323-06:00Stepping Into the Lymelight... Again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOXCGywuZ6cyc9tbJEj-pVq2Tscv_x-W5QRwlXMiiqIwi94GVMWPqQ16NcsN1lEBB9qBK9Fl8Xso2waeOCFeB5SjmgeqxVThIC4O9rJ5bc0-sM-Owv672izBpgCl_mJd3g8Cvr26kBRr5/s1600/Lyme+Ribbon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOXCGywuZ6cyc9tbJEj-pVq2Tscv_x-W5QRwlXMiiqIwi94GVMWPqQ16NcsN1lEBB9qBK9Fl8Xso2waeOCFeB5SjmgeqxVThIC4O9rJ5bc0-sM-Owv672izBpgCl_mJd3g8Cvr26kBRr5/s1600/Lyme+Ribbon.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a></div>
You may have noticed a decrease in the amount of posts I've been churning out lately. I know, it's paltry, to say the least. Let me update you on what I am up against.<br />
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On October 11, 2014, not even a prime-time-for-ticks month, I found a tick attached. This is no new news for me, the self-purported queen of ticks. But this one was different. He was very cleverly hidden beneath my left buttock, right where my underwear elastic hits. Even though I check for ticks meticulously, this area was very hard to see and I missed it. I knew it had been there for 24-36 hours, though, because I had felt it and thought I had successfully brushed it away after a walk. Apparently, I hadn't. Or he was hiking my body on the buddy system and I got him, but not his friend.<br />
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I discovered him because of the pain. It literally woke me up in the middle of the night. The pain was sharp and intense where he was attached and I knew immediately this was no ordinary tick bite. They usually do not involve pain like that.<br />
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Having been to this rodeo before, I knew that antibodies would not even show up yet if I were to be tested, so I waited and sure enough, two weeks later, I could tell I had been reinfected. My doctor agreed to test me, but lo and behold, the results were negative on 10/27/14. The lab also admittedly did not know what to test me for and also told me, "Tell us what to do!" Still, their testing did not produce any results. Thankfully, a full two years after my first Lyme diagnosis nightmare, which she was fully aware of, she told me that I knew more about Lyme than she did and that she would put me on whatever I suggested at whatever dosage I felt I should have and she agreed to refer me to a Lyme Literate Medical Doctor.<br />
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I went to see my new LLMD on December 10 and was again tested, this time with LabCorp, a doctor who knew what to look for and test for, and antibodies with ample time to present themselves, even though I'd been treating with Doxycycline already. I was both glad and sad that yep, I had Lyme again. I am not even sure if it is a new infection or the old one reactivated, or chronic Lyme, which some say doesn't exist, but the nurse said they felt like it was a new infection. Nevertheless, I have it. I also was surprised to learn that I have Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever and reactivated Epstein-Barr Virus. I also had two forms of Pneumonia show up, but from what I understand, they are not current infections, just remnants of something not caught years ago. Lyme can reactivate things laying dormant in the body.<br />
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I have been put on a slew of medicine. My LLMD didn't even wait, he said the clinical diagnosis and the fact that I had such a strong positive the first time in the Lyme rodeo and the fact that symptoms had never completely resolved were enough to warrant treatment before the results came back. So I am now taking Folic Acid, Metronidazole, Nystatin, Doxycycline (twice the dosage as before) and Fluconazole. I also take a probiotic, a Salt/Vitamin C regimen, a multivitamin, and a Professional Bio-Active Silver Hydrosol called Argentyn 23. If I can remember, I also use oregano oil and Bragg's Apple Cider Vinegar.<br />
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However, I've been getting sicker and sicker since the beginning of January. Today, I was so sick that I could not even take my meds. The mere thought of swallowing one of those pills made me nauseous. I knew I wouldn't keep them down. I got up to get the girls off to school, went back to bed for a few hours, got back up and ate breakfast, then lay back down for most of the afternoon, totally zonked and feeling like I'd been hit by a bus.<br />
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My symptoms are very similar to what they were before my initial diagnosis in 2012.<br />
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<br />
<ul>
<li>Weak, shaky feeling, especially in the legs</li>
<li>Easily fatigued doing normal things</li>
<li>Itching and pressure at the base of the back of my head</li>
<li>Trouble thinking</li>
<li>Trouble with both long-term and short-term memory</li>
<li>Cry easily</li>
<li>Joints popping</li>
<li>Joint stiffness</li>
<li>Rashes</li>
<li>Unexplained sharp pains in the body</li>
<li>Major sleep disturbance</li>
</ul>
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This disease is awful. I am hoping that the medicines are causing die-off (also known as a Jarisch-Herxheimer reaction) and that I am actually seeing the results of that and it isn't the medicines making me sick. It's so hard to tell. I spend about 50% of my day sitting around on the couch, mumbling, "I don't feel good..." to the point that I don't even want to say it anymore because I feel like such a whiner.</div>
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I have a life to live, dang it! I don't have time for this. But I must make time for it or it will kill me. Yes, people can die from Lyme disease, in case you didn't know that. I've had those days. Today, I told my husband I felt like I was on my death bed. He brought me orange sherbet and made me supper and massaged me and it has helped a lot. I feel tremendously better and as I write this, I feel like I might just be able to be normal tomorrow. Lyme is like that for me. From hour to hour, I'm never sure how I will feel.</div>
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Remember, you don't know what a person is dealing with behind closed doors and my disease is one of those "invisible" diseases. Most days. I don't look sick, but I am fighting for my life. Tomorrow, you might see me out and about, doing my normal Wednesday routine, looking like nothing in the world is wrong, when just a day prior, I felt close to death. Earlier today, I felt weak, useless, down in spirit, simply ill.</div>
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The good news is that my immune system is good and fighting like mad to defeat the army of tick borne nasties wreaking havoc in my blood, cells, joints, and organs. I have a good doctor and am being offered an opportunity to try another therapy which I will be blogging about in the future. It helps things besides Lyme, so if it's awesome, I will be more than happy to tell you about it!</div>
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I don't want to talk about my illness a lot on this blog. It's supposed to be a humor blog and full of funny sentences. I'm just not finding the joy to be able to spread it lately, but don't give up on me. I'll be back. You can bet your buns, I'll be back. Hopefully, my funny bone will remain unaffected by spirochetes and Everyday Underwear can return to what it once was. I'm a writer and I will do whatever it takes to regain the ability to entertain you. I just have to focus on this little bug for a bit.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-83957308184753637652014-12-25T00:11:00.000-06:002014-12-25T00:11:18.324-06:00If You Love Christmas, Don't Read This PostChristmas is all about sugary goodies, holiday spirit, giving, family and love. Oh, and of course, Christ. You go to that special church service and watch small children enact and recite things badly and butcher Christmas songs. And you still go, <i>awwwww</i>, because that's what you do. You go to grandma's, your in-laws', your step-family's get-together, and maybe drink too much at a holiday work party. You shop and wrap until you are physically damaged and you brave malls and cyberspace with enthusiasm to find everyone the perfect gift.<br />
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And if you are a parent, you play the special role of Santa, which involves all sorts of tasks that require staying up later than the kids, which can get very, very, very late as they get older.<br />
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Most years, I enjoy all of this.<br />
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But sometimes... well... I get sick of Christmas.<br />
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This year, I love Christmas! Last year, however, my husband and I made a bold decision. We were sick of Christmas and we wanted OUT! That's right. We wanted nothing to do with Christmas last year. We wanted to escape it, as a matter of fact, and that's just what we did.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioKex3XuhyphenhyphenkcQHYqt5AwW3UhSKXIm3KHp7nm0TvxSFks9ZJSQs8K7oUjyRt_6BHohbl2BHGp7hSWlYNV-i4NazxfXDYv13c2f0ATuw_rmvfQLbKflThA19j_nat43rsuu_E7Yc44Fkx0sa/s1600/Christmas+Tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioKex3XuhyphenhyphenkcQHYqt5AwW3UhSKXIm3KHp7nm0TvxSFks9ZJSQs8K7oUjyRt_6BHohbl2BHGp7hSWlYNV-i4NazxfXDYv13c2f0ATuw_rmvfQLbKflThA19j_nat43rsuu_E7Yc44Fkx0sa/s1600/Christmas+Tree.jpg" height="320" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home, Christmas 2014, refreshed!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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We called the grandmas and asked if they could watch our cherubs (13 and 15 year old girls, at the time), take care of some of our animals, found boarding for our indoor/outdoor dog and special needs dog, handed off the presents, and told everyone, "We're outta here!" We took off and had a fantastic and much needed vacation in Florida.<br />
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It was the first vacation my husband and I had alone in 10 years of marriage. We had been so stressed out by raising kids, pressures of work and the feast or famine nature of my husband's job, family matters, church obligations, busy schedules, and the commercialization of what was supposed to be a holiday in honor of the birth of Christ. We'd had it. We just didn't care anymore.<br />
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We needed a break. We needed adventure. We needed new surroundings. We needed rest. We needed complete rejuvenation. It sounds like we were being giant Christmas scrooges, but honestly, it was one of the best things we've ever done. More than once, as we relaxed in the warm weather, away from the Christmastime demands of home, we drank a glass of wine with dinner and became emotional, shedding tears of released stress.<br />
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We learned something about ourselves on that trip. We learned that it's okay to take a break now and again from tradition. We learned the earth won't stop spinning if we're not home for Christmas. We learned that we are not comfortable living an existence of "making do" and going through the motions day after day, year after year. We learned that we need a break from our kids. We learned that we need a break from family. We learned that we need a break from church. We learned that we needed a break from Christmas craziness. We learned we needed to socialize and travel, meeting new people and seeing new places.<br />
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It. Was. Blissful.<br />
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Instead of spending Christmas Day doing the same old thing, we instead started the day with a gourmet breakfast in bed plus fresh fruit at the Bed & Breakfast, complete with mimosas on the little porch outside our suite.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvqTjfF2fmyJSKxGg9lrhv567x1m5ct8Hd07Xmv2EZpSnNQfNzIziWZAxcs2gIwBFYqYm0DvD1N7q0T6qK0Q8xDcfoBBf64G9uoVx3z_iGDR3cbCtEShunMu2gCbDVLJhVpTsVmOxE3vs/s1600/Mimosa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNvqTjfF2fmyJSKxGg9lrhv567x1m5ct8Hd07Xmv2EZpSnNQfNzIziWZAxcs2gIwBFYqYm0DvD1N7q0T6qK0Q8xDcfoBBf64G9uoVx3z_iGDR3cbCtEShunMu2gCbDVLJhVpTsVmOxE3vs/s1600/Mimosa.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Coombs Inn, Apalachicola, FL</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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My husband went fishing at the nearby ocean. We met another couple from Italy at the B&B (in America celebrating their honeymoon) and on Christmas evening, we cooked them supper. We shared stories with our new friends and laughed and discussed the difference in our cultures. The wife spoke little English, but the husband spoke English fairly well. Giulia and Alberto Alberti were so interesting, friendly, and warm and we really enjoyed our new friendship with them. We could not have had that experience in Vandalia, IL!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhVr7r5_qRWK-wtfwWGY7bPeoDU8oMEJoWiEV531u7Qk5F26wrl-4ph5lxHTNfoTsZl1U8vXZGHFimWaCfqEdOvrHtr40h0ETEsePXX1CtCpvNhjLwbBJv1QCiDO5UCSAiIlvJT02aV-R/s1600/IMG_2461.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJhVr7r5_qRWK-wtfwWGY7bPeoDU8oMEJoWiEV531u7Qk5F26wrl-4ph5lxHTNfoTsZl1U8vXZGHFimWaCfqEdOvrHtr40h0ETEsePXX1CtCpvNhjLwbBJv1QCiDO5UCSAiIlvJT02aV-R/s1600/IMG_2461.JPG" height="223" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giulia, my husband Neil, me, and Alberto</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We came back refreshed and ready to face reality again. And this year, I couldn't have been happier about Christmas. I didn't mind the over-commercialization. I braved the mall, Walmart, and cyberspace in search of perfect gifts. I hummed Christmas tunes. I wrapped presents until my criss-crossed legs went numb. We're participating in all of the get-togethers with joyful anticipation. I attended the church program and appropriately went, <i>awwwwww</i>, because that's what you do. I'm happy that Jesus was born and that we celebrate that birth.<br />
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I'm happy to say that we escaped Christmas last year so that we could love it once again. We're considering going away every other year now. I'm giving you permission to do this, too. Refresh. Rejuvenate. And just maybe, once in a while, you might even take the kids.<br />
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I wish you all a wonderful holiday season. Be safe. Be love. Be free.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-11253920129559269292014-11-02T15:53:00.001-06:002014-11-03T11:19:26.416-06:00Four local lives lost - please help!I'm afraid to say that today isn't a good news Cindy's being funny again kind of day. I do have many serious subjects to talk about for a while, and this one is worthy of blog space and sharing, for sure.<br />
<br />
Thursday night, my daughter was in the local Halloween parade. She was already in town with the other cheerleaders and my oldest daughter went in to watch. I stayed home from the parade for the first time. It's always so cold and the parade is so long! I was happy to not be begged to go this year.<br />
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From my warm and comfy couch, I read with horror on Facebook that there had been a train/vehicle accident right by the parade route and there were fatalities. I must admit, I thought, "Oh no, I bet it's my daughter." She just got her license recently and I honestly did think, like many others that night about their own loved ones, "Was it her?"<br />
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I took a deep breath and sent texts to both of my children, in true optimistic humorous fashion:<br />
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<i>"I heard there was a train accident. Please confirm your continued existence."</i><br />
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Within the hour, I knew that my babies were alive and well. But one family in our community wasn't so lucky to receive that text or a reassuring call.<br />
<br />
A mother from a nearby town on her way to the parade became trapped on the tracks with a freight train bearing down on her and the gates closed around her. She tried to get out, but was unable. It was dark, rainy, and a confusing crossing site.<br />
<br />
She has five children. Four were in the vehicle with her. Three children were killed on impact; 18 year old Alyssa, 13 year old Drake, and 10 year old Abbie. Another son, 9 years old, was in the vehicle, but is expected to survive. The mother, Crystal, died the following day. The fifth child and the husband/father were not in the vehicle.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://2dbdd5116ffa30a49aa8-c03f075f8191fb4e60e74b907071aee8.ssl.cf1.rackcdn.com/2475542_1414844480.565_funddescription.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2dbdd5116ffa30a49aa8-c03f075f8191fb4e60e74b907071aee8.ssl.cf1.rackcdn.com/2475542_1414844480.565_funddescription.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Four lives taken, just like that. I can't imagine the heartbreak the surviving members of this family are experiencing. The challenges they face are insurmountable. A funeral bill should be the last thing on their list of things to figure out how to take care of. It has been rough on the whole community... heartbreaking, even if you had no idea who they were. My oldest daughter knew the oldest girl and several of my daughter's friends were close friends with the girl.<br />
<br />
Please give a donation to their GoFundMe campaign to help pay for the massive funeral costs <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/crystalbone" target="_blank">here</a>. Hug your loved ones. Pray for the survivors. And please share the fundraising campaign on your social media sites. I can't stop thinking, <i>that could have been me and my kids. </i>And it could have. I count each day more precious than before.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, our fate is beyond our control, but what the community at large does to rally around in a time of need is something that truly renews my faith in mankind. We are a good people and we want to help. For this reason, I remain glad for my continued existence as a human being. Forgo your latte this week and help this family, I beg of you. They are half way to the goal of $30,000 in just two days. EVERY donation counts. Thank you!<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-46635328928508800812014-10-15T20:14:00.001-05:002014-10-15T20:14:21.560-05:00Poke It! (An Everyday Underwear short video)<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yBxXkRkyAao" width="459"></iframe><div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-2624469093448180612014-10-10T07:00:00.000-05:002014-10-10T07:46:58.737-05:00The Wrong Direction - Guest Post by Cara Lopez Lee<i>Hello, readers! Cindy Brown here. After repeated inquiries from Everyday Underwear followers (and even strangers), I'm very excited to announce that I will begin taking submissions for guest posts and will begin peppering them into the mix here on Everyday Underwear.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I am putting this regular feature into motion with someone I met when I first started my blog, Cara Lopez Lee. It didn't take long for me to see that if Cara and I lived closer, we would be fast friends. She is a great writer and a wonderful and funny lady and I'm pleased to promote the 2014 release of her book today. I love reading about her travels. Please send her some comment love and follow her links.</i><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJd1Iygk3q2VjxFphBTOzpQ20kYNgSvrA0aBAY507EENeMf2poR15mriHm5n9XT1okx_eS6rCmzXquweI4qGR4yKrcn1X5DzG6fpNV2ogZvMY6b0QPv_S-3WMAGhrBOgw0FAyoWynW5uWq/s1600/They+Only+Eat+Their+Husbands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJd1Iygk3q2VjxFphBTOzpQ20kYNgSvrA0aBAY507EENeMf2poR15mriHm5n9XT1okx_eS6rCmzXquweI4qGR4yKrcn1X5DzG6fpNV2ogZvMY6b0QPv_S-3WMAGhrBOgw0FAyoWynW5uWq/s1600/They+Only+Eat+Their+Husbands.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This
month <a href="http://conundrum-press.com/">Conundrum
Press</a>
has released the new 2014 edition of <a href="http://conundrum-press.com/they-only-eat-their-husbands-love-travel-and-the-power-of-running-away/"><i>They
Only Eat Their Husbands: Love, Travel, and the Power of Running Away</i></a>,
a memoir by fellow blogger Cara Lopez Lee. When Cara was twenty-six,
an alcoholic boyfriend threatened to shoot her if she didn't stop
talking. Cara admits she’s a chatterbox, but says she felt pretty
sure he was overreacting. So she ran away…to Alaska. Cara further
admits that if her goal was to avoid drinkers, or guns, she might
have run in the wrong direction. In Alaska, she landed in a love
triangle with two alcoholics: Sean the martial artist, and Chance the
paramedic. Nine years later, sick of love, she ran again, to backpack
around the world alone. <span style="color: #1a1a1a;"><i>They
Only Eat Their Husbands</i></span><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">
is an honest, insightful, funny account of her journey to
self-discovery—against the backdrop of Alaska, California, China,
Thailand, Nepal, Greece, Italy, Spain, and Ireland.</span>
The following is an excerpt from her memoir, which is <a href="http://conundrum-press.com/they-only-eat-their-husbands-love-travel-and-the-power-of-running-away/">now
available</a>:
</span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>The Wrong Direction</b></span></h2>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Excerpt
from</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><b>They
Only Eat Their Husbands</b></i></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>By
Cara Lopez Lee</b></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
most active volcano in Europe, Stromboli raises hell in the vacation
paradise of Sicily’s Aeoli Islands. The mountain rises from the sea
to vent its fury in constant explosions of viscous lava, volcanic
bombs, steam clouds, and ash. It erupts several times an hour,
creating flashes in the sky like a beacon in the night, earning
Stromboli the nickname “Lighthouse of the Mediterranean.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
volcano has been erupting like that for at least 2000 years. In 1919,
during one of its more violent tantrums, the giant threw multi-ton
blocks at the villages of Stromboli and Ginostra, killing four people
and destroying a dozen homes.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A
small pleasure boat took us to Stromboli Island. The little island is
only the 900-meter-high tip of the volcano, which rises more than
2000 meters from the floor of the Tyrrhenian Sea.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Our
tour group was three Italian couples of various ages, and me. I sat
alone and silent in the bow, sprayed mercilessly with water and the
colorful confetti of Italian conversation. I assumed none of them
spoke English, until a blond woman who looked as if she’d stepped
out of a sailing brochure turned amused blue eyes my way and said,
“You are really wet!” The boat had churned up enough spray to
turn me into a sparkling pillar of saltwater. I laughed politely, an
awkward seal-like cough. I could think of nothing to say. I felt so
conspicuously single.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As
we approached the island, we were escorted by a cheerful contingent
of leaping dolphins, but my attention was on the swirling white
clouds circling the bald upper reaches of the green-flanked volcano.
There was something odd about those clouds; the rest of the
illimitable sky was a spotless azure. It took me a moment to realize
the clouds were not the aftermath of yesterday’s storm, but the
result of heat rising from the craters hidden in their midst.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
blurted, <i>“Che
bella vulcano! Il . . . il . . . nubes suben la caldera!”</i>
in a muddy blend of Italian and Spanish that probably meant nothing,
but got everyone’s attention.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh!”
exclaimed Mrs. Blond Sailing Brochure. She tapped her blond brochure
husband on the arm, pointed, and said, “I think she’s saying
those are clouds from the volcano!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
captain nodded and said something in Italian that prompted everyone
to point at the mountain and chatter. Unable to understand them, I
smiled blankly. A young black-haired goddess with skin tanned the
deep bronze of endless summer put a sympathetic hand on my arm and
explained, “The captain said the same thing you said, more or
less.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At
the island, the captain turned us over to a hiking guide: a short,
barefooted man covered in wild curls from the top of his head to his
muscular calves. He spoke no English, so I’d be learning little
about the volcano. Before we started up Stromboli, we walked to the
guide’s house in the village, where he put on hiking boots and
kissed his wife and children goodbye.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I
was surprised there was a village on the narrow grass skirt of the
volcano. Hadn’t these people learned anything from Pompeii, where
the villas and bathhouses and temples of a once-thriving civilization
still wait for masters who will never return, where hundreds of
suffocated victims left their imprints in pumice, where plaster casts
of the dead still huddle in agony around the bones within?
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So,
if I was so smart, what was I doing here?</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We
started the hike just before sunset so we’d arrive at the top after
dark, when it’s easier to see the fireworks. For the first hour, we
walked single-file through the grasses of the lower slope. The sun
began to bleed, then drowned in an indigo sea. During the second
hour, the group fell quiet as the terrain changed to a steep rise
strewn with sharp rocks. Soon, deep volcanic ash sucked at our shoes.
During the third hour, the sky turned black and the group pulled out
flashlights. I donned my headlamp.
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We
were resting among a clump of rocks when I saw it: a shower of
flaming red pyrotechnics sprayed from one of the mountain’s three
craters and flew high into the dark sky. The volcano’s thunder was
distant and faint. I had no clue how to say “look!” in Italian,
but grunted loudly, “Ag-g-g-b-b-b . . . !” and flapped my hand in
the direction of the explosion. The exclamations and sighs of the
group were equally inarticulate, as they turned just in time to see
the glowing rocks fall earthward and float ever so slowly down a
collapsed segment of the cone, called the Sciara del Fuoco, the
“Stream of Fire.” I wished Sean were here to see it.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Okay,
I’m satisfied. I have seen it and I can turn back now,” the
Bronze Goddess of Endless Summer muttered. She leaned against a rock
and rubbed her calves. “Not that I’m afraid. Just exhausted.
Walking through this ash is like walking across the sands of the
Sahara!”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When
we continued upward, I chuckled. Mr. Blond Brochure turned and asked,
“What’s up?” This American euphemism sounded new and charming
in his Italian accent. I answered, “I was just thinking, we’re
going the wrong direction. I’m sure if you told most people, ‘You
see that mountain there? It’s ex-plo-ding,’ they’d run the
other way.” The Blond Brochures and the Bronze Goddess laughed and
passed a translation down the line to the non-bilingual Italians.
Delayed laughter floated back to me in a slow wave.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When
we reached the ridge, the guide took us up into the sulfur-stinking
cloud of steam that rose from the craters. Then we came down out of
the cloud to sit in the ash and eat. As I ate my panini, I stared
unblinking at the craters below, waiting for the next thunderous
expletive.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Twice
more the volcano bellowed and sent up salacious spouts of lava,
fragmented into fiery red blobs. We were closer this time and the
loud booms gave several people a start, followed by nervous laughter.
The third time, the fireworks disappeared momentarily into the cloud
overhead before returning to sear the mountaintop. The radiant red
cinders crept down the black void, and we could hear them crepitating
like dozens of distant campfires as they flared and dimmed into a
sizzling after-glow of gold embers. We stared in awe, pre-hominid
children from the primordial sea witnessing the violent dawn of
creation.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">While
our group waited for another blast, Mr. Blond Brochure told us he’d
just had a discussion with the guide about how safe we were. The
guide had told him only two hikers had ever been burned while
standing in this spot. “He said they got hit with the sciora, the
hot rocks, and one of them got hit in the head. But they didn't die,” Mr. Blond Brochure reported. “A man was killed once, but
only because he walked too close to the crater.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mrs.
Blond Brochure elbowed him. “You could not wait to tell us until
later?”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The
Bronze Goddess lifted an eyebrow at me and said, “So, we did come
the wrong direction.”</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXO4q_TK_BOOlCNlwSHWNfUDeU44mVmFvdbcQ-Ms26JC7WSIFP5nytzjCgdWVFC2VI_qUgMS_2TnkgaMGr_m2eLDbVjQJanZMBZkEICDTQAuG3epEZ_4QZOps8cPJuc9fz3ITpdhSrs9F4/s1600/Cara+Lopez+Lee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXO4q_TK_BOOlCNlwSHWNfUDeU44mVmFvdbcQ-Ms26JC7WSIFP5nytzjCgdWVFC2VI_qUgMS_2TnkgaMGr_m2eLDbVjQJanZMBZkEICDTQAuG3epEZ_4QZOps8cPJuc9fz3ITpdhSrs9F4/s1600/Cara+Lopez+Lee.jpg" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Look at her! Isn't she the cutest?</span></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">About
the Author:</span></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; orphans: 0; widows: 0;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">Cara
Lopez Lee</span><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">’s stories
have appeared in the </span><a href="http://www.latimes.com/travel/la-tr-turkeyworm23nov23-story.html"><i>The
Los Angeles Times</i></a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">,
</span><a href="http://www.connotationpress.com/creative-nonfiction/2220-cara-lopez-lee-creative-nonfiction"><i>Connotation
Press</i></a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">,
and </span><a href="http://rivetjournal.com/rivet-2/which-words-come-last-by-cara-lopez-lee"><i>Rivet
Journal</i></a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">.
She’s a book editor, and a faculty member at </span><a href="https://lighthousewriters.org/person/facdetail/person/6912/name/cara_lopez_lee/">Lighthouse
Writers Workshop</a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">.
She was a TV journalist and a writer for HGTV and Food Network. She
has traveled throughout Asia, Europe, Africa, Latin America, and the
U.S. Cara married her husband at an </span><a href="http://caralopezlee.com/blog/2009/12/bride-versus-the-volcano/">active
volcano</a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">
in Costa Rica. She did not eat him. They live in Denver. You can buy
her memoir, </span><a href="http://www.caralopezlee.com/they-only-eat-their-husbands.php"><i>They
Only Eat Their Husbands</i></a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">,
at Conundrum Press, IndieBound, or Amazon. You can also follow her on
</span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/theyonlyeattheirhusbands">Facebook</a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">,
</span><a href="https://www.twitter.com/caralopezlee">Twitter</a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">,
and </span><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/caralopezlee/">Pinterest</a><span style="color: #1a1a1a;">.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-72770196022837103862014-09-23T23:58:00.000-05:002014-09-23T23:58:42.597-05:00The Meaning Behind My TattooHello. My name is Cindy Brown and I have a tattoo. You can judge me if you want to, but I'm the President of something, so there's that.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's true. I'm the President of the local Toastmasters club and I love it and I love my members. It's a public speaking and leadership club, in case you weren't aware. I will talk about my Toastmasters experiences another day, but today I want to talk about the Toastmasters' reaction to the concept of a woman with a tattoo.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't even remember how it was brought up. The topic of discussion isn't important here. All I remember is approaching the podium at the tail-end of a very short discussion based on a member's mention of a woman with a tattoo. The Toastmasters reacted to this idea with disgust.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"A woman with a tattoo? Never!"</div>
</div>
<div>
"No, no, no. That's just not right."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Several disparaging comments followed. There was laughing from the members and a general feel of <i>that's just gross and wrong</i> filled the air.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I suddenly felt as though I had been hit with a baseball bat right in the heart as the words whispered out of my mouth so quietly that I'm not even sure if they heard me, "Heeey, I have a tattoo..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I decided to save my opinion for a future speech topic, but it really gave me pause. Would they have made the comments and laughed disgustedly had they known I had a tattoo? Would they have said those things and reacted the way they did? My guess is that they would not have, but alas, they were either unaware of my tattoo or had forgotten and I found myself suddenly... <i>hurt</i>.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
They obviously didn't understand tattooed people at all. <i>I have as much value as you do</i>, I thought. Then,<i> how dare you?</i></div>
<div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJ5EjnowS_-Db-8TDpaoRYAPuV_S4Y3LK3ZK_sjiZEZoakTkZI8_sybfASr2c48OjA5U9IeU6umTmXZgIJpzW9v-sCM4T-Zob5XKD5jtmzadIi2LBwDdyvrPUOmrcg4gmqaF-y8pY978C/s1600/Mazie+Tattoo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoJ5EjnowS_-Db-8TDpaoRYAPuV_S4Y3LK3ZK_sjiZEZoakTkZI8_sybfASr2c48OjA5U9IeU6umTmXZgIJpzW9v-sCM4T-Zob5XKD5jtmzadIi2LBwDdyvrPUOmrcg4gmqaF-y8pY978C/s1600/Mazie+Tattoo.jpg" height="320" width="299" /></a></div>
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Anyone who knows me is privy to the knowledge that I used to "hang with the rough crowd," as someone once put it. A tattoo was never something I judged a person by, however. It was always their character that caught my attention, not the tattoos they did or did not display. I've had artsy friends with artsy tattoos, Christian friends with Christian tattoos, a principal with a war tattoo, friends with funny, scary, and memorial tattoos, and on and on and on... and I couldn't care less. It is not a disgraceful thing to me by any measure.</div>
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I felt my peers' judgement was harsh and unwarranted. I also knew they would love me no less if they knew and would feel terrible for having offended me. Insert foot in mouth? Perhaps they would. Perhaps not. Perhaps it would spark a friendly debate, which would also make me happy.</div>
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I appreciate the artistic value of any tattoo. A tattoo is not something to decide on lightly. I wasn't young and impulsive when I got this tattoo. I've had it for a long time, but I was in my early thirties before I got my first tattoo. I only have the one, but I say 'first' because I do plan to get others in the future.</div>
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The face you see above isn't a random kitty. It is a representation of a cat I once had. Laugh if you want to, but this cat was like a child to me. It was before I had children and she was my everything. She was my baby. I loved her like no other pet. When she died, I cried for 3 solid days. I was heartbroken.</div>
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When I decided to get a tattoo, it was an easy decision for it to be dedicated to her. Although you cannot read it now, it says, "Mazie 5/01," which was when she died. I designed the paw print myself on the computer and did not even realize I had done it wrong until somebody pointed it out to me post-tatting. However, I found a way to justify the missing digit because I did have two other cats, one black named Lucy and a white cat named Jane. Due to an accident, Jane was left with half a tail and only three legs. Jane was awesome, too. I once saw her climb the tallest tree in the back yard and then cartwheel down like a rappelling mountain climber just as a horrible storm approached. I swear, I have witnesses. She rocked.</div>
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They were great cats, too, but they were no Mazie. Mazie would lay in my arms on her back like a baby. I would stay in an uncomfortable position for hours just so I wouldn't disturb her. She would sleep with me nightly and sometimes softly touch her paw to my cheek as if to say, "Oh, mama, how I love you." I adored her.</div>
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I had her cremated through a local service provider when she died. They put her ashes in a small wooden box in a cute little pink bag with a pretty silver ribbon and some colorful dried flowers for decoration inside. I kept her ashes until just a few weeks ago when I finally felt it was time to let her go. As I walked the beautiful path down to the creek, I tore a hole in the pink plastic bag and let her remains fall onto the earth and into the creek as I went. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Goodbye, sweet Mazie.</div>
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Back to the tattoo. I forget I even have it. It's on my lower back and I'm only reminded when someone references it if it pokes out above my jeans as I bend over to do something. Do I regret it? No. It was very meaningful at the time. But especially in light of the fact that the colors have faded and the lines are blurred and the pretty script text is undecipherable, I wouldn't mind if weren't there anymore either.</div>
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I actually had a tick attach to the tattoo's eye once and the resulting itchiness caused me to scratch it to the point where my poor bedraggled Mazie tat now has what I call the "stink eye." She isn't very pretty anymore.</div>
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I will not get a pet tattoo again (no memorial Great Pyrenees on my booty after Buddy dies, sorry), but would love to get a Christian based tattoo and some artistic ones as well. Whether I decide to keep them where I can conceal them or not has not been decided. Will my Toastmasters recoil in horror at my blatant display of body art? I don't really care. Not to sound like a song from 1963, but hey... <i>it's my body and I'll do what I want to, do what I want to, do what I want to... you'd tattoo too if it happened to you... bomp bomp ba da bomp.</i></div>
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Do you have tattoos? Tell me the story behind yours. I find each one fascinating.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-34215446032105248782014-08-29T21:18:00.001-05:002014-08-29T21:18:38.139-05:0015 Reasons Home Schooling is Awesome (and Why I'll Never Home School My Kid Again)I entered a contest once called 2KoP (Two Kinds of People) in which you highlight two opposing viewpoints a person might possess. I wrote about those who would and those who would <i>never</i> <a href="http://www.everydayunderwear.com/2012/03/do-you-would-you-could-you-pee-in.html" target="_blank">pee in the shower</a>. It was a smashing success and the two types of people came out of the woodwork to either high five me or voice their disgust.<br />
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There are also two kinds of people when it comes to home schooling. There are those who love it and those who think it's weird as hell and only religious freaks do it.<br />
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I wasn't in either camp, particularly, but there came a time, two years ago, when I had to make a choice as to which of these two types of people Cindy Brown would set up camp with.<br />
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My oldest daughter had entered high school, made friends easily, became a cheerleader, and was one of the popular kids. I was a bit shocked when she came home and asked me to home school her. She had missed some school due to illness and she was feeling some pressure from teachers to make up her work quickly. This wasn't the first time. I have sickly kids. It's been a battle.<br />
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I was a stay at home mom and a smart lady. I thought about it and did some initial research and decided we could do this. Besides, her logic was sound. How could I argue?<br />
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<i>I feel like I could get as good of an education as public school or even a better education at home.</i><br />
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<i>I wouldn't have to sit around and wait while teachers help other students.</i><br />
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<i>I could finish high school in half the time and start college early.</i><br />
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<i>Sick days wouldn't matter anymore and I could still do the work if I'm sick at home.</i><br />
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<i>I could help you clean the house if I were home to do it.</i><br />
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<i>I'd be able to concentrate better at home.</i><br />
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<i>I won't miss my friends. I'll still do things with them.</i><br />
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I did my research and found that the possibilities were endless and agreed with her logic. I drafted a letter of withdrawal from public school and expected to have to explain myself. What happened next both shocked and disappointed me.<br />
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Not one school administrator, staff member, or teacher asked me why I was withdrawing my child.<br />
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<b>Not one.</b><br />
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In light of the fact that it seemed they didn't give a hoot about my child, I was pleased with my decision... initially.<br />
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I had done my research and found that she could still easily enter into college as a home schooled student, even Ivy League and even without accredited home schooling. She wanted to go to Yale.<br />
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I found an online program where she (or any other household member, for that matter) could do as many years of schooling as desired for $400 a year.<br />
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My younger daughter stayed in public school. She loved it and there was no reason to remove her, so we didn't.<br />
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The first year of home school with my oldest daughter went quite well. Without further ado, the top 15 reasons we loved home schooling:<br />
<ol>
<li>No pressure. Go at your own pace.</li>
<li>Sleep in if you want. Get your work done in three hours? Nap time!</li>
<li>Save on gas.</li>
<li>Field trips seem like cheating.</li>
<li>Want to finish high school, start college, and get your license, all when you turn 16? Okay!</li>
<li>Multitude of programs available; easy, difficult, cheap, expensive? You decide.</li>
<li>Your education is in your own hands. Dumb? Smart? It's up to <u>you</u>.</li>
<li>Want a better grade? Study up! Do-overs are allowed.</li>
<li>Scheduling things is a breeze.</li>
<li>Save on lunch money. Feed your child nutritious meals at home.</li>
<li>Spend time with your precious cherubs.</li>
<li>Hard to cheat when mom is watching over you.</li>
<li>No dealing with teachers, lunch ladies, or coaches. Jumping on the trampoline is PE.</li>
<li>Sick on Tuesday? Make it up on the weekend.</li>
<li>Housework, cooking, bills, etc. are Home Economics (now FCS - Family/Consumer Science). My house was so clean and I was teaching her life skills.</li>
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Now, the truth is that although all of that was awesome, it turned out that she did miss her friends and wanted to return to public high school for her sophomore year.</div>
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Fine. I understood. I tried to put the wheels in motion for her, talking to every school representative I could get my hands on and... failed.</div>
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Guess what? I found that it would have been easier to get her into <i>college </i>as a home schooled student than to get her back into public high school in the state of Illinois.</div>
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Even though she had worked hard and gotten straight A's her freshman year at home and I had kept full transcripts and charted each and every assignment with an Excel file and detailed grading procedures, our school district turned into Dr. Seuss on me.</div>
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We could not, would not, take her back.</div>
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We do not care if she's on track.</div>
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Not by herself, not in a crowd.</div>
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No home school credits are allowed!</div>
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We cannot, will not, test her in.</div>
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She can come back, as a freshman.</div>
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She'd have to repeat all she's done.</div>
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To be with her peers for public school fun.</div>
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As you can imagine, this went over like a lead balloon. She didn't want to repeat the year she'd done at home and we didn't want to feel like we wasted a year of her life, my time and effort, and four hundred bucks, which is twice what it cost for public school education when I enrolled her in her freshman year there.</div>
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In all the talks with superintendents, however, a comment was made to me that "it might be different if it were an accredited school we're familiar with."</div>
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Being ever so observant of this comment, I embarked on a new goal for her sophomore year of home schooling: get an accredited program to avoid future problems.</div>
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I soon discovered that this was neither easy, nor cheap, and that some of the top programs that met what we were looking for were religious, not secular. We are Christians, but we wanted a secular program. This post would go into book form if I took the time to explain why.</div>
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We discussed everything and began researching home school programs again. My daughter thought her freshman year was too easy and requested a harder program.We found a fully accredited program she could do online with full teacher support, online class requirements, etc. and put her on a fast track college prep course of action. It was a religious program, but only required her to take one religion course. We could handle that. All work was done online, taught and graded by very competent teachers, with report cards, transcripts, even virtual Biology labs were done online.</div>
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My daughter was motivated and ready to take on the world and we were ready to see her succeed. The public school allowed her to come in for driver's education, but that was it. No sports, nothing else. This home school program was much different than the last. We braced ourselves for tuition at Yale and dropped the nearly $3,000 for her sophomore year of accredited high school online private schooling at Alpha Omega Academy without trepidation. We wanted nothing more than to see our child excel.</div>
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Okay, roll the Jaws theme music. This is where home schooling devours the whole family.</div>
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I now give you the top 15 reasons we hate home schooling:</div>
<ol>
<li>Pressure. She only had 8 months to complete her work on the fast track plan. We were allowed a free extension of two months, but any additional months would cost $200/month. She took the entire 10 months and even needed a couple of extra days, which they didn't charge us for since a teacher was out when she needed to do an over-the-phone French assignment.</li>
<li>Get up at a decent hour because it takes six hours minimum a day to complete your work. No time for naps, breaks, etc! You want to go to Yale? This will sure prepare you.</li>
<li>Save on gas, but pay nearly $3,000 for one year of school, so who cares?</li>
<li>No time for field trips. Each day was scheduled out with an online planner and you had to keep a schedule.</li>
<li>Do two years in one year? Not with this program! It was extremely hard and she became quickly overwhelmed.</li>
<li>The program was not only difficult and expensive (although there are programs out there that cost five times as much), but once 30 days is up, you're stuck with the program. No refunds, no changing the type of schooling (online vs. books), no get out of jail free card. You pay, you play. Also, she did not agree with the religious content and had trouble reconciling her own religious views with what was expected in the courses.</li>
<li>Her education was in her own hands. She wanted to be smart and excel, but the stress and overwhelming nature of the entire experience left her exhausted an exasperated. She lost her drive to succeed.</li>
<li>Do-overs were not only allowed, but required for low grades in many cases. This is a benefit for those who are on track and love the program, but a time drain and stress inducing factor in trying to keep on pace when you just want it to be over and accept the grade, no matter what it may be. My straight A student struggled to maintain B's and C's.</li>
<li>Scheduling things was not easy since we were constantly stressing about keeping her on track.</li>
<li>Cook something nutritious for her? Sure, but she would refuse it and you can't force food down a fifteen year old. She was never hungry and/or wanted only to snack through the day; not healthy habits!</li>
<li>Due to the fact that I was always harassing her about keeping on track, our relationship suffered. I became a prison warden to her, banging my night stick on her cell bars, instead of enjoying my time with her as her mother. We fought more and she and I were ready to do anything to be apart by the end of the year. She couldn't stand me by the time it was over and I dreaded even waking her up in the morning because I knew the stress would start right then. It wasn't fun.</li>
<li>She finally went into complete block out mode and began fibbing her way out of work. I'm a smart woman, but it took me a couple of months to catch on. Did you know that if they have their headphones in, you can't tell if your child is watching a video for an assignment or watching a TV show online unless you catch her by glancing over her shoulder through the window while you're outside doing yard work? I then had to crack down even harder, which strained our relationship even more. "This is what you wanted!" was not what she wanted to hear. "I can't stand you!" was not what I wanted to hear. We resented each other.</li>
<li>She became sluggish, quit working out, and seemed like a caged animal in a very small enclosure. She came up with any excuse to delay the start of her day... shower, pooping, tired, have to wait to get a hold of a teacher for an assignment... I could tell she was miserable, but she had to finish the year. It was torture for both of us. She couldn't concentrate and everything distracted her. I had to be on her every second and checking her every move. Her friends were busy with school activities and we live really far out of town, so rarely did friends come out to see her. She felt isolated, but refused to join any local home school groups.</li>
<li>There was no time for a sick day if you wanted to keep on track. She was sick just as much, still couldn't work when sick even though she was at home, and the pressure from me was no less than it was with her teachers in public school. Getting behind caught up with her to the point that it almost seemed impossible to finish the program, but she made it. We did have to drop one semester of one class, but it was a relief. She just could not grasp the French language at all, even with my help. </li>
<li>There was no time to help out with housework or cooking. There was no time for teaching life skills. We both hated home schooling by the end and our last nerves were tattered and frayed from the experience. With every fiber of our being, we were done with home schooling, no matter what.</li>
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Yes, in one fell swoop of a year's time, we went from <i>'Go, home schooling! Hip hip hooray!'</i> to <i>'Please kill me now, in the event that I should ever consider home schooling again! I would choose death over this!'</i></div>
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Of course, the story doesn't end there. I had to go back through all of the school administrators again to try and register her, thinking that due to the comment made to me about school accreditation last year, we might at least have a chance this year that they would accept her and just give her credit for the one accredited home schooling year, especially since it was through the same regional accrediting body. Not so. They still wouldn't budge. I had to improvise.</div>
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I pulled out every gun I had (transcripts, mid-year testing scores, accredited home school information, highlighted pages from the district's own policy manual, made phone calls to the Illinois State Board of Education, the regional accrediting agency, etc.) and loaded up a manila file folder for a meeting with the superintendent, who then had to pass it through the lawyer and the school board for approval.<br />
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Whew. I get exhausted just talking about it.<br />
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Good news, though. We have her back in public school, but the circumstances are not exactly as we had hoped.</div>
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Mr. Scary Superintendent (the guy looks like a marine) was actually very gracious in giving me his time and upon his recommendation, the lawyer and the board agreed that she be allowed to proficiency test into her grade, which she did. I think she is the first student they've done this for. Hooray! All was right with the world and she could return to public school as a junior. I won the battle. She won the battle. We were elated!</div>
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Just one tiny hitch. They still are not accepting <b>any</b> of her home school credits, which means that she would either have to make up two years of credits or she cannot graduate with her class. Yes, they have every right to do this. I've checked. It's our district's policy to not accept any credits and the upper-level superintendent who made the suggestive comment to me about using an accredited school they've heard of didn't even remember talking to me the year before. Even though I reminded her, she restated the district policy and Mr. Scary's hands were tied.<br />
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In order to make credit accepting exceptions for our daughter, there would have to be a district wide policy change and quite frankly, most people they have home school experience with just don't do like we do and seriously home school. The dean of students told me that five people withdrew to home school last year and they were all due to truancy issues. We and our serious home school efforts are apparently not the norm in our district and we have to suffer the consequences the bad apples have put in place for us.<br />
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We cut our losses and decided that the most important things were getting her back into public school and saving our sanity, credits applied or not.</div>
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I am tired of fighting. I am tired of worrying. I am tired of stressing. She will live a good life and the world will continue to turn, turn, turn. It's going to be fine. I promise.</div>
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For crying out loud, my daughter's latest stated goal had morphed into becoming a Disney princess and I took the question, "How old do you have to be to drop out of high school?" as a hint that we'd better do something fast. I'm not knocking Disney princesses, but going from a goal of Yale to that was just bizarre. We knew we had to meet the school district in the middle.</div>
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She was able to start school the day after it officially started and she is thrilled to be back in, at the same level as her peers (with the exception of foreign language classes). I can see her slowly coming back to life and I think her passion to excel in life will return, at least somewhat. She's been nominated for the homecoming court, aspires to be valedictorian, and has joined Code Red, where she and many classmates will root for their sports teams throughout the year. Her first football game is tonight and she just got her driver's license a week ago today. She is ready to fly like an eagle and just... be... a normal teenager in high school.</div>
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Don't worry, she can still go to college if she wants to. It isn't a death sentence. Trust me. I've checked. She has a high school education. It just hasn't been a traditional one.</div>
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Even with all of the stresses of public school, we now realize that home schooling is not the answer for us. Sure, we could have forced her to keep home schooling. We could have gone all Goldilocks and the Three Bears and kept looking for yet another program to suit her, saying, "This one was too soft, this one was too hard, but this one is just right!" To be truthful, however, the lack of porridge zapped our energy and we just wanted our daughter to be happy and motivated again. We knew home schooling wasn't going to accomplish that, not for her.</div>
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Let me be very clear that I am not bashing home schooling in any way or Alpha Omega Academy (it's an excellent program). It can be an awesome opportunity for a child and I know many people who love home school and do it successfully in their households and are happy as clams. Their children go on to excel and enter college at a younger age. They are smart and motivated and happy. Good for them. It just wasn't good for us.<br />
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If you'd like, share your home school stories with me. Do you know a person who home schooled or have you ever thought about it or tried it? I'd love to hear about someone else's struggles or success stories now. I have blown enough hot air into the blogosphere for one day.</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-19485663789244114082014-08-18T21:03:00.000-05:002014-08-18T21:03:45.201-05:00My Little Identity CrisisI have an identity crisis with my blog. I am a humor writer. However, all I can think of lately is serious subject matter. So, do I write serious matter or do I bite the bullet and make all of my serious subject matter funny? Do I avoid serious subject matter or wait until the funny hits me and go with that? Life is a funny thing, I'll give you that. However, it's not always ha ha funny. Sometimes, it's strange funny. And stressful. I'm at a crossroads. Help.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-67922190206043984802014-07-07T23:10:00.000-05:002014-07-07T23:14:16.937-05:00Why Is Everyone So Offended These Days?Recently, I read a blog post and found that I had an opposing view to not only the writer, but all of her commentators as well. I feel the need to respond because I think that as a nation, we need to lighten up and certainly have more empathy and respect for others.<br />
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Why on earth does everyone get offended so easily these days? You can read Lisa A. Kramer's post, <a href="http://www.lisaakramer.com/2014/06/16/dear-man-in-the-cubicle-next-to-me/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Dear Man in the Cubicle Next to Me</a> on the blog Woman Wielding Words, or take my short version at face value.<br />
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<u>Summary</u><br />
She goes to have blood drawn. Tough looking guy is put in cubicle next to her to have his blood drawn and she overhears him say, "I'm such a girl about this."<br />
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She takes offense and itches to say something to him in response, but ultimately does not and just blogs about it instead, wrestling with whether or not she should have spoken her mind.<br />
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One woman, quite incensed, wrote a 500+ word response, basically calling this poor guy a "chauvinist".<br />
Another comment refers to him as a "jerk".<br />
Then another pulls out "bigot."<br />
"He was wrong," says another.<br />
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I must say that my heart just sank when I read the post and all of the subsequent comments. Why must anyone take such offense to this benign statement that a post be written about it and this man attacked?<br />
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Let's break this down. Lisa states that the man has tattoos and muscles and appears to be a tough guy. Her point is that women handle pain better than men in many cases (childbirth, anyone?) and that his comment was basically insulting to females.<br />
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I am female. Lisa is a female. Most of the commentators are female. Why are the general masses offended by his statement and I am not? I had to check myself for the answer. Am I weak? Am I too soft? Am I a bad judge of character? No, I don't think so. Because I did not agree with the masses, however, I felt that I was in some way <i>wrong</i>.<br />
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<a href="http://www.historicalstockphotos.com/" title="Free Pictures at Historical Stock Photos.com"><img alt="Rosie The Riveter Flexing Her Arm Muscles, We Can Do It! - Free Pictures at Historical Stock Photos.com" border="0" src="http://www.historicalstockphotos.com/images/xsmall/2014_rosie_the_riveter_flexing_her_arm_muscles_we_can_do_it.jpg" /></a><br />
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Let me be clear that I am not attacking Lisa here. She genuinely felt hurt by his statement. I am simply intrigued by the fact that she and I see the situation differently and I want further input from my readers on how <b>you</b> see this situation.<br />
<br />
This subject was even addressed in a commercial recently which Lisa and I both found in subsequent conversation that we had both viewed. You can view the Always "Like a Girl" commercial <a href="http://youtu.be/XjJQBjWYDTs" target="_blank">here</a>. I must say that I disagree with that commercial as well. When I heard that comment as a young girl, it just made me want to do my best to see if I <i>could </i>match the boys. As a grown woman, I've found that sometimes the answer is yes and sometimes the answer is no, not ever... and I'm fine with that.<br />
<br />
The last time I checked, ladies and gentlemen, there ARE differences between men and women and we women are still considered the fairer sex, aren't we? Has women's lib gone too far and we now believe any comment putting a female on a lower position on the totem pole is a negative one? I think that's silly and shallow. Men are designed by God to be physically stronger than women. They are designed to be hunters, gatherers, and protectors. Have we thrown this aside just because we can now perform many tasks that only men previously performed?<br />
<br />
To call him a bigot is not even right by simple definition. A bigot is <span style="background-color: white;"><i>"</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 20px;">a person who strongly and unfairly dislikes other people, ideas, etc. : a bigoted person; </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: italic; line-height: 20px;">especially</span></span><span style="line-height: 20px;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic;"> : a person who hates or refuses to accept the members of a particular group (such as a racial or religious group)"</span><span style="background-color: white;"><i style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">according to Mirriam-Webster.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
He didn't mean that he hates or refuses to accept women! He was making a comment about his own vulnerability and weakness. For this, he is attacked. None of these people even know this man. He might very well be the loveliest human being ever.<br />
<br />
A jerk? Again, Mirriam-Webster defines a jerk as, <i>"<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">a stupid person or a person who is not well-liked or who treats other people badly."</span></i><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And what does Webster define as a chauvinist?</span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> <i style="background-color: white;">"</i></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><i>an attitude that the members of your own sex are always better than those of the opposite sex."</i></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">This man didn't say anything to warrant any of that! What he truly said was that in this situation, he felt weak, afraid, and not at all like the image he projects to the world. His comment sought comfort. He was not trying to be insulting.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">I do not in any way, shape or form take offense to what he said. I feel compassion for him. I feel that he was the one wronged in this situation.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">I had a conversation recently with a respectable man who told me that he believes that women's liberation has ruined the relationship between men and women. He pointed out that when he attends his daughter's sporting events, he hears nothing but the women around him bashing their husbands and other men. I'm ashamed to say that I hear women do this also. He said their comments are so awful that he doesn't even understand why these women are still married to these men. They speak as though they hate them. Is this to appear dominant? Tough? Independent? What are we trying to say here with this deplorable behavior, women?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20px;">Now, what do you say? Am I wrong? I would love to hear your comments. I promise, I won't take offense to anything.</span><div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-20738289804303865672014-05-31T13:45:00.001-05:002014-05-31T13:45:09.811-05:00Lyme Disease Awareness Month & Beer TicksIt's May and that means it's Lyme Disease Awareness Month. Although this may not be on your radar, it is certainly on mine and I could not let the month end without doing a PSA on Lyme Disease because, you know, I have it.<br />
<br />
Allow me to introduce you to Ranger Cindy Brown. (Disclaimer: I am not a real Ranger.)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskFsXL5f18MuryUkHjIc17ph2mLK5ldyT3fxnTrIU46LhI5dFB-nN5kLk7X3eTuhXJL55QJe8GEGKa211AZgQmn-X7WRoBPeQbMUELR4mYrssU5HZPsL-UnWVY7MzNVEo-b46PxFo81XZ/s1600/Ranger+Cindy+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjskFsXL5f18MuryUkHjIc17ph2mLK5ldyT3fxnTrIU46LhI5dFB-nN5kLk7X3eTuhXJL55QJe8GEGKa211AZgQmn-X7WRoBPeQbMUELR4mYrssU5HZPsL-UnWVY7MzNVEo-b46PxFo81XZ/s1600/Ranger+Cindy+1.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother gave me this hat for<br />
outdoors, I swear to God.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now, let me tell you a little something about ticks. They don't care who your momma is or that she gave you that great hat with the lovely wide brim to protect you from the elements. If you have ticks in your element and ticks are attracted to you like they are attracted to me, they will find you.<br />
<br />
They will hunt you down, rappel from mountainsides, leap from trees, and crawl stealthily up your pant leg to find your super tasty sweet soft skin and make you their host.<br />
<br />
However, this is one dinner party you don't want to throw.<br />
<br />
Mainly because ticks carry Lyme Disease and you don't want it.<br />
<br />
I've posted about it before when I was diagnosed <a href="http://bit.ly/S5VTRB" target="_blank">here</a> and unfortunately, it did not leave me. I still have it and am not sure if I will ever be rid of it. At least it's been manageable for me in the past year.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ycYNv_oSMkflkvgGG_c1K3Tbum7W4YdG_v3VJp1VfsZ-s9p7do76GEn1aJDMBW3VvgS-OsgRHULi5lXaD7HH0gBj7sv6EMYQZapRgB8fYczqHq4EKc65CEStj0ho2tauNRpQ2prpK7j5/s1600/Tick+%2528640x480%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ycYNv_oSMkflkvgGG_c1K3Tbum7W4YdG_v3VJp1VfsZ-s9p7do76GEn1aJDMBW3VvgS-OsgRHULi5lXaD7HH0gBj7sv6EMYQZapRgB8fYczqHq4EKc65CEStj0ho2tauNRpQ2prpK7j5/s1600/Tick+%2528640x480%2529.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That white speck is my skin.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've taken many pictures of the ticks I've pulled off in this past year. This year so far, I've had eight ticks attached and have literally pulled off about a hundred and that's no joke.<br />
<br />
Once again, bugs love me. I am their queen.<br />
<br />
To right, you will see a picture of a tick I pulled off my head. It still has a piece of my skin in its mouth. Although not a nice thing to think about, this is what you want to see. You want to pull off the entire tick and NOT leave the head of the tick embedded. Just ask <a href="http://www.themixedupbrains.com/" target="_blank">Lisa Gradess-Weinstein</a>, who after reading about my Lyme journey, recognized symptoms and went to the doctor only to find that part of a tick was left embedded in her leg, and causing her troubles. Thankfully, she was tested and did not have Lyme, but the bugger had left its troubles behind anyway.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoMwfl8jXcchODL7_VKQH6VtGN58_2IOBMP-fux4civWeIZgo2pDkkmQ5lEkBwEXBxWeD-iY3PzMYiLYwmuBfAOeuly1Gn0Onahwijknqp9iA20GHOhOkU5P1Te9waxtJDAoCku4Mc8hh/s1600/Ranger+Cindy+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoMwfl8jXcchODL7_VKQH6VtGN58_2IOBMP-fux4civWeIZgo2pDkkmQ5lEkBwEXBxWeD-iY3PzMYiLYwmuBfAOeuly1Gn0Onahwijknqp9iA20GHOhOkU5P1Te9waxtJDAoCku4Mc8hh/s1600/Ranger+Cindy+2.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ranger Cindy says "Protect and Check!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
What can you do to protect yourself from getting Lyme Disease? Well, in honor of Lyme Disease Awareness Month, I am wanting to help spread the word, since I'm becoming quite the expert and all.<br />
<br />
Protect yourself with Permethrin if you are going out into the woods. I have dogs to walk and a trail I walk for exercise. I live smack dab in the middle of deep woods, so it's impossible for me to avoid woods and I would not advise that you let your fear overtake you and avoid woods for the rest of your life either. Nature is beautiful and should be experienced... with appropriate caution.<br />
<br />
I thought I would have to order Permethrin, but I was thrilled to find it at Rural King made by a company called Repel. You spray this on your clothing and shoes, backpack, etc. It not only repels ticks, but will kill them as well. Oh yeah, I totally did a kill test. These suckers are hard to kill, and this stuff works like a charm. Follow directions, though, because I think it lasts two weeks or something like that and I have found it to produce great results with one application to shoes and pants - many days tick free!<br />
<br />
You can also use repellents like Off or Cutter. They don't keep everything off of me, but they do help.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzQTJ-A7-d7lFKBu5gmC_ey1Pj5TaD10g29WQbhahyphenhyphenL6aNT66Yt5W8t1ibj48iAdo_cIOIV19jmBXZZUDArQ7FYKgH1jNvlewYcTjXBrOIQ3RKEukHFJkc8nY9aDqVLdduTiVBRibye86/s1600/Ranger+Cindy+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqzQTJ-A7-d7lFKBu5gmC_ey1Pj5TaD10g29WQbhahyphenhyphenL6aNT66Yt5W8t1ibj48iAdo_cIOIV19jmBXZZUDArQ7FYKgH1jNvlewYcTjXBrOIQ3RKEukHFJkc8nY9aDqVLdduTiVBRibye86/s1600/Ranger+Cindy+3.jpg" height="200" width="112" /></a></div>
You may smell like a chemical factory (see pictured stinky face), but you won't care if it keeps you from getting Lyme Disease, trust me. You don't want it. Ever.<br />
<br />
The next thing you do to protect yourself is to check, check, check yourself for ticks after you have been in an exposed area. This week, I had someone who lives in town tell me they found a tick on their pillow at home. They have no idea how it got there. So you never know, but you can be sure that if you have been in a wooded area, they may travel home with you or on you or with your dog or on your dog.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6fWPqnoUR-FOrnnAbmUDSlKKXDM_hmpqxt8PSZE8k7gluhSNNJSPCUarLy-0eU4xdSj9SUihyEmWTvedomesIpE9pf8LTd3BR7iqj6AWw_Jlp7yKwL0kF31PGiaMiJYt4PxuRxdZwYuGt/s1600/Ranger+Cindy+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6fWPqnoUR-FOrnnAbmUDSlKKXDM_hmpqxt8PSZE8k7gluhSNNJSPCUarLy-0eU4xdSj9SUihyEmWTvedomesIpE9pf8LTd3BR7iqj6AWw_Jlp7yKwL0kF31PGiaMiJYt4PxuRxdZwYuGt/s1600/Ranger+Cindy+4.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
Check especially under areas where your clothing may have been tight. The tick I had which transferred to me the evil Lyme Disease was under my bra strap to the back of my armpit. Stealthy and unnoticed, it did its thing for two days before I discovered it.<br />
<br />
Ticks come in several shapes and sizes, so look at the pictures here and on other websites to familiarize yourself with what they look like. They can be oval or round, brown or black, white dots or solid color.<br />
<br />
They love to attach to your head, so be vigilant to check your hair very well with your fingertips and fingernails after a walk in the woods. Check again after several hours. Check again the next day. And for good measure, the day after that. You can never be too careful and they can attach without you ever feeling it or knowing it.<br />
<br />
The one pictured below is on a postcard. That's a postal bar code there, for size reference.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN17LhOQvA3X4ug7lDzxy1-1zQwj9-gW63rq5XKemBQRcKNQZQzr0aYfizB-qIOhkHWPcNTH1S_Y84LWL4ONcZMlEyJCK36CZ7WdDeq5X20bjGBhwcJGd46HS57nwnrSZL34mxJVS19-bp/s1600/Tick+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN17LhOQvA3X4ug7lDzxy1-1zQwj9-gW63rq5XKemBQRcKNQZQzr0aYfizB-qIOhkHWPcNTH1S_Y84LWL4ONcZMlEyJCK36CZ7WdDeq5X20bjGBhwcJGd46HS57nwnrSZL34mxJVS19-bp/s1600/Tick+1.jpg" height="170" width="200" /></a></div>
They can be so small, you can barely see them. Once, we went mushroom hunting in Tennessee on the way to vacation in Alabama and we came back to the hotel room only to find that we were all covered in tiny ticks. We must have stumbled into an area with a nest or infestation. We found lots of great mushrooms, but we were panicked about all of the ticks. We had to check in crevices of each others' bodies that nobody ever wants to see. Still, with showering and closely inspecting, we all still had ticks attach.<br />
<br />
<br />
Some ticks are as small as a speck of pepper, like the next pictured one here on top of a contact lens solution bottle cap. I'm using a magnifying glass in this particular photo and there is a hair beside the tick to show the size. It was so tiny, I was lucky to detect it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgne3wEfaLkaokSf46QBMEfSMYugvuHPbQSVEzqTnNgqM0aF4uuMEzp_mCTPa4yzIMDBZNd_eWIzK2wvAeJOB_HQ7h9IruF368Fq8BHNii-m5PXzWYmIn0cd71kMk-jVKtKPHn_e8kh1oy9/s1600/Tick+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgne3wEfaLkaokSf46QBMEfSMYugvuHPbQSVEzqTnNgqM0aF4uuMEzp_mCTPa4yzIMDBZNd_eWIzK2wvAeJOB_HQ7h9IruF368Fq8BHNii-m5PXzWYmIn0cd71kMk-jVKtKPHn_e8kh1oy9/s1600/Tick+2.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
I mostly get ticks when I've been outdoors unprotected, but I sometimes find them in my house just crawling around. I recently found two beer ticks in the house. Yep, you heard me right. I said beer ticks. I have photographic proof.<br />
<br />
I found ticks in my house on not only one, but two beer cans one day. Apparently, beer ticks prefer light beer.<br />
<br />
When ticks attach, they excrete a kind of glue which helps them adhere to your body. You can react to this substance and it can make you itch as well.<br />
<br />
I saw a piece Dr. Oz did on ticks and I had to cringe. He instructed the woman on stage with the giant pair of prop tweezers to remove the giant prop tick and he told her to grab it behind it's head. WHAT? No, no, no.<br />
<br />
You <i>should</i> use tweezers if possible (especially if you have someone else to help you remove the tick), but you have to be careful not to squeeze the body of the tick and squeeze its Lyme juice right into you.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-muq-RYNgHXyiF7GBEXRCmexpkD7gAwpqinDgI7H1GYwAuGnVx3kPxMQcw-DpsSs9JduO-91ff9pAaXwod7D25Rnp8GY5rSVc04I3XQKr1VLcVB17_7Bn-DDlRqjlmn3Cl60AioRgSd5/s1600/Beer+Tick+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD-muq-RYNgHXyiF7GBEXRCmexpkD7gAwpqinDgI7H1GYwAuGnVx3kPxMQcw-DpsSs9JduO-91ff9pAaXwod7D25Rnp8GY5rSVc04I3XQKr1VLcVB17_7Bn-DDlRqjlmn3Cl60AioRgSd5/s1600/Beer+Tick+1.jpg" height="200" width="121" /></a></div>
You want to make sure you remove the head of the tick, not leave it in your head. As I mentioned before, if you see a speck of your own skin in the tick's grasp when you pull it out, that's good. It means you removed the entire tick, head and all.<br />
<br />
When I found the tick with the horrible cellulitis-like swelling (which in reality was the Erythema-Migrans rash, cleverly disguised as cellulitis and not really a bulls eye looking thing at all), my doctor treated me with antibiotics that <i>should</i> have taken care of an initial Lyme Disease infection, but it did not.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it was too strong. Perhaps I was too weak. Perhaps my theory is right and I already had Lyme Disease which had not been too problematic in my life and that particular tick bite kicked it into overdrive.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2QpaNHvtMg0-Qd8Txb4I_137leBhVF8ZOgepbjF5aMh1LuGIRGn7wN9JsoBHaBUaVYHtBSyRne3mrLnR2oYXHzpv1elRJ5gapicqJ0MUFbrFj6DOKIDGV0zcmUvb6B1jUaHj7Q_CUwQW-/s1600/Beer+Tick+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2QpaNHvtMg0-Qd8Txb4I_137leBhVF8ZOgepbjF5aMh1LuGIRGn7wN9JsoBHaBUaVYHtBSyRne3mrLnR2oYXHzpv1elRJ5gapicqJ0MUFbrFj6DOKIDGV0zcmUvb6B1jUaHj7Q_CUwQW-/s1600/Beer+Tick+2.jpg" height="200" width="112" /></a><br />
If that theory is correct, then I was already in late disseminated Lyme and the antibiotic treatment I received was not adequate. After being sent to an Infectious Disease Specialist and being put on two months of Doxycyclene (which he said "should take care of it"), I still can tell a year later that I am not rid of this disease.<br />
<br />
I have started my Salt/Vitamin C regimen again. I have good days and bad days, but it is nowhere as bad as it was before.<br />
<br />
I have that weird feeling in the back of my head.<br />
My arms fall asleep at night.<br />
I need frequent naps.<br />
My right elbow and my forearms feel arthritic.<br />
I'm seeing the rashes reappear.<br />
<br />
I just know what it feels like. I know what it feels like to the point that I helped diagnose someone recently. I ran into my sister-in-law's mother at <strike>HellMart</strike> Walmart and she told me she felt like she was falling apart. All of her symptoms were so similar to my late disseminated Lyme symptoms that I made her promise that she would demand her doctor test her for Lyme. She did. She was positive.<br />
<br />
Then, she went through the same rigmarole many Lyme sufferers experience. She had several other docs say, "Nope, you don't have it." I urged her to find an LLMD. She persisted and was properly tested and guess what... she has a bad case of late disseminated Lyme. Not only that, she had been diagnosed and treated for MS for 18 years and the LLMD said, "You never had MS. This has been Lyme the whole time."<br />
<br />
Imagine! She is now in the fight of her life, taking eleven medications and thankfully covered by insurance thus far. I know like I know like I know that there are thousands of people out there just like her, misdiagnosed with illnesses like Fibromyalgia, MS, Chronic Fatigue, etc. Lyme is not nicknamed "The Great Imitator" for nothing. It mimics many diseases and doctors are sorely under-educated about Lyme.<br />
<br />
Do what you can to help spread the word and just be aware and protect and check yourself when outdoors. If someone has the symptoms I listed in my first post about Lyme (reference the link at the beginning of this post), please encourage them to get tested and seek the advice of an LLMD. An LLMD is a Lyme Literate Medical Doctor and is NOT an Infectious Disease doctor or a regular MD. It is someone who specializes in the treatment of Lyme Disease.<br />
<br />
Be safe and enjoy the summer! Back to more fun posts in the future which will not feature creepy-crawlies, I promise.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-7811802344568569402014-04-24T20:58:00.001-05:002014-04-24T20:59:19.126-05:00Along Came A SpiderMy husband came into the house a few weekends ago and shouted, "I found a Brown Recluse spider in the garage! It was in my work clothes."<br />
<br />
My initial thought was, <i>'Yeah, sure you did,'</i> and I admit that I secretly suspected it was absolutely for certain a case of mistaken identity on the part of my husband.<br />
<br />
He bellowed, "You want to see it? I have it in a jar."<br />
<br />
I went to take a look and could not remember what a Brown Recluse looked like (and it surely wasn't one even if I did know), so I didn't get too excited. He showed me the violin shape and seemed confident. I did a silent <i>pshaw</i> in my head and he continued on outside to do some more work in the garage.<br />
<br />
I Googled it.<br />
<br />
Damn the luck. My husband was right! It <u>did</u> exactly match the images of a Brown Recluse, violin on its back and all. OMG. He really did find a Brown Recluse in our garage!<br />
<br />
But, I digress. Let's talk about fear. This calls for a list!<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>If there is one Brown Recluse, there are more. Probably lots more. Think Arachnophobia, the movie.</li>
<li>They're "moving in" and this is the first of many we'll encounter. No way was this little gem just on vacation at Brown Station and passing through. He's got family and they're all coming to live at Chez Brown.</li>
<li>I will eventually be bitten. Why? Because that's my life, that's why. Bugs love me. I am their queen.</li>
<li>They're in the house; everywhere, in every dark corner, just waiting for my unsuspecting finger or toe.</li>
<li>They're in my pillowcase and my head is going to rot off.</li>
</ol>
<div>
I distinctly remember a few weeks ago, just prior to this special find in our garage, when I proudly announced in my Sunday School class that I had practically conquered my fear of spiders. Really! I have worked hard to not fear creepy crawly things that glide silently through the night, especially since contracting Lyme disease. However, we live here:</div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvR9gqSkv_NVW01kUng7YAqCW8QaB4ILsl5Dk-m95d467rxXTTUiCralfp5WJjcloxPQppCh71UXTmn_NHBRvUL_UD7ZZIZ4F7orrtbUwFyoM-DJchq2UNBMRR2A-wDfzBheBz3q113Ib/s1600/IMG_0143+(600x800).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbvR9gqSkv_NVW01kUng7YAqCW8QaB4ILsl5Dk-m95d467rxXTTUiCralfp5WJjcloxPQppCh71UXTmn_NHBRvUL_UD7ZZIZ4F7orrtbUwFyoM-DJchq2UNBMRR2A-wDfzBheBz3q113Ib/s1600/IMG_0143+(600x800).jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
I live in the heart of the woods. It's beautiful. It's also filled with creepy crawlies which display various levels of fear-striking capabilities. I've posted about them before. Remember the <a href="http://www.everydayunderwear.com/2012/03/decisions-decisions-mr-snake-in-road.html" target="_blank">snake post</a> of 2012? Yep, I live in Blair Witch-ville. I've kind of had to learn to adapt.<br />
<br />
I thought I had conquered my fear of such things. Yeah, I thought that right up until I realized my husband was right and we actually did have a Brown Recluse on our property.<br />
<br />
I had to send myself back to fear-conquering school. Sessions are held regularly in my brain, if you'd like to attend. There's a sign-up sheet in my Thalamus, right next to the Hippocampus.<br />
<br />
If you're not familiar with the Brown Recluse, here is a quick lesson. They look like the two photos below and the venom will cause your flesh to rot and die as though you have contracted a flesh-eating bacteria if you are bitten by one. Go ahead on over to Google and look at the images if you want to really freak yourself out.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7LNCSYpdgyQzLnHg7wTOdsVx4dW8XtxTKFZpVT1n7OHI6QP8NkH9iiCDDhjUK5NrTQYI9HOoX2CTXTCpQmcVDWWhqvI7RL0Yg7iUVvuK8ydrPRBspw4710je7NQ5Pnx5usyi1VPqjADVx/s1600/Brown+Recluse+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7LNCSYpdgyQzLnHg7wTOdsVx4dW8XtxTKFZpVT1n7OHI6QP8NkH9iiCDDhjUK5NrTQYI9HOoX2CTXTCpQmcVDWWhqvI7RL0Yg7iUVvuK8ydrPRBspw4710je7NQ5Pnx5usyi1VPqjADVx/s1600/Brown+Recluse+1.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
This first photo is the one my husband took. I wasn't satisfied. With the most extreme caution you've ever seen, I removed the red metal lid from the glass Lay's dip jar (which the spider later met an untimely death within) and carefully slid my phone in place of the lid. While praying that the spider would not leap onto my phone and go bananas trying to escape, thus likely biting me in the process, I took this picture:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoxuPiBx6SRiKavo1exXx5U98sy5B0SEy2DtBfXR2kIjH9xTH1zKlm3xkKHvUjM8-TYQbqwD2Tg6QEacBHKBnuv131HpWyc2Fr08iHwCBSyEwHLhSqZ2a_zVzyrgH9h9405_6cz6sNi9v/s1600/Brown+Recluse+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmoxuPiBx6SRiKavo1exXx5U98sy5B0SEy2DtBfXR2kIjH9xTH1zKlm3xkKHvUjM8-TYQbqwD2Tg6QEacBHKBnuv131HpWyc2Fr08iHwCBSyEwHLhSqZ2a_zVzyrgH9h9405_6cz6sNi9v/s1600/Brown+Recluse+2.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I know, right? Mine is way better and far creepier. Thank God I risked life and limb to obtain it for you, my loyal and inquisitive readers, whom I knew would want yet another public service announcement from Everyday Underwear. You can see quite clearly the violin shape near the head, which is an identifier.<br />
<br />
I'll let Wikipedia tell you the deets about its habitat:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>"<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">Brown recluse spiders build asymmetrical (irregular) webs that frequently include a shelter consisting of disorderly thread. They frequently build their webs in woodpiles and sheds, closets, garages, </span>plenum spaces<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">, cellars, and other places that are dry and generally undisturbed. When dwelling in human residences they seem to favor cardboard, possibly because it mimics the rotting tree bark which they inhabit naturally. They have also been encountered in shoes, inside dressers, in bed sheets of infrequently used beds, in clothes stacked or piled or left lying on the floor, inside work gloves, behind baseboards and pictures, in toilets, and near sources of warmth when ambient temperatures are lower than usual. Human-recluse contact often occurs when such isolated spaces are disturbed and the spider feels threatened. Unlike most web weavers, they leave these lairs at night to hunt. Males move around more when hunting than do females, which tend to remain nearer to their webs. The spider will hunt for </span>firebrats<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">, crickets, </span>cockroaches<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;">, and other soft-bodied insects."</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; line-height: 22.399999618530273px;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Truly, it had never occurred to me that I might find one of these on my property. As is common in life, even though I knew they existed in Illinois, I couldn't quite imagine the reality of one until I was faced with <i>one of my very own</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Excellent. More life lessons, learned through experience. Yay. That's how my life is and it is both a blessing and a curse. Forced knowledge is a blessing. Forced experiential knowledge you didn't agree to is the part that feels like a curse.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just previous to this incident, I had bragged that when I find a spider on my body or in my immediate life area, I very calmly take it outside and deposit it back into the nature from whence it came or I open the door and ceremoniously flick it calmly into the ether. Now, I think I might freak out and scream like a little girl if I see anything resembling this beast.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The changes I've seen?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Previously:</span><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Throw on shoes without a care</li>
<li>Pick up cardboard without a care</li>
<li>Move freely about the garage without a care</li>
<li>Work in the yard with dead leaves and wood without a care</li>
<li>Use the toilet in the dark without a care</li>
<li>Do anything without a care</li>
</ul>
<div>
Now:</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Check shoes visually, smash toes for good measure</li>
<li>Gingerly pick up cardboard with the edge of my finger and inspect fully</li>
<li>Avoid garage, especially dark corners</li>
<li>Avoid yard, especially creepy death areas</li>
<li>Pee with ALL LIGHTS ON!</li>
<li>Um... care.</li>
</ul>
<div>
For four years, I have lived in this place and not feared a spider. I've worked to stay calm when I encounter them. I've rationalized, "They aren't going to bite me unless they feel threatened, they eat insects (so they're actually beneficial), and they are more scared of me than I am of them."</div>
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
Now I am second guessing myself and wondering if I knew what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks I was talking about. Should I be extra cautious with everything? Fear what I had learned to accept? Become paranoid of nature's creatures? I live in their world. I chose that. So, to keep my sanity, the answer has to be no. I can't let fear control me. I try to live by this new rule and I refuse to let this spider change my life's philosophies.<br />
<br />
But you can be assured that I'm still checking my shoes and peeing with the lights on. <i>Shudder!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
P.S. My husband also burned the article of work clothing he found the Brown Recluse in. <i>Eeeks!</i><div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-32606866683420940862014-02-23T20:19:00.000-06:002014-02-23T20:19:16.484-06:00The TalkI woke up yesterday morning and breathed a heavy sigh. I knew it had to happen. I would have to sit someone down and have "the talk."<br />
<br />
I was fed up, tired of the crap, and needed to give this person a swift kick in the behind and tell her exactly what I thought of the situation at hand.<br />
<br />
I didn't want to do it. I hate confrontation and I knew she would resist my approach, but I also knew it had to be done.<br />
<br />
I had to be honest, harsh, brutal, and firm. I knew it would be hard... and it was.<br />
<br />
Who is this person I had to have "the talk" with? Who had upset me so? Who was making me worry and fret and put me in this unhappy state?<br />
<br />
I'm ashamed to say that it was <i>me</i>.<br />
<br />
As I rolled out of bed, I could hear various pops and crackles and it just drove the nail further into the coffin. It sounded like my vertebrae were just knocking around in my body like large, loose, clanking marbles. But this was no fun game with colorful glass orbs. This was my life. This was my health. This was me knowing that I needed to firmly kick my own ass.<br />
<br />
I started the conversation in my head, "Okay, muffin top, you and I simply have to part ways. I just can't have you around anymore. I love you, but you're hurting me and dragging me down. You're bad for me and I know it. I just can't ignore these feelings anymore. I need to move on. I need my life back."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7_FtG_ozzg1AgKtcc5p6zwqGkO5dC3RsaLPDHhijmPZcmCLkJHwjrtryUBR6OUOxeq4h0wtpnVwtUOql3N3EX2gIQZiSPRsG9wq8Gu7IpCUP4dJCheOzulpEA_Y01tcUCPUB5AirDhJh/s1600/Muffins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7_FtG_ozzg1AgKtcc5p6zwqGkO5dC3RsaLPDHhijmPZcmCLkJHwjrtryUBR6OUOxeq4h0wtpnVwtUOql3N3EX2gIQZiSPRsG9wq8Gu7IpCUP4dJCheOzulpEA_Y01tcUCPUB5AirDhJh/s1600/Muffins.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
You're going to think this is ridiculous, but as I silently gave myself "the talk," I had tears welling up in my eyes.<br />
<br />
If you look at the picture of the muffins here, you will see what my belly looks and feels like. Overstuffed! Bursting out of the container.<br />
<br />
I knew it was time. I could tell I was nearing my "time to do something" weight and a simple step onto the scale confirmed it. I was at top weight, my self-imposed limit, my doomsday. My body was rebelling, fighting me, and had been flipping me the bird for even suggesting we should get healthy again.<br />
<br />
When I lost the 15 pounds after doing the Creative Bioscience challenge, I felt pretty good. Wow, what a difference 15 pounds can make. I now feel uncomfortable. My clothes don't fit. I don't want to move, and if and when I do too much moving, my back goes out like it did after vacation. I am weak and my body is vulnerable... to itself.<br />
<br />
Why do I feel so shameful about it?<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>I know better, that's why.</li>
<li>I can do better, that's why.</li>
<li>I am better than this sloppy existence, that's why.</li>
</ul>
<br />
I used to be a Beachbody coach. Working out was a <i>passion </i>of mine. I inspired other people. I ran a workout group online. I felt like a superhero. Now, I just feel like the villain. A pizza and cheese fueled villain. <i>Sigh</i>. I feel guilty. I have let myself down.<br />
<br />
I am reflecting deeply on why I haven't felt satisfied lately and it all boils down to two things. One, I'm not physically fit and therefore I feel sluggish in every aspect. And two, I'm not happy with my home health care job.<br />
<br />
I could give you a list of 50 reasons why working out is good for me. One reason is that I don't have back problems when I work out. Why? Muscles support the skeletal system. If the support system isn't strong, neither am I. I wobble and clank around like an old empty freight car. I am carrying dead weight. I am rusting.<br />
<br />
This winter has been rough. I haven't been able to go do my home health care job very much because of the weather. If it's too cold, she won't let me come because my car might break down and I'd be stranded in the cold. If it's too snowy, she won't let me come because I might get stuck. If it's too wet, the roads flood and I have trouble even getting there. Mostly, I agree with the logic and have not been wanting to take any chances. However, one of the things I do for her is to walk her dog, which gives him (and me) much needed exercise. No work. No dog walk.<br />
<br />
My home terrain is not conducive to exercise. My road is one of the worst in the county and the last to clear of snow and ice and the rest of my walking path was snowed over or too icy or too muddy this past two months. I haven't been walking my dogs since - oh - fifteen pounds ago or so. I love walking out here in the spring, summer, and fall. But this winter, I hate it. I don't even want to go outside. I don't like temperatures under 60 and it's been far under that. I just want to curl up in a ball on the couch and hibernate.<br />
<br />
Sure, I've used my hula hoop and done an occasional workout, but it wasn't until yesterday that I got serious with my lazy self. And boy, did I kick my own ass. I am soooo sore today. I did a whole RevAbs workout without missing a single exercise and I did it with weights. I woke up this morning and my whole body knew I had been in a fight. I think everything but my fingers, toes, and nose is sore.<br />
<br />
But this time, I am winning, not the villain. So I did another workout today, a P90X Stretch one hour long workout. Tomorrow, I will work out again. And again. And again. And again. I will beat myself into submission.<br />
<br />
I remember what it feels like to love working out. I want that feeling of love again.<br />
<br />
I remember what it feels like to love my job. I want that feeling again.<br />
<br />
Sure, I love the lady I take care of and she is "family." However, as I crouched on my hands and knees scrubbing dog poop out of her carpet last week and as I scrubbed her bed sheets where she had soiled them, I thought to myself, "This is my life." And I was sad.<br />
<br />
I love writing, not cleaning poop. I'm forty-four years old. I'm smart. I can make a living writing. Why am I doing something I'm not passionate about? Both times I've taken the home health care job, it started as a favor, helping someone out. Somehow, it became life; a life I'm not passionate about.<br />
<br />
I don't know exactly how I got here. All I know is that it's time to kick some Cindy ass. Join me?<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-62442381457272889832014-02-14T08:56:00.000-06:002014-02-14T08:56:01.515-06:00Happy Valentine's Day! Now, Put Your Penis Away.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ivVg_9gsIHgJ4vunykFEKhRDhJEzlgRNpBFTBm3bsYGjWD2ReTpSkjqdrm-s81LFCw09npUU3ZfuO8PVd_VUa6Q4XknlyJKBxg-Q3jFDyb6J8l4O7m5ZdgF9jDxFn92BBugFp5tKCcSI/s1600/Hearts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ivVg_9gsIHgJ4vunykFEKhRDhJEzlgRNpBFTBm3bsYGjWD2ReTpSkjqdrm-s81LFCw09npUU3ZfuO8PVd_VUa6Q4XknlyJKBxg-Q3jFDyb6J8l4O7m5ZdgF9jDxFn92BBugFp5tKCcSI/s1600/Hearts.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Ah, it's the day of love. And I, well... I could care less. I love my husband and he loves me and I am not the least bit insecure about that. He tells me every single day how much he loves me and makes me feel like a queen. End of story. No special day of love needed here, thank you. I am <i>sooooo </i>over worrying about that kind of crap. It's just another over-commercialized holiday for retailers to capitalize upon (said everyone, everywhere in a town with a Walmart).<br />
<br />
So in lieu of goo-goo-ga-ga love posts, today, I'm going to tell you about some uninvited Twitter love.<br />
<br />
I love social media. It's an important part of my writer platform. It's how I meet my fans, followers, friends, colleagues, and like-minded writer-type individuals. I've even embraced Twitter, to some degree, although the 140 word limit makes me cringe.<br />
<br />
I have a system; a system which recently had to change because I was... I was... accosted by an unwanted penis.<br />
<br />
When I get a new follower on Twitter, I receive an e-mail telling me so. It shows me their profile information and if I choose to, I can follow right from the link in the e-mail or I can investigate further and take a look-see into their full profile and read some Tweets, look at some interaction, and make sure they're not a spam account or just something I'm not interested in having in my feed for whatever reason. You Tweet about sports scores 100 times a day? I'm probably not going to follow. Sorry.<br />
<br />
So, I get this "you have a new follower" e-mail and I glance at the profile. It says something about Jesus Freak, so I go to Twitter's site and pull up the full profile to give it a look-see and see if I want to follow, because you know... I love Jesus and all, but the freaks can get on my nerves. Let's face it, you don't want that in your face 24/7 either.<br />
<br />
I'm reading some Tweets just kind of like <i>doh-ti-doh-ti-doh</i> and <i>tra-la-la-la-la</i>-ing about my normal business, when all of a sudden, I see it in my peripheral vision.<br />
<br />
What the ???? Is that what I think it is?<br />
<br />
If my computer had 3-D technology, I swear it would have put my eye out. PENIS!<br />
<br />
I had to do a double-take. I was transfixed, out of sheer surprise penis-ing. I had no idea a Twitter background could be pornographic. I swear to God, I'm not lying. It just never occurred to me. I use it for fun, for business, for networking and cool or funny pictures, to connect with other writers, but certainly not porn.<br />
<br />
Shouldn't there be a warning if there's going to be rated X material on the page? A disclaimer? A 'check here if you want to view strange penis' box?<br />
<br />
Then, because I am who I am and because my mind works the way it does, I thought this:<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/OWwOJlOI1nU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
Now, to be fair, it was a lovely penis... being held by an equally naked woman who was holding a coffee cup and using the penis as a creamer dispenser.<br />
<br />
If I were into porn, which I am not, I'm sure I would have been delighted with my find. As it turned out, I felt a tad bit violated, in an <i>oooh, I've made a terrible mistake</i> kind of way.<br />
<br />
As I sat there thinking, "My eyes! My eyes!" and trying to figure out if I had done something wrong to arrive at this profile and what I should do about it, I realized something important. I love my husband and I have no interest in having anything to do with strange penis or unfamiliar naked people.<br />
<br />
I blocked the account so I wouldn't accidentally go there again and I made myself consciously aware that Twitter has a whole universe of material I might not care to see and I need to be a little bit more keen to that in order to avoid getting some accidental <i>eye-strange</i>. Some people are into that kind of thing and that's fine for them. Go. Find your penis. Enjoy.<br />
<br />
I, however, will stick with my one true love, my husband. And I'm totally happy with that. My perfect Valentine's Day morning? A cup of coffee with my mate and my Coffee-mate. Bliss.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-20510037493053328882014-01-16T14:27:00.000-06:002014-01-16T14:27:05.755-06:00I'm a Top Ten Firepole Marketing Contest Entry!I placed in the top <b><i><u>ten</u></i></b> this time in the Firepole Marketing Ultimate Guides contest! Any likes, comments, RT's, shares, etc. on the article are much appreciated. You guys are what makes it possible for me to succeed and what makes me keep on going when I get tired of dealing with <i>people.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<h3>
<a href="http://bit.ly/1eVhqns" target="_blank"><span style="color: #3d85c6; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">How to Play Well with Others (Even if You Don’t Feel Like It): The Ultimate Guide to Why, When, and How to Deal With People</span></a></h3>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-20093396490383539842014-01-08T00:09:00.003-06:002014-01-08T00:09:31.036-06:00When Facebook Attacks, Do You Bite Back?I love Facebook. I love it more than Twitter, more than LinkedIn, and more than corn. That said, there are good things and bad things about being a Facebooker. Facebookist? Facebabbler?<br />
<br />
I try not to let a few bad apples spoil the bag of juicy goodness, but wow... sometimes, you just bite into a worm!<br />
<br />
Here are a few highlights of the lowlights in my Facebook year:<br />
<br />
<u><b><i>DENNY'S</i></b></u><br />
If you've never eaten at <a href="http://www.dennys.com/" target="_blank">Denny's Diner</a>, you are missing out. It's good food, family atmosphere, and affordable. As an added bonus, you might get lucky enough to get the waitress with the blue glitter eye shadow who calls you "Sugar." It's open all night, so no matter what time your cravings hit, they're there for you, baby. They're there for you night and day, with <i>pancakes</i>.<br />
<br />
I was thrilled to become a Brand Ambassador for Denny's in September '13 and excitedly cruised their Facebook feed to grab a link to help promote their BYO (Build Your Own) Omelette promotion. I thought it was awesome that they were doing something to fight hunger. What I found on their thread shocked me. Look at the comments!<br />
<br />
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I was truly appalled that people were not only against this promotion, but that the would come to Denny's page to slam them in the very thread promoting their charitable act. How dare these people slam my Denny's!<br />
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I felt sorry for Denny's and hated that they were attacked in this way. I bit my tongue and didn't say what was on my mind on the Facebook page, went to our local Denny's, and sampled the omelette. I was perfectly satisfied and happy. It was a good experience, just as I anticipated.<br />
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I just hope I didn't kill any innocent children by participating in the campaign. WTF, indeed! Since when do eggs kill children? I must have missed something on the evening news.<br />
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Denny's, don't worry. I've got your back, baby. I'll be back for some Moons Over My Hammy real soon, Sugar!<br />
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<b><i><u>DOG DRAMA</u></i></b><br />
Not once, but twice in 2013, I became involved in doggie drama. Who knew raising dogs could be so much like raising kids? I thought I'd have to fight about my kids on Facebook, but no, it turns out that <i>dogs </i>are a hot-button issue.<br />
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On Mother's Day, my Great Pyrenees, Buddy, was shot in the head. It was literally a drive-by shooting. It was traumatizing because unbeknownst to the perpetrators, I was standing right outside and saw their truck. After ensuring my dog was indeed going to live, I did two things. 1) I called the police and filed a report. 2) I got on Facebook and put out an APB on the truck. My post was shared almost 300 times and a local dog related business with a Facebook page championed my cause.<br />
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Within 12 hours, thanks to a private message via Facebook, I had the name of the driver and in just 8 more, the teenage boys responsible came to my door to confess. They had their parents with them. I knew one of the boys. They were minors and had made a stupid mistake based on a dog fight I hadn't even known had taken place with my Buddy and a neighborhood dog.<br />
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Long story short, we worked it out ourselves and my husband and I decided not to press charges. The boys were severely punished by their parents and worked for my husband for free all summer, as much as he needed them.<br />
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We were at peace with the outcome and told the police we had taken care of the situation to our satisfaction. However, Facebook dog fanatics were furious! I finally asked the dog Facebook page I mentioned earlier to take down my post because people were getting so heated and hateful toward those boys and our decision not to press charges.<br />
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They were cursing, name-calling, threatening, saying these boys would kill a person if they'd do that to a dog, etc. It got to the point where I almost feared for the boys' lives. I didn't dare tell anyone their names for fear of what might happen to them. I had tried to explain to everyone that we had taken care of the situation satisfactorily and were happy with the result, but people were angry about our mercy. They wanted these boys to go to prison.<br />
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What happened to the days of handling things yourself? Why do we have this "make them pay" mentality? We did not want to ruin these boys' lives. We wanted to help them learn from their mistake. Where have we gone wrong in society? It felt very much like a lynch mob and I didn't like it, not one little bit. People honestly could not understand how we could be so forgiving and kind. They did not want us to love our fellow man. They wanted vengeance! They wanted blood. They could taste it. It left a sickening taste in my mouth.<br />
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<b><i><u>DOGGIE DRAMA #2</u></i></b><br />
I raise Great Pyrenees dogs and love to post pictures of them on Facebook and see pictures of others' Pyrs. I joined a couple of Facebook groups for Great Pyrenees lovers. I posted a picture of my beloved Maxi talking about how sad I would be to sell her (I'd never kept one of my pups that long before) and put up a post with pics of Buddy and Penny, the parents, talking about how much I love them also. I adore my Pyrs. They adore their Pyrs. What a perfect match, right?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFW_3yIjnE9H6TnXbb8IunSSi45kCpeloqSqPbLCCrqE8DG5xxcl7WAA9-4IyZ6jXkVvR7Punhye_KPKQ9MwdThhj5X9QoV22jHgwUQXPvVkTyX3geb7VOYru35NlsPBsAWlcLMaBwHjGe/s1600/Gorgeous+Buddy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFW_3yIjnE9H6TnXbb8IunSSi45kCpeloqSqPbLCCrqE8DG5xxcl7WAA9-4IyZ6jXkVvR7Punhye_KPKQ9MwdThhj5X9QoV22jHgwUQXPvVkTyX3geb7VOYru35NlsPBsAWlcLMaBwHjGe/s1600/Gorgeous+Buddy.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "baby" Buddy</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet baby Maxi</td></tr>
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All it took was that one post about Maxi and the attack began. In the span of one post, I was labeled a backyard breeder and was being harassed by a couple of group members in the thread. They pelted me with accusatory questions. One in particular was very nasty and not shy about letting the world know. They misconstrued all sorts of things from the pictures I posted and twisted any response I provided to explain myself into an unrecognizable shape.<br />
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I am a reputable breeder. I do everything right and my dogs are not puppy mill dogs by any stretch of the imagination. If you know me, you know that. My dogs are registered purebreds and are meticulously cared for and raised in the best and most loving environment a dog could hope to find. They are like children to me. I was thinking about becoming a certified breeder with CKC and further improving my operation.<br />
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In just one post, the people in that group attacked me to the point that I no longer felt I had the drive to continue raising dogs. They took the wind out of my sails. They humiliated me, and for no good reason. They made me look like an awful person. They didn't even know one thing about me or my operation. Nothing. Yet, the phrase, "People like you," being directed at me was enough to show me I was not welcome in their elite group.<br />
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I contemplated about a hundred responses. I was angry. I was hurt. I wanted to fight them off with growling and teeth bared. Again, I was shocked at the senseless Facebook attack. <u>I</u> was being attacked this time. The knife had been inserted and it was painful. This wound would require surgery.<br />
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In the end, I decided it was best to just delete the "controversial" post, leave the group without responding to the comments, and continue living my life just as I had been before joining the group. I did just that, without a word, and never looked back.<br />
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I'm sure they think I tucked tail and ran like a scared pooch, but they are wrong. I simply chose not to bring more negativity and stress into my days. It wasn't worth it. It isn't worth it.<br />
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I <i>chose </i>not to bite back. Would you?<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-43288101014206382692013-12-10T19:20:00.001-06:002013-12-10T19:20:59.470-06:00Call to Action! Fundraising for My Dog, Maxi's Surgery...I put a widget on my blog and have set up a GoFundMe page for my 8 month old Great Pyrenees who was hit by a vehicle over Thanksgiving weekend and had a very expensive surgery a week ago. Any donations are greatly appreciated, even if you can't do much. Every drop helps fill the bucket! Even if you can't donate, please share the GoFundMe page with your own social media connections for me if you wouldn't mind. I really like GoFundMe and have donated to many causes, some complete strangers to me. So many great causes out there :) and my doggie is worthy - she is a sweetheart!<br />
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<a href="http://www.gofundme.com/5om1ok" target="_blank">Help Maxi</a><br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-86459855379489390732013-10-27T15:59:00.003-05:002013-10-27T15:59:53.999-05:00Driving and Crying - Guest post on RachelintheOCOne of my guest posts has just been published on bestselling Amazon author, Rachel Thompon's blog, RachelintheOC.com.<br />
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I'm giving you a warning that this post is not rainbows and unicorns and is sensitive material. I want to also further state that I have my mother's full blessing to share this. Her support was vitally important to me in the decision to talk about this publicly.<br />
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Your discretion and respect are requested in what I'm sharing. I've seen what can happen when people bare their soul on the Internet and sometimes it's not pretty. As a matter of fact, I have a post in mind to write about that very subject. Life isn't pretty all the time. On occasion, it's pretty crappy.<br />
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My post, <a href="http://rachelintheoc.com/2013/10/driving-crying-guest-hiyacynthia/" target="_blank">Driving and Crying,</a> is about one of those crappy days I've rarely talked about. If you're wanting to laugh today, this isn't the post for that. However, if you're interested in further learning about my life journey, please read my post and your comments are welcome.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxft3eLQZoUIoB9j8cCX6HWN8s2nRCO32O2Lm3z_tz920EPkYwD76vD18W1EO3Ce6VOlklXp75lA_eBdNtWBtf4Tb2Bj_iymzF-tJK0Pw5sfPJeK-R1w5j_zfwxpe_q_5jKUzCkdvggx3f/s1600/Cindy+all+Artsy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxft3eLQZoUIoB9j8cCX6HWN8s2nRCO32O2Lm3z_tz920EPkYwD76vD18W1EO3Ce6VOlklXp75lA_eBdNtWBtf4Tb2Bj_iymzF-tJK0Pw5sfPJeK-R1w5j_zfwxpe_q_5jKUzCkdvggx3f/s320/Cindy+all+Artsy.JPG" width="233" /></a></div>
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As you know, Rachel wants my "deep, dark secret" kind of posts. Her most recent book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Broken-Pieces-Essays-Inspired-Life-ebook/dp/B00AR0T74S/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382905514&sr=8-1&keywords=broken+pieces" target="_blank">Broken Pieces,</a> focuses on painful pieces of her life. She and I met and connected online long ago and found that we shared many broken pieces and that we were willing to talk about them in order to help others. I proudly share my thoughts on her blog because her focus is on healing through sharing.<br />
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I wouldn't share these things if I didn't believe good <u>will</u> come of them. If I can help even one person come out of the shell of shame, hatred, or blame, I've done my job.<br />
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Rachel, thank you for your support and the opportunity to spread awareness on your platform. It's an honor that you have chosen to once again promote me with my post, , <a href="http://rachelintheoc.com/2013/10/driving-crying-guest-hiyacynthia/" target="_blank">Driving and Crying</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-51507557344084682832013-10-23T08:45:00.001-05:002013-10-23T08:45:19.529-05:00Caught on Video (in a good way)As I said in my Miley Cyrus post, sometimes you hope to God you aren't "caught on video" at times in your life, but this time, I am totally okay with sharing my videotaped moments.<br />
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I joined Toastmasters this summer. I thought it was only for public speakers. I had no idea that it would expose me to things like video communication. Here are my very first taped interviews as both the host of the interview and as the subject of the interview. Big thanks to Todd Austin for coordinating these videos.<br />
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Note to those considering interviews: Don't sit in a chair that swivels. You'll want to swivel.<br />
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This is sort of representative of my voice and demeanor. I'm a lot more animated and I think I talk faster in "real life" actually, and with a bit more inflection, but in case you ever wondered what I sound like, this is me!<br />
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Here I am being interviewed for the first time ever:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/C5azK3slcQo?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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And here I am as the host:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/l3VTKRa2G5w?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-37697935822493456732013-10-06T19:55:00.000-05:002013-10-06T19:55:57.976-05:00Got Balls?Sometimes, lovely things happen. This week has been quite lovely because I got to guest post for Sophie Lizard (don't you love people with cool names like that?) at <a href="http://www.beafreelanceblogger.com/">Be A Freelance Blogger</a> with my post:<br />
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<a href="http://bit.ly/1a2eL7c">Freelancing Takes Balls [And Yep, You've Got a Pair]</a></div>
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Sophie is an awesome person and has a great website for freelance bloggers. I once did a 30 minute session with Sophie and I must say that she truly knows her stuff. I got a raise with a client because of the advice from that 30 minute session. Please check out both my post and her blog. You'll be glad you did.<br />
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-47488613169004997102013-09-29T22:29:00.001-05:002013-09-29T22:30:47.285-05:00My Reason For Disliking Miley Cyrus' Behavior Might Surprise YouEverybody's talking about her. Who? The tongue-wagging, twerking, titillating (yeah, pun absolutely intended) Miley Cyrus. Everyone has an opinion an I am no exception. I just feel the need to explain mine so that you understand where it comes from. In this understanding, you will know me and be able to relate to me better as a person, like it or not.<br />
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I judged her harshly while others in social media defended her and lifted up praises to her holy name, screaming, "She is woman, let her roar!"<br />
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My reaction<em> (screamed aloud at the television)</em> was more along the lines of, "Holy... what the hell? Miley, you slut!"<br />
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We don't always watch the Video Music Awards at our house, but decided to catch it this year. When my twelve and fifteen year old girls told me excitedly, "Mom, Miley Cyrus is on," I was anxious to see her. I was anxious, that is, until the minute she stuck her tongue out, which I think was about two seconds into her arrival on stage.<br />
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We all know what happened after that. More tongue, more twerk, more <em>Uhh - Mah - Gawd</em>!</div>
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Yes, Miley, I see your tongue. Now, put it back where it belongs, young lady! I hate it when little kids try to lick me and now I'm terrified of ever meeting you in person. You say you stick your tongue out all the time because you don't like to smile? What are you, four years old?</div>
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Yes, Miley, I see you pointing at your va-jay-jay. I know you're a big girl and we don't have to spell the word s-e-x around you anymore. I get it. You're not a virgin and you want the world to rally around your public pubic point-a-thon.</div>
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Yes, Miley, I see you simulating a sexual position with that poor little Thicke boy. You have now somehow ruined the image I have of his father and the fond memories I have of watching him on TV when I was young. I'm not even sure how you did that to me, but you somehow put <em>ick</em> all over anything Thicke. <em>Shudder!</em></div>
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Yes, Miley, I saw your new video for Wrecking Ball and no, it does not remind me in the least of the Sinead O'Connor <em>Nothing Compares 2U</em> video. As I recall, she didn't seductively lick a thing, much less a sledgehammer, in order to get me to like her. Phallic symbolism, anyone? <em>Cough, cough. Ahem. </em>Furthermore, Sinead did not get <em>nekkid</em> and straddle a giant metal ball (poor set cleaning lady, <em>ewww</em>) on a chain in order to show me her vulnerabilities.</div>
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Sinead's was art. Yours was <em>tart</em>.</div>
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Okay, so there was my opinion. Now the surprising part.</div>
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I really like Miley Cyrus and I still consider myself a fan of her work. I think she is extremely talented. I love her music and her acting ability. I love the ever-so-rebelliousness of her lyrics doing what they want to whomever they want, whenever they want. You're right, Miley. It's your mouth, your house, your life party and you CAN do what you want with it and it's okay.</div>
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So why am I coming off like a hater? Let's look at some options:</div>
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I'm a religious nut, judging Miley unfairly. Nope!</div>
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I'm afraid she'll influence my teen and tween age girls. Negative!</div>
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I'm jealous because she's got better boobs than me. No way! I've got curves, girls...</div>
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I'm a goody-two-shoes and have never seen such atrocities... my eyes, my eyes! Wrong again.</div>
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The truth is, I don't like Miley's behavior because she reminds me of... well... a younger version of me.</div>
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Miley is... my mini-me!</div>
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I should clarify that I don't behave that way anymore. But oh my sweet baby Jesus, she reminds me of exactly where I was so many years ago. I was no better. I acted sleazy, rebellious, filthy; and I was proud of myself.</div>
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I cursed like a sailor. I showed too many strangers my body parts. I tried to be seductive, thinking it would gain respect and make me feel... loved. I was pathetic, lost, broken.</div>
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And I had no idea.</div>
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Video footage of my ultimate immature period of life would put Miley's to shame. My hope is that all persons possessing such video footage have passed on or become morally accountable to a higher power and have burned the evidence. There were no teddy bears involved, but there were definitely beer bongs and fellow girls gone wild in attendance. And I... wanted to be their queen.</div>
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Now, so many years later and after tons of soul-crushing therapy, I know that deep hurts caused my behavior. These were painful events so deep that I couldn't even understand their depth or form them into intelligent thought patterns.</div>
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Don't worry. There will be a book someday.</div>
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The point is, I am now embarrassed about how I behaved and I feel that it's probable that Miley will someday regret her actions. And as I well know, you can't take them back.</div>
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Am I glad I went through all of the things I went through in my life to get where I am today? You bet! I know I wouldn't be who I am without going through rape, divorce, betrayal and all of the life tragedies I endured.</div>
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My loathsome past actions are part of my metamorphosis into who I have become today. I am still proud of myself no matter what I did.</div>
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I just don't want to have to see Miley go through what I went through. I worry about what happened to drive her to the same extreme outward manifestations of pain I displayed.</div>
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For me, it seemed fun at the time. In retrospect, it was just a sad representation of my lack of self worth and my need for attention and love, at whatever crazy and humiliating cost.</div>
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I'm angry with her. I'm disappointed. I'm afraid she might not go <u>through</u> this period, but get stuck in it instead. I'm afraid she's in with the wrong crowd and can't find an escape route because she isn't looking for one. She probably doesn't even know she needs it. It's hard to see through the clouds of misconception.</div>
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I know how it works. I loved it. The attention made me popular, but at what cost? In the end, the payoff was short-lived and I paid dearly with my pride.</div>
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I scream at her because she is a previous version of me. I wanted someone who genuinely cared for me to scream at me and tell me I was doing wrong. But I wouldn't have listened. I would have only labeled them a hater.</div>
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Me. A hater of my former self? Am I allowed to do that? Yes, in my own home. But face to face, I would give her advice if she asked for it. I'd give her counsel. I'd give her my love.</div>
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Have you ever yelled at your children for their childish choices and ways? Do you still love them?</div>
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Miley, I love you, but that doesn't mean I have to like you right now.</div>
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Peace, out.</div>
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Tongue, out.</div>
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Rant, out.</div>
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I hope you understand.</div>
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<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-19766243790636721602013-09-10T04:30:00.000-05:002014-04-08T22:44:56.742-05:00Grammar Schmammar. Is It Important? Yes, It Is!I used Grammarly to <a href="http://www.grammarly.com/" rel="nofollow">grammar check</a> this post because I have so many paid blog posts to write, I don't have time to look stupid.<br />
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Yes, folks, it's that time. There were some excellent connections made with many companies at BlogHer '13 in Chicago and I am currently in talks with several of them to review products, receive gift cards to blah-blah-blog about them, and rant and rave (which I already do quite well).<br />
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This puts me in a position to announce that I have reached an important benchmark in my writing career. You may do this all the time on your blog, but it is the first time I have received offers for actual monetary compensation or gift cards instead of just product.<br />
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More importantly, these companies contacted me. The ones I have contacted and really wanted to blog for (coming close to groveling or begging on hands and knees, saying, "Please, please, please let me represent you!") whom I met at BlogHer, haven't given me the bat of an eyelash, the time of day, or a snowball's chance in hell to prove myself a worthy product hawker.<br />
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Whatever! Phooey on them, right? Who needs chocolate and new cars? Don't answer that.<br />
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Fortunately, the companies contacting me are ones I am still quite interested in promoting. I won't be promoting or participating in random blog whoring, but taking honest looks at things I would have tried anyway.<br />
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The most exciting part is that Grammarly contacted me out of the blue. They weren't at BlogHer. I don't even know how they know I exist, but I knew <em>they</em> existed. I had been to their site before and wanted to use the paid program, but just didn't have the bank for it yet.<br />
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Lucky me, I was invited to participate in a free trial! It's perfectly timed because I have a lot to write and a short time to write it. I have many paid/unpaid guest posts and pieces backed up I need to write and Grammarly can save me time by helping me proof them.<br />
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I do not have time to look like an idiot.<br />
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Let me give you an example of how important spelling and grammar can be. My husband is becoming computer savvy in order to start some side businesses. The other night, I came home from Toastmasters, and the hubs excitedly told me, "Guess what! I bought (popular website domain name) - I can't believe it was available!"<br />
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Full well knowing that domain name was probably NOT readily available, I replied, "Did you spell it right?"<br />
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The response was something along the lines of, "Oh, crap."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKtcgRVCeqe7h9RITlLrglGK1nszk2wweX_ynafO7SRtSiMmH5f2w8nsMWI9Pa5UIlSBW1uBNp38_ZcG62tN28a02II6Z8jvLKS-StC0W3WztG6M_kVkLpRDAXG4OEnvoLsyhDcrR8A5T/s1600/Dictionary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghKtcgRVCeqe7h9RITlLrglGK1nszk2wweX_ynafO7SRtSiMmH5f2w8nsMWI9Pa5UIlSBW1uBNp38_ZcG62tN28a02II6Z8jvLKS-StC0W3WztG6M_kVkLpRDAXG4OEnvoLsyhDcrR8A5T/s320/Dictionary.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Proofreading, people! Yes, it's that important to know how to spell and how to use the English language properly.<br />
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I am admittedly the grammar and spelling Nazi in my home. I'm quite proud of it.<br />
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The other night, I got to be Grammarian and Ah-Counter at my Toastmasters meeting. I couldn't believe how many useless words we all used in our speeches. Yes, I even used, "Um..." once while giving my grammarian report to the group. Yes, I noted it to the group at the end of my report. Sigh...<br />
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As writers, we are being judged with each letter we type, each sentence we structure, and each phrase we make come to life (or let die a horrible slow death).<br />
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Bad spelling and grammar <strong>can</strong> be deadly to your writing career. What if JannaBobanna123 is actually an agent who just happens to be reading your blog post? You could be the next big thing, but not if you confuse 'your' with 'you're'.<br />
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Repeating these mistakes <em>ad nauseam </em>is unforgivable.<br />
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Invest in a good grammar checking program! At the very least, use your built in spell-check religiously. I know I do. Even if I catch an error months later in a post (yes, it's happened <em>rarely</em>), I go back and correct it. It's never too late. You never know who's scrolling through your archives.<br />
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Stop! Collaborate and listen... to Grammarly, that is. I just tested and corrected the preceding post material and scored 87 out of 100. It caught 7 errors. I now know that I overuse the word "and" which results in run-on sentences. What? Me? Run-on sentences? Not a shock.<br />
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It's like having a cheap editor. The best part is that Grammarly can't argue with you over your plot.<br />
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I had one spelling error I hadn't caught and a grammar issue or two I wouldn't have caught. All in all, I'm pleased with my result and would recommend Grammarly to take your writing to the next level. We can all use an extra brain to further our career. I'm impressed that this particular brain is computerized. I'm also a little pissed that it's obviously smarter than I. I am? Me?<br />
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Oh, heck. Back to Grammarly...<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-57552029780343470072013-08-22T18:18:00.000-05:002013-08-22T19:10:05.222-05:00Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner! (Not really... it's Creative Bioscience product and stuff)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #444444; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Recently, I paired up with Kate Pilkington of <a href="http://thenestedblog.com/" target="_blank">The Nested Blog,</a> Jennifer Bosse of <a href="http://definingmyhappy.com/" target="_blank">Defining My Happy,</a> and Amy Miller of <a href="http://www.addledliving.com/" target="_blank">Addled Living</a> for an awesome giveaway. The winners have been chosen!</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">The winner of the prize pack is Laura Hickey. The prize pack included:</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">- $25 Amazon Gift Card</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">- $20 Gift Card to store of your choice</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">-3 months free ad space on Defining My Happy (promote business or blog!)</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">-3 months Bioscience Product (www.creativebioscience.com)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">-Spa kit including locally hand-made lotion and soaps & a pedicure kit</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">It was decided that the spa kit would be given away as a separate runner-up prize, so the winner of that item is Ana Nouri.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">CONGRATULATIONS, LADIES!</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Thank you, everyone, for your participation. I hope to be able to give you more cool prizes in the future!</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;">Kate, Amy, and especially Jennifer (who ran the whole shebang) - I couldn't have been paired up with better bloggers for my first giveaway. Hugs!</span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837201606358940799.post-30442269709802122632013-08-13T00:23:00.000-05:002013-08-22T17:40:50.072-05:00End of Summer Giveaway! Gift Card, Diet Pills, Ad Space...Yay!Well, the summer is winding down and we're all tired. Personally, I'm tired of my kids, tired of my messy house, and tired of being tired in general. We can all use a little refreshing, especially as moms, eh? What's better than an END OF SUMMER GIVEAWAY? Whoop, whoop... nuttin', honey!<br />
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The time has come for me to post my results and give out the three months of <a href="https://www.creativebioscience.com/" target="_blank">Creative Bioscience</a> weight loss supplement products as per my agreement. Although I had some delays due to my Lyme disease, I have completed the 3 months of supplements and I did manage to lose 15 pounds total (and keep it off) without even doing the dieting part.<br />
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Although I will not be continuing the pills, I do feel they met my particular need, which was to jump start my weight loss journey and lose some poundage off of my roundage. I met half of my goal and all things considered, I'm quite happy with that. I still ate what I wanted and did nothing but take the pills and do some light exercise. I think that's how weight loss supplementation pills should be done, so that's what I did.<br />
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My favorite of the 3 pills I chose were the African Mango 1200. If you are the winner, you can choose any 3 products adding up to a 90 day supply. Take 3 months of the same thing or 3 different ones to see what you might like.<br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: x-large;"><b><i>BUT WAIT, THAT'S NOT ALL!</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div>
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I have paired up with three other bloggers (thanks to a well-timed invitation by the lovely Jennifer Bosse at <a href="http://www.definingmyhappy.com/" target="_blank">Defining My Happy</a>) and the pot is sooooo much sweeter! Please join in on the Rafflecopter fun to win prizes from Jen Bosse, moi, Kate Pilkington at <a href="http://www.thenestedblog.com/" target="_blank">Nested</a>, and Amy Miller at <a href="http://www.addledliving.com/" target="_blank">Addled</a> and give your tired butt a nice little end of summer gift!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroucZLI2o5-pRkiUmoac2n_cMdyJn2-fKMFbdMhumOgPVI01bpKQDqkWtk_0LRmboIuvVdsOoxXF_D5bAqm_gRCydUZipCKdXszdFgc4wT5ztRlIU3Iyzt3xmj9ACP2cFgBaV9H_KMjgP/s1600/giveaway+participants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgroucZLI2o5-pRkiUmoac2n_cMdyJn2-fKMFbdMhumOgPVI01bpKQDqkWtk_0LRmboIuvVdsOoxXF_D5bAqm_gRCydUZipCKdXszdFgc4wT5ztRlIU3Iyzt3xmj9ACP2cFgBaV9H_KMjgP/s1600/giveaway+participants.jpg" /></a></div>
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Prize pack includes:</div>
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<span style="color: blue;">- $25 Amazon Gift Card</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">- $20 Gift Card to store of your choice</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">-3 months free ad space on Defining My Happy (promote business or blog!)</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">-3 months Bioscience Product (www.creativebioscience.com)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 17px; text-align: left; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">-Spa kit including locally hand-made lotion and soaps & a pedicure kit</span></span></div>
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The contest runs until August 20th at midnight. Enter now and good luck!</div>
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<strong><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">UPDATE:</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: red;">The winner of the prize pack is Laura Hickey</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: red;">It was decided that the spa kit would be given away as a separate runner-up prize, so the winner of that item is Ana Nouri</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: red;">CONGRATULATIONS, LADIES!</span></strong></div>
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<strong><span style="color: black;">Thank you, everyone, for your participation.</span></strong></div>
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<a class="rafl" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/115c960/" id="rc-115c960" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a>
<script src="//d12vno17mo87cx.cloudfront.net/embed/rafl/cptr.js"></script><div class="blogger-post-footer">Peace be with you...</div>Hiyacynthiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07648329765845940034noreply@blogger.com4