tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18764380066390242402024-03-12T23:39:34.224-07:00Harry and SeoulThe joy and bliss of happily married life with kids as chronicled by a neurotic basket case and her husband.Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.comBlogger17125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-23943122393812758182014-05-10T15:10:00.001-07:002014-05-12T05:52:51.028-07:00To Mom (and Seoul)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-22726035224384734602013-08-10T09:28:00.000-07:002013-08-10T09:28:06.380-07:00A Glimpse into the Neurotic (or just plain crazy) BrainI'm sure you are aware by now that my brain doesn't really function like a normal person's brain. I start off with a normal enough thought, but then it quickly derails and heads straight for Crazytown at supersonic speeds. That causes me to make a decision based off crazy logic instead of real logic. Usually it's with inconsequential stuff so it doesn't really do any harm. Like my most recent thought-process about lottery tickets. The potential lottery winnings reached to nearly half a billion (yes, <i>billion</i>) dollars so I considered spending the $2 for a chance to be on easy street for the rest of my life. And that's as far as I got with any semblance of normal thought. Because from there my mind jumped to this:<br />
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<i>Knowing my luck, I'll buy a lottery ticket, and then win the jackpot, and then, after my first check gets cashed, I'll get struck by lightening and die before I ever have a chance to spend a dime. And then Harry will get all the money, which is fine, I want him to have it because he'll use it to make sure the kids are set for life. But then he'll meet some cheap, gold-digging floozie and she will use her stupid, sneaky, gold-digging woman charms to convince Harry to marry her, and she'll be the evil stepmother that my kids read about when they were little in all those fairy tales and she'll steal all the money left to Harry that he would have used for the kids, and they'll all be miserable and have terrible lives. </i><i>All because Harry went and married some stupid, selfish bimbo. </i><br />
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<b style="font-style: italic;">I CAN'T BELIEVE HE WOULD GO AND MARRY SOME BIMBO AND LET HER HAVE ALL MY MONEY! AND I'M NOT EVEN DEAD YET!!! THAT BASTARD! </b><br />
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And then the logic kicks back in for a second and I realize that was a totally random, completely ridiculous thought. BUT, because I had that thought, I'm somehow convinced that if I buy a ticket, <i>all of that might actually happen.</i> So I decide I can't buy a lottery ticket because I don't want to die and leave my kids to be miserable for the rest of their lives. Harry, however, I don't feel so bad for because he's the one that was stupid enough to marry a dumb, gold digging, bimbo. And then, <i><b>finally</b></i>, real logic makes its way back into my brain. And I realize how silly that whole train of thought was. Because even if I <i>do</i> buy a ticket, I'm never going to win the lottery. So I bought a ticket. And, thankfully, I didn't win.<br />
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That kind of thought process happens more often than I care to admit. But, like I said, it's pretty harmless so no big deal. I'm getting better at realizing how crazy my thoughts are in those cases, so I feel pretty confident that no real damage will be done to anyone else. However, there are times where my neurotic paranoia can be kind of dangerous for other people. Fortunately, I have Harry around to tell me that it's not <i>them</i>, it's<i> me</i>.<br />
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We just came back from a fun little weekend getaway in the mountains. Very near Nature (thankfully we stayed in the filtered, concrete-laden, busy tourist area and never ventured out into the gross wilderness where all the insect-infested animals live), but far enough away that I could appreciate it from within my air conditioned hotel room. The road trip there was fun and we stopped at goofy places along the way and generally had a great time. On our way back home though, we stopped at a gas station/mega mart and decided to get some snacks for the trip back. I was looking for a specific candy bar and was lamenting how no one seems to carry it anymore when out of nowhere some stranger (i.e. Murderer) started talking. <i>Directly to me. </i><br />
"You know you can get those down the street at the other gas station. I seen them there all the time. You know what place I'm talkin' 'bout? It's right off the main drag, near the mountains."<br />
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I quickly stepped back closer to Harry, while maintaining eye contact with the Murderer (because if you don't, you're more likely to die), and just nodded my head and mumbled "Great, thanks," then I turned and went down the next aisle. I was looking for Mace. Harry saw me intently perusing the items in that aisle and asked me what I was looking for. I told him I was looking for something to keep the Murderer at bay should he get any strange ideas about following us because clearly he had bad intentions. Harry stared blankly at me for a minute, then sudden realization washed over him.<br />
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"Uh, you know he was just being friendly, right? People do that here. They talk to people they don't know. Because. They're. Friendly. And. Like. To. Be. Helpful. Put the pepper spray down, we're not buying it."<br />
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It's a good thing I have this man in my life. Although between you and I, I'm not entirely convinced we didn't narrowly escape a terrible, painful death. See what buying lottery tickets gets you? Near death experiences.<br />
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<br />Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-73444028635938811602013-07-26T16:27:00.000-07:002013-08-08T11:16:28.608-07:00We're Not Dead!Hello, Readers! <br />
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We hope you are still around! I realize it's been a <em>really</em> long time since we've done anything on here, but we have been busy, busy, busy! Okay, well Harry's been busy, busy, busy. Too busy to draw, so it's all his fault that we don't have anything recent posted.<br />
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Like how I deflect blame? It takes years to perfect such a flawless technique, so don't be jealous. One day you can be a professional blame-thrower like me!<br />
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Anyway, we're going to do a catch-up blog since lots of things have happened while we were on our, uh, break. Katie is officially an adult. This is a big year for her - she had her 18th birthday, graduated high school, is getting ready to go to college, and got her very first apartment. But none of those events really made her feel like an adult, since she had help with getting all that done. So, to celebrate and prove her adult-ness, Katie did what any normal 18 year old would do when faced with the sudden realization that <em>you can make all your own choices</em>: she chopped off all her hair and turned it platinum blonde. Because nothing screams ADULT like hair color that is very clearly not your natural one. <br />
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The Boy. On the day he was <em>exactly</em> 15 years, 6 months (almost down to the hour), he got his learner's permit. Thankfully I remembered the last time we had a kid get a learner's permit and quickly dumped the driving lessons on Harry.<br />
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Like I said, it takes years to perfect this kind of responsibility shirking. So Harry has been taking The Boy out driving. It's pretty much the same thing we went through with Katie. Only with more...exposition. The end result was the same, though. <br />
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He's still in brainiac school and just loves that he has a summer reading assignment that is due on the very first day back. Really, this kind of enthusiasm just can't be taught. <br />
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Harry is still plugging along at school, and he's been doing some student teaching now. With the exception of one "pants emergency," he's had a blast mixing it up with the Future Leaders of Tomorrow.<br />
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Although he still needs to work on not over extending himself with school projects. Sometimes a Power Point presentation is enough. <br />
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And finally, about me (isn't that what it's really all that matters?) - I had to retire from roller derby. My knees made it abundantly clear that they will no longer participate in such shenanigans. I miss it a lot, but I also like being able to look at a flight of steps and not immediately wish for one of those chair-elevator things to take me up them. I can go up and down the steps on my very own! Work is still going well, but commuting with The Boy to drop him off at school isn't quite the bonding experience I was hoping for.<br />
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That's okay, because when he does get his license, I'm going to make him drive to Columbus. To get experience driving, of course. <br />
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And we almost forgot about Nugget! Our little neurotic wonder is still fat, and still clueless. However he recently discovered that the bath tub is the place to hide whenever a thunder storm strikes. Or fireworks. Or truck backfires. Or anything that's loud. But trust me, that bath tub is preferable to his old "safe" spot. <br />
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Now that we (*cough* HARRY) is done for the summer, we will be back on track blogging and drawing more of our adventures. Stay tuned for our next exciting blog: Harry and the Hornet's Nest!<br />
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Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-55906589007067562312012-09-17T17:14:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:28:59.890-07:00In Which Katie Learns How To Jump Start Her Car<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-67007469589398690592012-04-28T21:10:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:29:33.564-07:00Gimme A BreakSo, Harry has been in school non-stop for almost a year and a half now. He's thinking about taking the Summer off this time. I think it's a good idea. Mainly because this was the series of texts I received from him within the course of an hour: <br />
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Math is poopie! <br />
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Math is stinky! <br />
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Math is not so much fun :( <br />
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And THEN, after that, I received these in an email: <br />
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Apparently he decided this information was more vital than actually doing his Math work. Yeah, I think a break is a good idea...Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-30040922210807828682012-02-14T19:48:00.000-08:002014-05-10T15:30:50.436-07:00Christmas ShenanigansYes, I realize it's been nearly 8 weeks since Christmas but I'm still playing catch up* so this is our post-Christmas wrap up. <br />
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I should start off by explaining exactly how excited we get about Christmas. I love it. It's my favorite holiday. Every year I make Harry drag out all our tree decorations (for our fake tree - we go back and forth every year about having a real tree and I always lose. <em>Always</em>. Yes, feel sorry for me), including our super awesome amazing bubble lights. Don't know what bubble lights are? They're only the best kinds of lights EVER. They are candle-shaped lights filled with a colorful liquid that starts to bubble when they are turned on. <em>They are pure magic. </em>Those lights are in addition to our regular lights, which will blink and change colors. And then we have green & silver beads that go all over the tree. <em>Then</em> we add our ornaments over that. We always put our Godzilla and sumo wrestler (yes, you read that right. We are THAT awesome) ornaments in prime viewing spots, for obvious reasons. And on the very top is Santa, dressed all old timey and velvety. Basically, it's the best tree ever. <br />
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However, every year after Thanksgiving Harry starts involuntarily twitching. The closer it progresses to Tree Decorating Day the more he twitches. His obssession with symetry means that it pretty much takes all day for him the decorate the tree (what, you thought <em>I</em> did it? Do you not know me <em>at all</em> by now??), because not only do the regular lights have to be perfectly aligned, the bubble lights also need to be placed exactly 90 degrees on each tree branch for optimal bubbling capacity. And the beads "have to" be evenly spaced between branches. Othwerwise apparently the world as we know it will end. So, as you can imagine, it's a long process. <br />
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Anyway, last Christmas we decided that we should make a fun game for the kids Christmas morning. We decided to make a scavenger hunt for their gifts. So we hid all their presents and Harry made different puzzles (cross words, word finds, sudoku, etc.) for them to solve in order to get their clue and then find their gifts. Hilarity ensued and we enjoyed ourselves immensely. The kids seemed to have fun too (although at one point Katie did say "Why do I have to do Math on Christmas??") and it was another successful Christmas. <br />
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This year we figured why not do it again? Only this time we'll make it even MORE challenging, because what kid doesn't want to wake up Christmas morning and spend it searching all over the house for their presents? See what great parents we are? So Harry really kicked up and went all out. He made "spy kits" for the kids and inside they had all kinds of devices (also hand made) that would help in their "mission" to "find" Christmas. It came complete with mission (if they chose to accept it) instructions, as well as background information on the "bad" guy - the notorious Global Reindeer Intimidators and Notable Christmas Haters (G.R.I.N.C.H) and things like a Caesars cipher, QR codes, a cryptex and more! He packed it all inside a box he customized specifically to fit all the decoders and even included a "handy dandy notebook" complete with pen & pencil set. It was pretty amazing. <br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The most sinister puzzle of them all. A Paper-Craft Cryptex!</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(There were no hints on the code required to open it)</span></span></span></span></div>
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Christmas morning Harry and I woke up extra early (okay, <em>I</em> woke up extra early and promptly woke Harry) and waited patiently (meaning I didn't bang on their doors yelling "It's CHRISTMAS! WAKE UP!!" like I did the year before) for the kids to wake up so they could walk into our family room to see nothing but one simple box underneath the Christmas tree. We thought we were being so clever. They'd be so disappointed! They'd wonder what happened! What a funny joke when they opened up the box to discover they'd have to search for their gifts! That's what I had imagined, at any rate. <br />
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In reality, they walked into the family room, saw their box, looked at each other and then with a sigh said, "Oh. We're doing this <em>again</em>?" But once they opened up their spy kit, they were laughing and having fun trying to decipher all the codes and run around the house looking for their gifts. It took the better part of two hours. And when it was over, they had a great time. Katie even said it was the best Christmas ever! <br />
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You should also know that our kids, being a product of us, are into this kind of twisted holiday celebration. We don't necessarily recommend this "Let's Have Fun AND Learn!" holiday approach for everyone's kids. It has the high liklihood of going terribly wrong and then you end up with nothing but crying and future therapy bills. Also, "G.R.I.N.C.H." is ours. If you use it without our permission we will find you and do unpleasant things to you. Consider yourselves warned. <br />
<span style="color: blue;">...unless, of course, a little cash were to be slipped our way...</span><br />
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I can't wait until next year. We're already plotting bigger & better ways to slowly drive our children crazy on Christmas morning. Yes, we are expecting our Parents of the Year award any day now. <br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><strong>Harry's Code #1:</strong></span><span style="color: blue;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">A gift is only as good as the amount of work you put into it...both as the giver and the reciever.</span><br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">*As of this post, our tree is still up. Partly due to the incredible chore it is to remove all the crap off the tree and store it and partly because I would seriously keep the tree up all year long if I didn't think it would burn out my precious bubble lights. Recently Katie turned the tree on again in a sutble attempt to remind us to put the tree away but all it did was make me smile and stare at the tree for the better part of an hour admiring its beauty. Maybe by the time Easter rolls around we'll have it put away. Either that or it will just become the Easter Tree. Ooooh I just got a great idea...</span></em>Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-73307534424388319052012-01-14T16:11:00.000-08:002014-05-10T15:31:17.399-07:00ApologyDear Loyal Followers (all 15 of you!!), <br />
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Sorry we haven't been consistent with our blog posts - life has been getting in the way. We should have another blog up and running soon. As always, we'll pester you all to read it! <br />
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Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-28097815667972745632011-12-22T14:00:00.000-08:002014-05-10T15:32:04.857-07:00Happy Christmakwanzukkah!!<span style="color: red; font-family: "inherit","serif"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><span style="color: red; font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Hello and holiday greetings to all of you! This year we’re doing things a bit differently (*cough* we’re lazy *cough*) and using technology to deliver our exciting and (we assume) greatly anticipated yearly update. Not only do you actually get this before Christmas, but it also reaches a wider audience (13 followers at last count!) – it’s a Christmas miracle! Plus, as an added bonus, all new fancy & holiday-colored font!<span style="color: blue;"> I was going to change my font to green to get in the spirit, but it is impossible to read. Plus I am violently opposed to change. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Lots and lots of exciting things have happened this year. Like this blog! This has been a great bonding experience for Harry & Seoul. They find it has really improved their communication skills and appreciation for each other's...quirks...</span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Katie is now officially allowed to drive without adult supervision. Word of this must have gotten out because the roads don't seem to be nearly as congested when she's driving. She also had her first date. Harry drove Katie and her date to the movie theatre, and dropped him off at his house when the movie was over. For some reason, there was never a second date. This may or may not have had something to do with some unspoken words exchanged between Harry and Katie's date. And Katie telling all her friends "</span><span style="color: red; font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">My daddy will kill anyone that tries to go out with me. He’s a ninja," probably didn't help matters either. </span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VhHAM_0PTvY/TvONlvPGD2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/POetGt0Bu20/s1600/date8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-VhHAM_0PTvY/TvONlvPGD2I/AAAAAAAAAMs/POetGt0Bu20/s320/date8.jpg" height="244px" width="320px" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Katie has also decided to switch career paths. She recently started taking sign language (as has Harry), and has become incredibly proficient at it. She's now set her sights on attending Gallaudet University so she can be a sign language interpreter. She practices every day with Harry, so by default Harry is also becoming proficient at signing. She's been doing very well in school, and has added honors classes to her schedule. Seoul is thankful for this continued interest in school, and is glad Katie has decided to focus on grades instead of boys. However, some things never change - Katie still dresses “hobo chic”<span style="color: black; font-size: small;"> </span><span style="color: blue; font-family: inherit;">(which means she has not paid for a piece of clothing for 2 years. She relys on donations of clothing from Seoul's derby frinds that are too "crazy" for them to wear, and, apparently, things she finds in the gutter outside our house.)</span><span style="color: black; font-family: inherit;"> <span style="color: red;">and</span></span> it appears that she started a new fashion trend at her school. We are expecting thank you notes from other parents for the sudden decrease in clothing expenses this has caused. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">The Boy is currently between girlfriends (Seoul is very content with this), but is still growing. And eating everything in sight. He is still in advanced honors classes (Math being his specialty - he is receiving high school credit for it) and honor roll, and has decided he wants to attend MIT to study something called Mechatronics, which, as far as Seoul can tell, is a fancy word meaning "robot stuff." Apparently when The Boy is an adult he'll be building robots a la Isaac Asimov, but hopefully without the whole take-over-the-human-race part. </span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K5L9hJgKaX8/TvOOA_2q_cI/AAAAAAAAAM4/2tQGis81ABk/s1600/Chrismech.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K5L9hJgKaX8/TvOOA_2q_cI/AAAAAAAAAM4/2tQGis81ABk/s400/Chrismech.png" height="400px" width="358px" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Harry has finished his first year back in school, and was on the Dean's List the entire year, with straight As, except for one pesky B<span style="color: blue;"> (F*cking math class!).</span> He is not happy about this, and is considering retaking the class in order to change his permanent grade to an A. Seoul has reminded him that this is what the term "Type A Personality" means. </span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">He is still teaching karate and is working toward earning his 3rd degree black belt. Harry had to spar people above his rank and half his age in order to earn his 2nd degree, so one can only assume to acquire this next level he'll have to save a bus full orphans from careening off a cliff while simultaneously sparring the entire karate class. Seoul suggested after he receives his 3rd degree belt that he registers his hands as lethal weapons, to which Katie enthusiastically agreed – she wants bragging rights to tell her friends that her daddy is a registered weapon. Apparently it hasn’t occurred to her that this type of information may be the reason for the lack of subsequent date requests.</span></div>
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "Lucida Calligraphy"; font-size: 10pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;">Seoul is commuting from faraway lands in order to continue earning that elusive, yet necessary thing called "money" and now co-habitates part time with Harry's parents. They live far off the beaten path, surrounded by Nature, so you can imagine how well she's acclimating to her new environment. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peacfully resting at my parents house.</td></tr>
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Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-11386804445594267112011-11-18T06:00:00.000-08:002014-05-10T15:34:06.066-07:00Bugs, Death and Revenge: A True StoryAs you probably already know, I have a rather tenuous relationship with Nature. Therefore, I avoid being out in it as much as possible. But it just can't be avoided. After all, I <em>do</em> have to leave the house. Recently I had to take Katie to the doctor because she was sick with some kind of plague (that she promptly shared with me, but that's a story for another day), and when I pulled into our driveway and parked the car, Katie opened the door and said, "Uh, Mom? <strong><em>WHAT IS THAT???</em></strong>" <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-YA491-KGSxhO01J8dCA8_jEwnkd0X3lKAKjn8CdZd_NkNf2pZ0JXSuJPzGKBFdHIrFPuwv3XlcI7wY4YhNIRJ_kcEvxsmatTv4MkPBrYXO4uvytWgDEW2a7dLGIjc24afaCevTRMbbz/s1600/KATIE+AND+SEOUL+FREAK.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-YA491-KGSxhO01J8dCA8_jEwnkd0X3lKAKjn8CdZd_NkNf2pZ0JXSuJPzGKBFdHIrFPuwv3XlcI7wY4YhNIRJ_kcEvxsmatTv4MkPBrYXO4uvytWgDEW2a7dLGIjc24afaCevTRMbbz/s320/KATIE+AND+SEOUL+FREAK.png" height="283px" width="320px" /></a></div>
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She pointed to what I can only describe as some kind of prehsitoric-looking insect that was roughly the size of my face. Okay, maybe not that big. But it was at least as big as my pinky finger. And wearing armor. No, I'm not making it up. It looked like a bug-shaped stegosaurus. Only evil. And it was <em><strong>in my car, on the door handle</strong></em>. We had been driving around with that Evil Death-Bug for God only knows how long. And Katie <em><strong>almost touched it</strong></em>. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjrJPaD3uRDESE7LUGNsOWTjKdFVjnSwD4Y1m77u7DaTA5h22dHyKMZudwLpHnlgWWsU8zkgoPrUTWRJFdqnHYAgNNOsBH_O5HkTVjBkFRYY3qhRAjBltQ7nyQ5KtDEH5Ls5txP9xCaGsz/s1600/BUG+IN+JEEP.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjrJPaD3uRDESE7LUGNsOWTjKdFVjnSwD4Y1m77u7DaTA5h22dHyKMZudwLpHnlgWWsU8zkgoPrUTWRJFdqnHYAgNNOsBH_O5HkTVjBkFRYY3qhRAjBltQ7nyQ5KtDEH5Ls5txP9xCaGsz/s320/BUG+IN+JEEP.png" height="320px" width="239px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCF6QgPl80seP1JMsZHKkWlOvy9Nq1v7LCf3kb_Z7iS6AzQRQTM2F307CE5czXF952PBuVI8at1u0OtTSP0hwpnxSMIttZj9PZpPpOm7R3hQrmTfD8_Bf2kbGEPU7kcWgVsVxFA2XQSccL/s1600/KATIE+AND+SEOUL+FREAK3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCF6QgPl80seP1JMsZHKkWlOvy9Nq1v7LCf3kb_Z7iS6AzQRQTM2F307CE5czXF952PBuVI8at1u0OtTSP0hwpnxSMIttZj9PZpPpOm7R3hQrmTfD8_Bf2kbGEPU7kcWgVsVxFA2XQSccL/s320/KATIE+AND+SEOUL+FREAK3.png" height="283px" width="320px" /></a></div>
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I should point out that Katie is an animal-loving, tree-hugging, I-don't-wear-leather-or-eat-anything-with-a-face vegetarian. She thinks things like scorpions and tarantulas are "cute." She once started crying when watching an episode of <em>Dirty Jobs</em> because they were scraping barnacles off a ship and she was convinced they felt pain and they were being hurt. I'm explaining this so you will understand the full extent of the evilness of this bug. <em>Even Katie thought it was bad</em>.<br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Okay, I admit, I may be underplaying the bug a bit...</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">This is what it looked like:</span></div>
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So after immediately vacating our vehicle (Katie climbed <em>over</em> the stick shift of the car and scrambled out the driver's side, she was so afraid to be near Evil Death-Bug), we stood outside on the driveway shrieking "Omg, what do we <em>DO?!</em>" for a good 2 minutes while we stared at the door and watched Death-Bug crawl around. I may have started crying at some point. Then, suddenly, Evil Death-Bug lost its grip on the car door - I'm sure one of its venomous (YES, IT IS. I Googled it*) Claw Legs of Death slipped - and fell to the ground, right behind the wheel of the car. <br />
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I looked at Katie and said, "I'm sorry, I know you like animals and all, but I'm running this thing over -" and before I could finish my sentence, Katie said, "Kill it, Mommy! KILL IT!! It's EVIL!" So I hopped in the car and ran it over. And it made a huge popping & crunching noise. Do you understand what I'm saying? That Evil Death-Bug was so big, and armor-plated that it <em>crunched</em> when I killed it! Crunched like the way a walnut would crunch if you ran it over with your car. <em>CRUNCHED</em>!!! <br />
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But at least it was dead. We ran inside and locked the door (just in case it wasn't really dead and decided to come after us), and when Harry came home, I made him go out and check to make sure Evil Death-Bug was really dead and hadn't just jumped up and walked off. He assured me it was dead. Eventually I forgot about our near death experience and went on with my life. <br />
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Until yesterday. I was having a perfectly pleasant, bug-free day. I went out to get the mail, and when I reached the door to the house, THIS is what I saw on our door jamb.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhialFXWEkx3w9pXuoq4uKoUf9QchzSvX59sXgE52FVjUOHOmDPw6zN6x6dSgZMkddGvZKjMh4PQU0DwJkQfJGAdq0CNypytvaC3APsTK4aeNZbiUesFHyZqK4xQNmZcb8CGe-Vbznq7cd-/s1600/bugatdoor4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhialFXWEkx3w9pXuoq4uKoUf9QchzSvX59sXgE52FVjUOHOmDPw6zN6x6dSgZMkddGvZKjMh4PQU0DwJkQfJGAdq0CNypytvaC3APsTK4aeNZbiUesFHyZqK4xQNmZcb8CGe-Vbznq7cd-/s320/bugatdoor4.png" height="320px" width="310px" /></a></div>
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Staring at me. Plotting my doom. I know what it was thinking. <em>You killed my brother. Now I've come for you. And your little girl, too. </em></div>
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Thankfully all my years of martial arts training kicked in and I immediately started screaming. Harry opened the door to find out why I was freaking out just before Death Bug jumped on my face and tried to inject me with its death poison. In a heroic burst of strength, and with no regard for his own safety, Harry seized Death Bug and removed it for me.</div>
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Thus saving my life. Again. He often saves me from spiders, ants, and in one case, a steroid-injected fly. But this time, he saved my life from that horrible Death Bug that was clearly out for revenge. Although I doubt this is the last we'll see of those bugs. I think we may have to move. They have a witness protection program for this kind of thing, right? <br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Google "Wheel bug" and tell me that's not a Death Bug. The other name for it? Assasin Bug. ASSASIN! And it "injects salivary fluids that dissolve soft tissue..." in other words - DEATH BUG!!</span></em>Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-50742168539452889412011-11-04T11:06:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:35:30.931-07:00Murderer!As I mentioned in an earlier blog, in order to save time, money & my sanity from a relatively hefty commute to work, I will stay at my in-laws' (heretofore known as "the 'rents") house a couple nights a week - they're in the process of selling it and it helps them if I'm there and it helps keep me from having to mortgage off my home in order to pay for gas for my car. <br />
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So, one evening after work, I pull into the driveway and notice that the garage door was open, exposing the interior door into the home. While I felt the panic starting to rise (I knew <em>I </em>didn't leave the door open), I willed myself to calm down because it was quite possible that the garage door sensor went a bit wonky and never really closed the last time I left. And I <em>always</em> lock the interior garage door to the house, so no biggie. <br />
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But the interior door to the house <em>was not locked</em>. Let me repeat - <strong><em>the door into the home was unlocked!! </em></strong>I took a deep breath and did the only reasonble thing to do: call my father-in-law in a panic and screech into the phone that the garage door was open and the interior door was unlocked! UNLOCKED!! Someone could be in the house <em>as we speak</em>! He tried to reassure me (in a tone that sounded suspiciously similar to one used when speaking to a person that may have difficulty grasping simple concepts) that they had been at the house the day before and that my mother-in-law had probably just forgot to close the garage. Apparently he felt this was enough of an explanation to relieve my panicked mind. <br />
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Of course, it wasn't. So I made him stay on the phone with me while I literally checked every door, cabinet, and hiding space in the house (including the kitchen cabinets. You know, the ones above the counters that would take a midget contortionist acrobat to get into? Yeah, those too) because I was pretty sure there was a murderer lurking about waiting to ambush me.<br />
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Obviously all was clear. I calmed down and everything was fine. Until I made the mistake of telling Harry about my little adventure. The next day he sent me this:<br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><strong>Where is the Murderer?</strong></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9EzSCbK1ndwwcb9UeBrxpETAPhsUvbpQJWoMe3GIHUXZ50kTJTu29D4w3GaKeHI-PhICOuFAFwsOlIFkSDJfeuVEz_y2K99QhjF_OaMjpmSNY4pN6t3-ox4FfaEOT1c74zQERQenLWvbo/s1600/Murderer1.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/AVvXsEh9EzSCbK1ndwwcb9UeBrxpETAPhsUvbpQJWoMe3GIHUXZ50kTJTu29D4w3GaKeHI-PhICOuFAFwsOlIFkSDJfeuVEz_y2K99QhjF_OaMjpmSNY4pN6t3-ox4FfaEOT1c74zQERQenLWvbo/s320/Murderer1.jpg" height="320px" width="252px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5RFY9yppFA5NtUKk6sPMN5Q3yis-j6alzJIctFXfD1gVMv2L54xmzpyfv7E6xUdVhbWg6ntv5Myhldt9rmlk_A536LspkMOeT7IzqI3DaQo1X49qxGxe58Xo8OoURuWL5Xu8gMngeu6M/s1600/Murderer2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5RFY9yppFA5NtUKk6sPMN5Q3yis-j6alzJIctFXfD1gVMv2L54xmzpyfv7E6xUdVhbWg6ntv5Myhldt9rmlk_A536LspkMOeT7IzqI3DaQo1X49qxGxe58Xo8OoURuWL5Xu8gMngeu6M/s320/Murderer2.jpg" height="320px" width="290px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxXCiss24ljvy78Q4Cc8maOiFCEqTemU8uYKkWln6qS7-WbjBti9Y_XZHKjmL53wtBeLZnRz6m6XB10MMm3Ikvt98lz10UYR8wZ07SQ-krdyShdiSP2y0i2zzbXNLA2BHv0kMP87BHN-qO/s1600/Murderer3.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/AVvXsEhxXCiss24ljvy78Q4Cc8maOiFCEqTemU8uYKkWln6qS7-WbjBti9Y_XZHKjmL53wtBeLZnRz6m6XB10MMm3Ikvt98lz10UYR8wZ07SQ-krdyShdiSP2y0i2zzbXNLA2BHv0kMP87BHN-qO/s320/Murderer3.jpg" height="320px" width="273px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3oSq9mxgftGvzgOTYj_VotqOGhWH7YFsfAeS9gxSwapAshIg_LyfXZSamHmnr9NoJ1nSaSSJHSOthCpu4wlYXn43FQ0x6P3YJUoZ1kFyRnT1TM18AgK4zJ_xVOy8nhCPd2E9LsEMZNudw/s1600/Murderer4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3oSq9mxgftGvzgOTYj_VotqOGhWH7YFsfAeS9gxSwapAshIg_LyfXZSamHmnr9NoJ1nSaSSJHSOthCpu4wlYXn43FQ0x6P3YJUoZ1kFyRnT1TM18AgK4zJ_xVOy8nhCPd2E9LsEMZNudw/s320/Murderer4.jpg" height="320px" width="241px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm8tUBRLg2tIkqSl2X5Y1YD4RvxrUVCMsQbk8wXOkiWnD9jIP3XshNbZn996g3GpMI0kmWOR_fkXnYQLBZx85svCs_cjoNtnn0477580OPf5jDm2vWifsnToTKxQLv4bSXQG3wL42MKLIF/s1600/Murderer5.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/AVvXsEgm8tUBRLg2tIkqSl2X5Y1YD4RvxrUVCMsQbk8wXOkiWnD9jIP3XshNbZn996g3GpMI0kmWOR_fkXnYQLBZx85svCs_cjoNtnn0477580OPf5jDm2vWifsnToTKxQLv4bSXQG3wL42MKLIF/s320/Murderer5.jpg" height="320px" width="281px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOHIET6Is8me5YFdhfeXEnd6MHJliChpqrQ-_KIv6lROyAt4-w122aFHgWY-IC-TsVBd9DpZ8-vzjuq0AcCwBIfkxg-4CMPYDWXegtPuT7_VnVeU4mXWlnvrlK5I_oHwCDdHEMgpGQQdi/s1600/Murderer6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpOHIET6Is8me5YFdhfeXEnd6MHJliChpqrQ-_KIv6lROyAt4-w122aFHgWY-IC-TsVBd9DpZ8-vzjuq0AcCwBIfkxg-4CMPYDWXegtPuT7_VnVeU4mXWlnvrlK5I_oHwCDdHEMgpGQQdi/s320/Murderer6.jpg" height="320px" width="258px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgX6R0dJ0ZAsIPpkmTc-tKikQfzmFYVMetpI0hGFM-6xRvQMKBk7HzCbj1xpTPnHJd6rfXWnNj1lYzecjkHtMpdltHzsyyOtXJIvYVBd7mpSYjiiw2pHQ7UIrDvxQGOvH_FAYtgaw9FPGY/s1600/Murderer7.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/AVvXsEhgX6R0dJ0ZAsIPpkmTc-tKikQfzmFYVMetpI0hGFM-6xRvQMKBk7HzCbj1xpTPnHJd6rfXWnNj1lYzecjkHtMpdltHzsyyOtXJIvYVBd7mpSYjiiw2pHQ7UIrDvxQGOvH_FAYtgaw9FPGY/s320/Murderer7.jpg" height="320px" width="272px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmlhJJKG2Qs11kgUNAo0CZD5_jrfaKCklgk3hqoUF0GrPAbWLuCAcD93evD6v5oSWyqhlZHh8syjEidCqOCk2pHY405UwGMcs5HOgXI07DCuOsmwxuH8a-fJpskKuPqYpdJxcJdmBPr6j/s1600/Murderer8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvmlhJJKG2Qs11kgUNAo0CZD5_jrfaKCklgk3hqoUF0GrPAbWLuCAcD93evD6v5oSWyqhlZHh8syjEidCqOCk2pHY405UwGMcs5HOgXI07DCuOsmwxuH8a-fJpskKuPqYpdJxcJdmBPr6j/s320/Murderer8.jpg" height="320px" width="275px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio4pCcuNPdogK4Tezl7PQUn89Xj7C4j18ig4j-gzINNoEkm0YigWsK2Q9LiSrdwmo6MRMC3ZnVd_RQNEwiuV0gPvJpRoth92lKHaBwIiEaePde_rEyXM59-_lGZNgAHLYYKIsK3ErC_tsk/s1600/Murderer9.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/AVvXsEio4pCcuNPdogK4Tezl7PQUn89Xj7C4j18ig4j-gzINNoEkm0YigWsK2Q9LiSrdwmo6MRMC3ZnVd_RQNEwiuV0gPvJpRoth92lKHaBwIiEaePde_rEyXM59-_lGZNgAHLYYKIsK3ErC_tsk/s320/Murderer9.jpg" height="320px" width="268px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDt9t3kdLoErkFIaAP3f1zneeG0T4O8BpiUYOZe5eSAUizCOSfUWlFgZeVZp2Pm3z7dPqGx5zNpUH949MeEOjrafZN2t_-vHm-db6afQ2Vz9BrFUp-c2F7Qx82iayto3vfOzgTLHcxEE_6/s1600/Murderer10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDt9t3kdLoErkFIaAP3f1zneeG0T4O8BpiUYOZe5eSAUizCOSfUWlFgZeVZp2Pm3z7dPqGx5zNpUH949MeEOjrafZN2t_-vHm-db6afQ2Vz9BrFUp-c2F7Qx82iayto3vfOzgTLHcxEE_6/s320/Murderer10.jpg" height="320px" width="285px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVBEHN27LIEOckEeiv_etiP43yz_QhFeiIRN3mZxwfKLGSQr1h_v5atAfh5oIU_NpSfQRT0-SiWcyHvid5eIvDX1QYOhWXAekR3p3HR01prWTz1HeIJ-0CiH_4wI4wbyIo-FRd4bOxyCt/s1600/Murderer11.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/AVvXsEgrVBEHN27LIEOckEeiv_etiP43yz_QhFeiIRN3mZxwfKLGSQr1h_v5atAfh5oIU_NpSfQRT0-SiWcyHvid5eIvDX1QYOhWXAekR3p3HR01prWTz1HeIJ-0CiH_4wI4wbyIo-FRd4bOxyCt/s320/Murderer11.jpg" height="320px" width="283px" /></a></div>
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Good thing he takes me seriously.Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-76020554289955504922011-10-26T09:05:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:36:10.204-07:00Say Cheese!October is kind of a crazy month for our family. Both our birthdays fall in October. Less than 2 weeks apart, actually. The Boy's birthday is also in October, and it's smack dab in between our birthdays. So it gets a bit hectic trying to organize birthday celebrations. The Boy's is always relatively easy - it usually only requires food and letting him hang out with a bunch of his friends. <br />
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However, for us, every year Harry & I get to celebrate our birthdays by getting our vehicle registrations renewed. This year we were <em>really </em>lucky and got to get our licenses renewed too! They have seriously got to come up with a better way to get your picture taken. Standing with your back against a wall staring straight ahead while the person behind the counter says, "Okay, I'm going to take your picture now," and then makes you wait and wait and wait until you finally open your mouth to say something and you hear that telltale *click* doesn't exactly render magazine-quality photos*. But it is what it is, so everyone who drives a vehicle submits to the humiliation of getting a less-than-quality photo and life goes on. <br />
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<span style="color: blue;">All of my pictures look about the same year after year.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFfKhZ3e3L5HZug2fbbwERDnCObeKKhyphenhyphengVZuo1X3EVHl0YlC9lvSTS7ykSCjiM_2HDIvCpjU4O1igqIEl20kUtLra79JIsIvYmcJhTtdUTcW2Y33ga1lVGhyphenhyphen-goKCi-sZBzFb6FtvVsiY/s1600/license+h2011.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFfKhZ3e3L5HZug2fbbwERDnCObeKKhyphenhyphengVZuo1X3EVHl0YlC9lvSTS7ykSCjiM_2HDIvCpjU4O1igqIEl20kUtLra79JIsIvYmcJhTtdUTcW2Y33ga1lVGhyphenhyphen-goKCi-sZBzFb6FtvVsiY/s320/license+h2011.png" height="206px" width="320px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApL-IAIqGTLR5W6CevZKRX2KC1tbwSmNEplR8aLLD_h_JKkv13-c5t-c0Pw0ha2boytUFPpVKz6Nb6Ma29k2PNtpU_T2awujk0CFhyphenhyphenSTZdyms2HBbMkwzjzwKoHKVPAeg6Tel7hmexj8G/s1600/license+h2007.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjApL-IAIqGTLR5W6CevZKRX2KC1tbwSmNEplR8aLLD_h_JKkv13-c5t-c0Pw0ha2boytUFPpVKz6Nb6Ma29k2PNtpU_T2awujk0CFhyphenhyphenSTZdyms2HBbMkwzjzwKoHKVPAeg6Tel7hmexj8G/s320/license+h2007.png" height="205px" width="320px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij34Hq_P-KL3HwQVGOQ93p-_MNHF_PbvyfbctHLTg3Sq4Wts6ludRIgGwiFZMPYvQ_6trfiMjwb9i-8gAULDXTWUvPa4M0892r-A9o0G5IaUITQRJtxkhBJciA7NLtpa2vFotATbcvkRCF/s1600/license+h2003.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij34Hq_P-KL3HwQVGOQ93p-_MNHF_PbvyfbctHLTg3Sq4Wts6ludRIgGwiFZMPYvQ_6trfiMjwb9i-8gAULDXTWUvPa4M0892r-A9o0G5IaUITQRJtxkhBJciA7NLtpa2vFotATbcvkRCF/s320/license+h2003.png" height="206px" width="320px" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEeyDL7B1BvJ2s_Lb3bRWYDglFq8JnHar1dSBwJJNN6P98GdMg2oDJlshjeKoGlY8TItfF2bnpq5mK9oNXUxcRohbGBayG_AleMbSBey2ZG_Mpo46yE4GK4Ix_J4wzMbvIJ-7Cr5qCkPp/s1600/license+h1999.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmEeyDL7B1BvJ2s_Lb3bRWYDglFq8JnHar1dSBwJJNN6P98GdMg2oDJlshjeKoGlY8TItfF2bnpq5mK9oNXUxcRohbGBayG_AleMbSBey2ZG_Mpo46yE4GK4Ix_J4wzMbvIJ-7Cr5qCkPp/s320/license+h1999.png" height="206px" width="320px" /></a></div>
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So imagine having to go through this ritual with your beloved spouse by your side (but out of camera range), who is "helping" you by shouting out "advice" like "Don't blink!" or "Say 'cheese'!" or "SMILE!" and each time you involuntarily react and each time you hear that godawful *click* and you just <em>know </em>that picture was worse than the one before. Until you finally give up, because the License Dude is <em>not </em>amused that you are wasting that much time and resources (did you know your eyes <em>have</em> to be open for your license picture?), and accept the one where you look like an escaped mental patient because at least both your eyes were open and looking in the same direction. <br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Seoul has a slightly different experience...</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">BMV clerk- "Ready?" </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">Seoul- "Sure!"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">CLICK!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSko5KGk_27q2AH1WE3m4IZc-H42u4Li4fPV0L_abtjyA8hG0IKyvjHJXsSgnWD3IaB8L-Ft7ZUm12p31nEl7aTBygC6SgYFE8F1JccghKFTLf1v7skcJVymY-IdACvM6hW0kfobcnHD-a/s1600/license+3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSko5KGk_27q2AH1WE3m4IZc-H42u4Li4fPV0L_abtjyA8hG0IKyvjHJXsSgnWD3IaB8L-Ft7ZUm12p31nEl7aTBygC6SgYFE8F1JccghKFTLf1v7skcJVymY-IdACvM6hW0kfobcnHD-a/s320/license+3.png" height="206px" width="320px" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">BMV clerk- "Okay lets try again..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">Seoul- "Hold on a..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">CLICK!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYNpNp_DGB50t_w9MmyDDnZuIkmcREoMwLMCrBPUh8KRul6NUtjOhOjhCTMPPcKt5LVc-I8jxKkh2UZ-V-okB405H3eg4U4DNIGmzIuZxB-_DiABkk_cwKXt2uS8P62A9XJzxK6dNGYGUJ/s1600/license+S1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYNpNp_DGB50t_w9MmyDDnZuIkmcREoMwLMCrBPUh8KRul6NUtjOhOjhCTMPPcKt5LVc-I8jxKkh2UZ-V-okB405H3eg4U4DNIGmzIuZxB-_DiABkk_cwKXt2uS8P62A9XJzxK6dNGYGUJ/s320/license+S1.png" height="206px" width="320px" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">BMV clerk- "Sorry, my bad. One more time..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">Seoul- "Okay, I'm ready this time."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">CLICK!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihl9sl111TTAzz0aPdNtQuAgnucRe5L0Tyh_xBh4KOvyUiWXnwKOeq3-REiJob7o_NbJ3raVZ8MUA83orfahfgUg1H9DTCUqRt0i5YvU0uDattwgjq7xvo9dF0ilcQg8r01v9biN23KCoL/s1600/license+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihl9sl111TTAzz0aPdNtQuAgnucRe5L0Tyh_xBh4KOvyUiWXnwKOeq3-REiJob7o_NbJ3raVZ8MUA83orfahfgUg1H9DTCUqRt0i5YvU0uDattwgjq7xvo9dF0ilcQg8r01v9biN23KCoL/s320/license+4.png" height="206px" width="320px" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">BMV clerk- "Your eyes were closed. Lets do one more..."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">Seoul- "Huh?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">CLICK!</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">BMV clerk- "What the hell was that? Again..."</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Seoul- "THUMP!"</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">CLICK!</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">BMV clerk- "What the?!? How did you fall? Okay, one last try..."</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Seoul- "I feel good about this one."</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">CLICK!</span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">BMV clerk- "............" </span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><blinks vacantly while sataring at the picture></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">"Perfect! I'm going to lunch."</span></div>
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Next time I'm going by myself.<br />
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<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">*That was quite possibly the longest run on sentence I've ever written. I'm sure it won't be the last. </span></em>Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-84305009137924935092011-10-13T19:43:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:40:56.059-07:00Older and (maybe) wiser<span style="color: blue;">I rarely do the writing in these blogs, but I thought I would take up the reigns for this installment.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">I want to thank my wonderful wife for giving me what may be… No! Strike that, what <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> the best and most thoughtful birthday gift I have ever received. Thank you honey, you have no idea how much it meant to me. You are the best!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Last Monday (the 10<sup>th</sup> of October 2011 for those catching up) I, Harry Brawls, turned 40. Normally I don’t care too much about getting older or, more specifically, I don’t care about the number of candles on my cake, but something about turning 40 really got under my skin. How the hell am I old enough to have a 16 year old daughter who is learning to drive? When did I get to be old enough to have a fourteen year old son who is looking for, and at, girls? Just yesterday I was that weirdly dressed kid in high school who hadn’t made any real life choices yet. My whole life was stretched out before me, waiting for me to experience it…and now…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">WHAM! <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">40! <o:p></o:p></span></strong></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">And spare me the life begins at 40 crap. Here I am, halfway to the grave (statistically), unemployed, back in school, and still unsure about what to do with my life. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">This was where my head was…I was not doing too well.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">Seoul must have known that it was bothering me. Maybe it was all my recent bitching about wasting my life, or the not wanting to get out of bed for fear of breaking a hip. I don’t know, but something tipped her off. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">She very easily could have gone the traditional 40<sup>th</sup> birthday route…a package of adult diapers, a cane with a rearview mirror, and a subscription to “Arthritis Today” magazine…but she didn’t. Instead, my lovely wife came up with the coolest and most thoughtful idea for a gift ever. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="color: blue;">She worked with my mom to come up with an assortment of 40 things—everything from food to toys (in fact almost entirely food and toys…that says something I think…)—each one having had a part in forming me as I stand here today (well, sit, because I am 40 after all…). Most of the gifts would be completely lost on anyone else, but each one was special and meant a lot to me. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">What did she and my mom gather? Well…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;">Comfort Foods (Seoul foods, hehe). These are some of the foods that I have always turned to in times of stress, or weakness, or when I am bored. Some have a bit of a story, others…well they are just damn good.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Snax! (more precisely, the ingredients to make them) Commonly known as Chex Mix. And I’m not talking about the crap you can buy in a bag at the store nowadays. I’m talking about soaking the cereal mix (with pretzels and peanuts) with a butter and Worcestershire sauce and various salts and baking it in the oven for hours stirring every 20 minutes or so. Snax! Made the way my grandmother used to make it. (Don’t go by the recipe on the box either. They WAY underestimate the amount of the butter mixture needed.) I used to grab bowls of them off the table and hide under the table eating them until I am sick. Sure am glad I outgrew this…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">A big ass box of Cheese-Its! These you spread out on a small pan and throw in the toaster oven for a bit to make them darker. This way you don’t have to search through the box for the burnt ones, they are all burnt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Rice cakes. Okay, these are not a favorite, but they have a bit of a story. My mother can be a bit of a health nut (she<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> is</i> a doctor), but she will get on these health kicks, and when she does, we all suffer. Back in the very early eighties, my brother had possible food allergies and, because of these alleged allergies, my school lunches took a sudden and dramatic turn for the worse. For over a month I opened my lunch bag to these small, round, bricks of Styrofoam. True they had a thin smear of peanut butter on them, but even this was not enough to make these pressed pucks of insulation palatable. Let me tell you, it is impossible to trade one of these non-food items for something edible. They did make decent projectiles though. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">…I won’t even go into the year of the carob Easter bunnies…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Cracker Jacks! I used to LOVE Cracker Jacks, but only for one reason, the toy! You used to get <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">real</i> toys, like the metal (probably lead) compass that pointed due West-ish, The Ant-Incinerator (plastic magnifying glass), and the dreaded lick-on tattoos. You had to hide these from Mom because they were supposedly made with LSD, or poisonous, or something.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Circus Peanuts! A delightful mixture of plastic and sugar! I love these things!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Vienna Sausages! You know the ones in the little can. These were a staple food for us circa 1978.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">EZ Cheese! Pressurized semi-solid gold! More staple foodstuffs from my youth. Great for road-trips too!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Little Debbie Peanut-Butter Crunch Bars! In the early-to-mid 80’s we lived down the street from a Little Debbie distributer. This man would pass out these Little Debbie Peanut Butter Crunch Bars every Halloween. I quickly became addicted. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Goldfish crackers! Not just for cranky babies. I would eat these by the truckload, if they sold them by the truckload.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Little box of Cheese-Its! These are for pouring Frank’s Red-hot Sauce on. Almost as good as burning them! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Andy Capps Hot Fries! “Potato” sticks dipped in spices. This was a college (the first time through) staple. I lived on these, cigarettes, and Diet Coke for over a year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Speaking of Diet Coke…Diet Coke! It tastes horrible, but is for some reason highly addictive. I think they put crack in it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Speaking of Cigarettes, Altoids! I quit smoking on Feburary 29<sup>th</sup> 2008. These have replaced them. Much less annoying as far as habits go. I had to point out to Katie recently that she can no longer eat them. They contain gelatin…not vegetarian friendly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Wasabi Peas!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Best snack food ever. (“Wassssssaaaaaabii?” If you remember this commercial then you are as old and lame as me.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">That’s about it for the stuff that helped shape me physically (mostly round at this point). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Now for those things that helped shape (or possibly mis-shaped) my personality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">15.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Clown Outfit (red nose, oversized tie, goofy glasses)! Yes, I actually went to clown school. I was about 7 at the time. My Grandmother signed me and my brother up to the Rikes Department Store Clown School, and I graduated with honors. I have the diploma to prove it! (My clown name was Lucky)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">16.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">G.I. Joe! The big one, almost like the ones from my childhood, but no “realistic” hair or “kung-fu” grip. These were action figures, not dolls dammit! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">17.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">A block of wood and some wheels! This was my version of a Pinewood Derby car in Boy Scouts. Everyone else brought in these sleek hand carved supercars, with racing stripes and flame paint jobs. I nailed 4 wheels to the block of wood. I think I had to use a magic marker to write a number on it the day of the race, but that was the extent of my effort. I came in second. Not lazy. Practical.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">18.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Soccer ball toy with butterflies attached! I don’t have fond memories of team sports as a child. All of the competitiveness, the rage filled screaming, the explosive temper tantrums when they didn’t get their way…and these were the parents <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">watching</i> the games. It was much more fun to chase butterflies, and kick dandelions on the field.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">19.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Hot Wheels Car! The only proper way to play with these is to run the track out to the concrete floor of the garage and take turns trying to smash them with a hammer as they zip by. I don’t understand why my mom stopped buying us cars.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">20.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Lego Game, Ramses Pyramid! Legos were always cool. My brother would spend hours meticulously building extremely detailed castles or towers. I would spend 30 seconds smashing them, Godzilla style, when he left the room. Now they make Lego games! These are just awesome. I have one where the goal is to shave sheep. SHAVE SHEEP! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">21.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Hex Bug Robotic Insect- “Spider”! I have always had a fascination with remote control toys. I also love robots, and I am fascinated with insects. Now I have a remote control, robotic insect. Life couldn’t be better.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">22.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Polyhedral dice! “I attack the darkness!” This is another little obsession that has returned from my early teen years. I love games, but there is a special place in my heart for role playing games, especially D&D (But not 4.0…if I wanted to play a MMORPG I would play one online, not simulate one on paper). I am Nerd! Hear Me Roar!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">23.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Comic books! I was not an obsessive collector, but I had a descent box full of carefully preserved comics under my bed (next to my “other” magazine collection)…that is until my mom decided to sell them all in a garage sale for 25 cents apiece. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">24.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Annie on DVD! Ugg! Okay, here is the story behind this one. We decided to go to the movies as a family one evening when I was about 12. Me, my Dad, and my brother all wanted to go see Blade Runner. My sister and my Mom wanted to go see Annie. At the last moment my Mom realized that Blade Runner was rated R, and decided I was too young to see it. I had to sit through Annie with them. No amount of begging or whining could change her mind. To this day, if I hear “Hard Knock Life”, I feel like strangling someone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">25.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Raiders of the Lost Arc DVD! Best movie of all time. My dad bought this movie on video disc (the old analog one with the massive discs in these large plastic sleeves. Remember those?), and I watched it almost every day for an entire summer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">26.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Green Plastic Army Men! I think everyone had these, but I had a special way to play with them. You set them up in the yard in nice marching columns. Then go grab the lawn mower and run them down! Green plastic limbs and torsos would fly everywhere. Assessing the carnage afterward was the best part. These could also be lit on fire (napalm attack), or blown sky high with fire crackers. My mom stopped buying me these as well…Hmm…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">27.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">A Trumpet Ornament! Way back in grade school I played the trumpet in the band. Okay, I played with the trumpet. I quickly found out that I did not have any talent with this instrument (plus, the sound it made hurt my ears), but I didn’t want to tell my parents. I slogged through a whole year of band, learning the proper fingering, but never learning to play. During our performances I would puff out my cheek and press the correct valves, but I never once played a single note publicly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">28.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Whoopee Cushion! Who doesn’t laugh like a madman when someone accidentally sits on this little rubber bladder? I don’t think I ever actually got someone to sit on one successfully (has anyone?), but it was just as much fun to fill it up and repeatedly make the noise on your own. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">29.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Yo-Yo! For a brief period I wanted to be a professional Yo-Yo performer. I would practice for hours with my Duncan Butterfly, but I could never get the damn thing to sleep! After about a year I finally gave up this dream and started practicing my magic. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There</i> was a career I could count on!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">30.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Magic Playing Cards! Did you know that you actually have to practice magic tricks? I assumed the cards would do them on their own. I never go very good at magic tricks, but give me a deck of cards and I will always attempt one (Pick a card! No not that one, pick the other card!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">31.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Superman 1-4 DVD Collection! For me there is only one Superman. Christopher Reeve. Dean Cain and the new pretty-boy whose name I don’t care to know can suck it. Oh and Superman 3 with Richard Pryor? Comic Gold!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">32.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Better Off Dead DVD! Another classic movie. This one went a long way in molding my sense of humor. Also the French exchange student in the movie helped convince me that a year abroad would be a good idea (I just assumed all exchange students would look like that). For those that don’t know, I spent my senior year in Finland as a foreign exchange student. It was exactly like the movie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">33.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Cut neck T-shirt! I used to hate, HATE things around my neck. I would take every t-shirt I owned and cut a 2 inch slit down the front, through the collar. This one was done for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">34.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></i><span style="color: blue;">Styrofoam Airplane! During my first attempt at Wright State (in the 90’s) I tried to get my pilot’s license. I got all the way through my solo cross-country flight, and ran out of money (you have to pay to rent the planes…plus fuel). <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Side note: I just found out that this class is still on my school record as incomplete, and I will have to complete or drop it to graduate.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">35.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Magic The Gathering Archenemy Deck! A relatively new addition to my gaming addiction. Magic the Gathering. Most of my friends have played this game at one time or another, but it was mostly in the early 90’s. I waited until I had kids to let my full nerd flag fly. Also I have a bit of my own OCD regarding collectibles. Once I start collecting something I want everything they make. This was the last Archenemy deck I needed to have the complete set.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">36.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Magic The Gathering Booster pack! More cards to feed my addiction!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">37.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Gogo’s! Another relatively new addition. In doing some service learning for a class a few quarters ago. I was at this Spanish speaking after-school tutoring program helping1st generation Spanish American grade school kids with their English. They introduced me to a ridiculous game involving these little plastic figures that you throw around and there is some sort of scoring system I never really understood. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it triggered my complete-ist OCD. I now own about 100 of these little things. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">38.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Fire Crackers! Funny story... I’m about 15, my parents are out of town, and I am alone in the house. I decide to invite some friends over (you know who you are). Well one thing lead to another (there may or may not have been alcohol involved) and the next thing I know we are on the back porch shooting bottle rockets and roman candles into the air and at each other. Good times. About 20 minutes pass and I hear a knock at the front door. Someone runs by me into the basement yelling “Dude, It’s the cops!” I’m like, “whatever,” as I stumble toward the front door and pull it open to find myself face to face with a badge. The cop asks to meet me in the back yard. I stumble down to the back porch where I find myself standing in an ankle-deep pile of firework leavings (bottle rocket sticks, blown apart fire cracker paper, empty roman candle tubes and the like). “Son,” the cop says in his best cop voice, and with a straight face. “Have you been lighting off fireworks?” I look at the pile at my feet and then back up at the cop. “Um…Yes?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">“You do know that it is 1:30 am, and a Monday right?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">“Um…forgot. Sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">Okay, here is the part that I get the most shit for from those that were present for the event but hiding, and I assume crying, in the basement. But remember I was not really in my “right mind” at the moment. And this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> a cop… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">“Son, was this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">all</i> of your fireworks?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">“Um…no.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">“Go get the rest of them, and give them to me, now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;">So, I did…about half a grocery bag full. I gave them to the cop and he took the bag and left. It was only later that I realized that I had to go upstairs, into my closet and under a pile of dirty laundry to get them. I’m sure this cop’s next family get together had a full firework display.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: blue;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">39.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="color: blue;">Hmm…I seem to be missing a couple of things. I guess that is what comes from getting old. I either misplaced or forgot the other two items…I know there was 40 things the other night…where are my glasses? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-73464577699416150942011-09-30T11:47:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:38:36.891-07:00Rites of Passage Have Never Been More FrighteningA few months back, Katie came up to us and wanted us to take her to get her learner's permit so she could practice getting her driver's license. At the time, it didn't seem like that big a deal. She had to take a written test to make sure she understood the rules of the road and I was all for it. It's good for her to know them! It's good that there are requirements for knowing the rules before one actually starts driving! Look how responsible our child is! <br />
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Yeah, uh, I kind of forgot that getting her permit meant she would actually be allowed <em>on the road</em>. In a car. Behind the steering wheel. Driving. Granted, it had to be with another licensed adult, but still. That meant <em>one</em> of us had to be in the car with her while <em>she was in control of the vehicle</em>. Thankfully I was smart enough to dodge that bullet! However, Harry wasn't so lucky...</div>
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<strong><span style="color: blue;">AND THEN...</span></strong></div>
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Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-58878660034298272332011-09-22T12:31:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:39:35.655-07:00Fortunately/Unfortunately: A Tale of Misfortune, Paranoia and Stupidity<div class="BHNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">Once upon a time, there was a woman who suffered from paranoia and fear that one day she would be murdered in her sleep. She has, on several occasions, awakened her husband from a sound sleep just to check the locks on the doors, convinced that one was left open, thereby allowing murderers, rapists and psychopaths (or - her worst fear - a combination of all three) easy access to their home to inflict unspeakable amounts of violence and mayhem. However, when her husband is unavailable for door-checking, she makes certain to check, double & triple check the locks herself. She also goes through this same ritual with her stove, because what good is it to lock all the doors to keep the psychopaths out only to burn to death in your own home because you forgot to turn off the stove or oven, and maybe there was a piece of paper or something that somehow got stuck on the stove or in the oven and then it catches fire, which then catches fire to the oven mitt you accidentally left out, which then catches fire to the wooden spoons (and let's face it, they might as well be <em>kindling</em>!!) and the next thing you know you've become your own personal deep fried wonton? It could happen, people. <em>It could happen!</em> <br />
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<em>*Ahem*</em> <strong>Anyway...</strong><br />
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Recently, she found a job that requires her to commute long distances (160+ miles round trip), but fortunately she was able to work out a plan with her in-laws where upon she could stay at their house a few nights a week in an effort to save gas money and extra wear & tear to her vehicle. This worked out nicely because they no longer lived in the house and had put it up for sale. By staying in the vacant house, her in-laws had someone who could keep an eye on things and make it look as if it was still occupied. And of course (especially because she was All Alone in the house), whenever she stayed there, she was sure to lock all the doors, including the one that opened from the garage into the house, despite the fact that one can't actually enter the garage once the garage doors have been shut, thereby negating the need to lock the door into the home but <em>you just never know</em>. <br />
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One day her father in-law kindly asked her to check their basement for water damage, as it had stormed the night before. She agreed, and upon arrival at the home, proceeded to bring all her belongings (a rather hefty skate bag, her overnight bag & her giant purse) into the house, where she (of course) promptly locked the aforementioned garage door. After having checked to make sure the other doors & windows in the home were securely locked (she didn’t want someone to sneak in & murder her while she was in the basement, because you can get murdered during pre-dusk hours too, you know), she went down to the basement to see that, fortunately, no water damage had been done. What a relief! Her father in law would be so happy! She went to send him a text with the good news, only to discover that unfortunately her phone battery had died. So she plugged her phone in to charge it and left it on the nightstand next to her bed (so it would have enough charge to dial 911 if that was needed at some point during the night - always prepared, that one!), as she did nearly every night she stayed there.<br />
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Then she remembered that he also wanted her to check the gutter by the basement to make sure it wasn’t clogged up with leaves. Fortunately, the door to get outside was right next to the gutter so she slipped outside, remembering to close the door behind her (there were bugs flying about, and it would be just as traumatic for her to awaken with bugs crawling/flying on her as it would to be murdered. Yes, she knows she’s completely crazy), when she heard an ever so faint “click” that turned out to be the automatic locking mechanism to the door. Unfortunately, she had no key to the home in order to get herself back inside - she always used the remote key pad on the side of the garage to get into the house. <em>More </em>unfortunately, ALL her things were in the house, including her cell phone (which was dead anyway, so that really didn't help, but the idea of her phone being <em>in</em> the house and her current position of being <em>out </em>of the house was making her panic) and any kind of implement she could have used to maybe pick the lock to the garage door, because she could get into the garage, just not the house once she was in the garage.</span><br />
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However, wanting to complete her requested task, she quickly checked the gutter (fortunately leaf-free because she really didn’t like the idea of having to dig out leaves in all that muddy guck), and then walked round & round the house, checking all the windows and doors in case one may have been inadvertently left open but they were (of course) securely locked. She was nothing if not thorough in her quest for safety. </div>
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Eventually she noticed the little basement window on the side of the house that was surrounded by dirt (okay, a flower bed, but it was still dirty and gross. Did I mention her great dislike for Nature?), and covered in cobwebs, spiders and other unidentifiable yuckiness. She also noticed the window lock was up. </div>
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She knew what she had to do. So she squatted down to the window and tried to pull the window up. Nothing. She cursed. She tried again to pull the window up, nearly giving herself a hernia in the process. Nothing. She cursed some more. She took her shoes off and threw them. Obviously the shoes were not allowing her to get a firm stance in the dirt. Pulled some more. Still nothing. In fit of anger, she shoved the edge of the window while profanity poured out of her mouth faster than a runaway train. Miraculously it opened. Just a smidge. Because the window in question was not the kind of window that pulled up or pushed down to open and close. It was the kind one pushed in or out. Had she bothered to really look, she’d have noticed that a lot sooner, and before her feet were covered in dirt. </div>
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So she shimmied and squirmed her way through the window, when she realized that it was possible her sizeable badonkadonk wasn’t going to make the trip. Visions of <em>Winnie the Pooh</em> came to mind and she thought how no one at work would believe she wasn’t able to make it in the next day because she managed to get herself <strong><i>stuck in a window</i></strong><em>.</em> Fortunately, her ability to measure accurately is just as faulty as her observational skills, so she was able to get through (what turned out to be) the bathroom window and into the house, where she cleaned up the dirty footprints on the bathroom sink (fortunately for her, the window was directly over it because falling onto the tiled floor in a heap wasn’t a fun thought) and closed the window all the way, but didn’t lock it. After all, she figured, if a murderer is going to go through all the trouble of getting dirty and squeezing through a tiny basement window just to slit her throat in her sleep, then he earned it. <br />
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And the next time her father in-law asks her to check the gutters for leaves, she's going to tell him to check his g-damned gutters himself.</div>
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Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-21424456452081737252011-09-06T20:49:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:40:34.122-07:00School Daze<div class="BHNormal" style="font-family: inherit; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-size: small;">As most of you are now aware, I have some paranoia issues. And OCD. And probably a dose of ADD thrown in for good measure. At any rate, because I’m married to a man that has yet to be run off by my...quirks...he takes my freak outs about various situations (mostly imagined, but could totally possibly be real & happen, so it totally counts as legitimate!) in stride. <i>Usually </i>he's very supportive & understanding. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: small;">However, sometimes he doesn't fully grasp the severity of the potential threat about which I'm panicking, and thus ends up being snarky and sarcastic instead of supportive. I guess no one's perfect. Anyway, every year since my kids were old enough to go to school, on the very first day, I would either walk them to the bus stop, or when they got too "old" to be escorted, I would watch compulsively from our kitchen window to make sure they did indeed get on the bus and not kidnapped by murderers intent on abducting my children and throwing them into the back of a rape van so they could be sold off into slavery never to be seen or heard from again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Don’t ask me why it’s only a First Day of School (FDoS) freak out and not year round. It just is. And it’s vital that I <i>physically see them get on the school bus</i>. Because what if those murderers tried to grab them or lure them away with candy or puppies and I hadn’t noticed because I just <i>assumed</i> they wouldn’t have any problems? Would that be any comfort while they were being repeatedly drugged & tortured in some dirty, smelly shack? NO, it most certainly would not. Never mind the fact that the bus stop is literally 10 steps from our door. Or that even if I <i>did</i> see puppy & candy-wielding murderers abducting my kids, I'd still be too far away to stop them. Or that both our kids are black belts. Or that my 13 year old son is bigger & looks older than some of the 16 year olds in our neighborhood, and that my daughter dresses like such a freak I'm fairly certain most folks in the area are afraid of <i>her</i>. It’s <i>possible</i>, and that posibility is all that's needed to freak me out.<span style="color: #333333;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">However, this year because of my work schedule, I was unable to perform my annual task of making sure they weren't kidnapped by murderers. My beloved husband pre-empted my inevitable freak out & reassured me that he would take over this duty and be ever diligent to make sure they made it on the school bus safely. I went to work, my mind at ease knowing my husband (who is also a 2nd degree black belt, thus much more capable of catching and disabling said murderers) had taken me seriously and would prevent any wrong doing from happening. I should have noticed him rolling his eyes...</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">So, when I got to work this morning, upon opening my email, I received this from my beloved: </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: blue;">"The kids are off to school. Both got on their busses okay and only had to fight off 2 or three waves of puppy and candy wielding kidnapper ninjas before doing so. Here is a picture I made for you to remember the kids' first day of school this year! Have a Superwonderful day!</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwGpS5AqpHuACcFTN_yb3K2wddJInz2nI_s0rnUZ0Fmq6aX9bbSOnAJJe8TD8S-ucmB2Wycrg7vJARzsCw8-YYbXpz88QM6mUXsgJW7JP72UGBC8GAGxm7KY6jD_lF5qAolxt2dTyqJbF/s1600/First+day+memories%2521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzwGpS5AqpHuACcFTN_yb3K2wddJInz2nI_s0rnUZ0Fmq6aX9bbSOnAJJe8TD8S-ucmB2Wycrg7vJARzsCw8-YYbXpz88QM6mUXsgJW7JP72UGBC8GAGxm7KY6jD_lF5qAolxt2dTyqJbF/s400/First+day+memories%2521.JPG" height="293" nba="true" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: blue;">P.S. Just be aware this is an artist's rendering of this morning's events, not an actual photograph. Also it is only *based*on actual events...some liberties may have been taken, and names have been changed to protect the innocent."</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: small;">Today was also Harry’s first day back at school. He’s gone back to get his Masters so he can teach Middle/Junior High School kids. Why he would voluntarily work with hormonal, newly-minted teenagers is beyond me. Although he puts up with <i>me</i> on a regular basis, so I imagine teenagers are probably not as <a href="http://www.websters-online-dictionary.org/definitions/exigent">exigent</a> (thought I’d use an SAT word since school is back in session and everything...<i style="color: blue;">I</i><span style="color: blue;"> had to look it up, hence the link...). </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: small;">Since he is making his foray back into school after a somewhat lengthy (*cough* 18 years *cough*) absence, Harry was worried about being so much older than the other students on campus, but I reassured him that it wouldn’t be that big a deal. <i>Of course</i> he’d make friends and fit in! How could he not? After all, those kids are going to need <i>someone</i> to buy them beer! For some reason, that sentiment wasn’t as comforting as I expected.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-size: small;">But, just as I assumed, he had no problems at school. He even had a nice little exchange with one of his professors! Yay, Harry! Good job!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcxINGhIwVo021n6WmjgsXUnACklW0G07LU_liQs_YOMTuFFOiEQmsSi5uwnK7cZhpEu66v2lEwl_-x3f3U-g5__tvuUC175y2DetsZq_YywEAP7WOoYhVgh6GVI-wpmPytQ1hVAURPqL6/s1600/1st+day3.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/AVvXsEjcxINGhIwVo021n6WmjgsXUnACklW0G07LU_liQs_YOMTuFFOiEQmsSi5uwnK7cZhpEu66v2lEwl_-x3f3U-g5__tvuUC175y2DetsZq_YywEAP7WOoYhVgh6GVI-wpmPytQ1hVAURPqL6/s320/1st+day3.jpg" height="262" nba="true" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-13184440599749844432011-08-28T20:31:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:41:46.644-07:00Seoul to Speak<div class="MsoNormal">
Hello, Readers (I’m assuming there is more than one based on our five - no six! - followers – woot! Look how POPULAR we are!!) – <span style="color: blue;">I need <em>two</em> hands to count that high!</span><br />
(Oh, FYI. That was Harry. If he ever feels like interjecting a comment instead of a drawing he uses blue text.) </div>
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Since the twists and turns in this neurotic head of mine are vast and multitudinous, I thought it’d be a good idea to try to familiarize you to our family, and to some of the more common words and/or phrases that I will use, and the random meanings I’ve given them. And no, they may not make sense to you, but they make <i>perfect</i> sense to me, and really, isn’t that what’s truly important here? </div>
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The in-laws/’rents: Referring (obviously) to Harry’s parents. They very graciously put up with me on a nearly daily basis, and my poor FIL has dealt with more than one panicked phone call from me, and has yet to openly mock me. Also, I invade their home quite frequently so they are used to witnessing first hand some of my more neurotic outbursts. But more about that later. </div>
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The Fam - this consists of me, Harry, Katie, our oldest child, and Christopher, our youngest (but largest) child. We're pretty much all crazy in our own ways. However, I'm probably the only one that's certifiable (thanks, Mom). I'm hoping it's not genetic, for my kids' sake. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBeYug8ssnmxib8kFvy1Xzg2gVpjBW24m-zMN_nN9Ky-fIj97jx_OkhAI0oYFeZNHmxPgBMyLJYlTL6mx1-dKgCw0i9uzzeKTJ4NCM8O0moGTnu6m2cIjeA4FaxeuK3RxOKkuB9JHZOPe/s1600/family.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaBeYug8ssnmxib8kFvy1Xzg2gVpjBW24m-zMN_nN9Ky-fIj97jx_OkhAI0oYFeZNHmxPgBMyLJYlTL6mx1-dKgCw0i9uzzeKTJ4NCM8O0moGTnu6m2cIjeA4FaxeuK3RxOKkuB9JHZOPe/s320/family.png" height="287" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christopher (Boy) , Harry, Seoul, Katie (Bug), and Nugget</td></tr>
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Katie dresses like a punk homeless girl and very rarely matches. I often refer to her as Buggie or Bugs or some variation of because, well, I just do. Also, her nick name as a little kid was Katie-Bug. So it kind of stuck. </div>
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Christopher is younger than his sister (by 2 years), but is easily twice her size. I call him The Boy. Or Boy. Or Bubba. Again, because I just do. “Boy” is a term of endearment, and is never said in a derogatory or demeaning way (folks have given me <i>the look</i> because I’ve slipped a couple times and called him “Boy” in public) – it’s more along the lines of “That’s my boy!” kind of thing. </div>
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Nugget, the Neurotic Wonder: Our dog. He takes after me.'Nuff said. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguU4k7Nt-Adwo8o-zjbu_RNU8kt0DGfHPYSnKolv2QqsPWsbRsL9k0mGWwFaxk9IyCdQdFjwDVoEzXLSKagJ-Bc4zHNa5dI5yWZnVhZc8SuVkEg05Rq4KXVipkOXwiDwELcFyk_1RucfEU/s1600/nugget.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguU4k7Nt-Adwo8o-zjbu_RNU8kt0DGfHPYSnKolv2QqsPWsbRsL9k0mGWwFaxk9IyCdQdFjwDVoEzXLSKagJ-Bc4zHNa5dI5yWZnVhZc8SuVkEg05Rq4KXVipkOXwiDwELcFyk_1RucfEU/s200/nugget.png" height="161" width="200" /></a></div>
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That's our family in a nutshell. The rest is, well, stuff that I say on a frighteningly regular basis. </div>
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Murderer(s): Usually I'm picturing a ninja(s). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXLjC-i_bFDG2_JbFCgP97cV6bka1Ccs3zZnnNqnGI0GOc-GWUeIGw9G1xDjtNgOV22K9_bFykekIrZUumQ8sumSR5M5CYlyq8ft7sepi7BCPcyBQAbEXTZInmZngwqHgIp56KomkPpMPV/s1600/hidden+ninja.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXLjC-i_bFDG2_JbFCgP97cV6bka1Ccs3zZnnNqnGI0GOc-GWUeIGw9G1xDjtNgOV22K9_bFykekIrZUumQ8sumSR5M5CYlyq8ft7sepi7BCPcyBQAbEXTZInmZngwqHgIp56KomkPpMPV/s320/hidden+ninja.png" height="320" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ninjas can hide almost anywhere</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbH7gH1-pdRky-XyyvuawYxbC5TyqIQ0-moArEj_5Fd6ovQF8D2U4W6V2LVRR38gqg8JYkrgTNDOoVbJ3UxchhG9iBl58zAiVUvsYjwFmljREI7EqSQRX1i_kmzqcgrtsyV0TnJPrd9Pc/s1600/ninja1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYbH7gH1-pdRky-XyyvuawYxbC5TyqIQ0-moArEj_5Fd6ovQF8D2U4W6V2LVRR38gqg8JYkrgTNDOoVbJ3UxchhG9iBl58zAiVUvsYjwFmljREI7EqSQRX1i_kmzqcgrtsyV0TnJPrd9Pc/s320/ninja1.png" height="320" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">They can be sneaky.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6WvCaQvhbDJZB_p32TVkPbG0M-_K-02O45-4-0eP2Q3uYw0yV_kuXJu2OXB5xr8RqDDXSy_tgGo448lrgZWE22bnoaG0zz7istsYBAYXNPlmuRNb7tCnJ1nsQuSgaDbsLl3oCqffLk6Qr/s1600/ninja2.png" 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/AVvXsEh6WvCaQvhbDJZB_p32TVkPbG0M-_K-02O45-4-0eP2Q3uYw0yV_kuXJu2OXB5xr8RqDDXSy_tgGo448lrgZWE22bnoaG0zz7istsYBAYXNPlmuRNb7tCnJ1nsQuSgaDbsLl3oCqffLk6Qr/s320/ninja2.png" height="320" width="274" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Very sneaky!</td></tr>
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Murderers can also be any variation of <i>this</i> guy: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDze0R8XA5tB2irzp_gXeXZWAOl_2NugH-M2ouIx0IsBOvvqwNwCJWnDUzXe7jUr53VqEEOTOxYOagPJBvO8hY6iL-_0kDqn5nC_Cbt0Lmjwo8lZTQ1_tK8WhgGWDpnXI1-qVmvxja5nX/s1600/badguy.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmDze0R8XA5tB2irzp_gXeXZWAOl_2NugH-M2ouIx0IsBOvvqwNwCJWnDUzXe7jUr53VqEEOTOxYOagPJBvO8hY6iL-_0kDqn5nC_Cbt0Lmjwo8lZTQ1_tK8WhgGWDpnXI1-qVmvxja5nX/s320/badguy.png" height="320" width="308" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSTO90gy5sk1yyTwEBOuXtd_ZzBfs2kFB4-zMrfB8Yx3CXqgKRGiB-ZGCAr-7xkTUOSgZ2ZJCpamCElpUf5UT_vKUxVQboJVtK6ExUIKipdu6f886W1RfcJGhJdLrGFxGvajtrGLekWeCP/s1600/not+so+sneaky.png" 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/AVvXsEhSTO90gy5sk1yyTwEBOuXtd_ZzBfs2kFB4-zMrfB8Yx3CXqgKRGiB-ZGCAr-7xkTUOSgZ2ZJCpamCElpUf5UT_vKUxVQboJVtK6ExUIKipdu6f886W1RfcJGhJdLrGFxGvajtrGLekWeCP/s320/not+so+sneaky.png" height="320" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This guy is not so very sneaky.</td></tr>
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Freak out: This usually refers to my panic attacks over just about everything. I use this <i>a lot</i>. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is what a freak out looks like.</td></tr>
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Nature: This is <i>always</i> said in a derogatory way. And I always capitalize it. Because I HATE Nature...<i>always</i>. It’s dirty. And smelly. And full of things that can kill you. And dirty. REALLY dirty. </div>
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Rape Van: This is any kind of truck, van or large vehicle that I have deemed creepy or scary. And if it’s a panel van, it gets upgraded to Death Machine. Harry has claimed sometimes these kinds of vehicles can be "awesome" but I have no idea what he means by that. Seriously, I don't.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtmVj5pMT2iIpPugk2_DV0ZGn1byZSkuIMT6Fm-DQGdorbdjIkuK0jXzapGOKTD281vSlWr9VcUV5sWITyjYG9MWA59jm7C8YESA1z4QKzh8gi415NxYfUvyrsVRTxE_MS5zcrNZg_zzN/s1600/Rape+Van.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOtmVj5pMT2iIpPugk2_DV0ZGn1byZSkuIMT6Fm-DQGdorbdjIkuK0jXzapGOKTD281vSlWr9VcUV5sWITyjYG9MWA59jm7C8YESA1z4QKzh8gi415NxYfUvyrsVRTxE_MS5zcrNZg_zzN/s320/Rape+Van.png" height="258" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rape van/Deathmachine. Not to be confused with...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigUf05JJEDMrgxR1N9SynxQo8PJ1UXBubrdqs0rAnOrXTuaLc_cKgl0MzAZLv33irmkhpmy-Etpu4zLMpXt44tO4LMQ8My2nWRhPO3jHEGUqrwUsLZxgBE1r58DL9rEChikoJe2d4-ux4Y/s1600/Awesome+Van.png" 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/AVvXsEigUf05JJEDMrgxR1N9SynxQo8PJ1UXBubrdqs0rAnOrXTuaLc_cKgl0MzAZLv33irmkhpmy-Etpu4zLMpXt44tO4LMQ8My2nWRhPO3jHEGUqrwUsLZxgBE1r58DL9rEChikoJe2d4-ux4Y/s320/Awesome+Van.png" height="258" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...This AWESOME van with a wizard airbrushed on the side!</td></tr>
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Poor Harry: This is possibly <i>the</i> most repeated phrase you will read. For obvious reasons. This poor man puts up with me on a daily basis and is willing to do things like illustrate my inane babbling, and do so with not-nearly-detailed-enough-direction like "So draw some Nature, but make it, you know, like how <i>I</i> think Nature is. Not all happy like <i>you</i> like it."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5JW8PSNLKeKFcCSMyBnYhiz-YrAjUS_-ifA9itbas4KOe86U-0AuYEDkuV4OejPj_ZE8DP2F_zIHMX5SK6pZlfj8V_T7-WXNbysrX8Jr0rQMptbGrpRkPatCBkyfzO79vEG8D6iqv9KA/s1600/seoulsays.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA5JW8PSNLKeKFcCSMyBnYhiz-YrAjUS_-ifA9itbas4KOe86U-0AuYEDkuV4OejPj_ZE8DP2F_zIHMX5SK6pZlfj8V_T7-WXNbysrX8Jr0rQMptbGrpRkPatCBkyfzO79vEG8D6iqv9KA/s400/seoulsays.png" height="243" width="400" /></a></div>
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These are just a few among many (quite possibly <i>hundreds</i>) of things that will tumble out of my mouth on a regular basis. Hopefully this will help you understand my Seoul-Speak so you can fully appreciate the unique and original way I view the world. If not, don't worry. Harry's been with me for over 20 years and he <i>still </i>doesn't understand what I'm saying. Hell, half the time <i>I</i> don't know what I'm saying. So good luck! <br />
<span style="color: blue;">Yup, Good luck!</span>Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1876438006639024240.post-25381981264523155412011-08-19T22:16:00.000-07:002014-05-10T15:42:55.935-07:00Baskets, Ribbons and Glue: A Story of Tragic Disappointment and Epic Failure<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Once upon a time there was a boy who met a girl. They fell in love and decided to get married. The boy was very creative and crafty and wanted to make special hand-made wedding favors for all the guests - little white flower & ribbon bedecked baskets filled with homemade chocolate truffles (the boy could also make confections like a pro).</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9Epx9Dk4BOccj6OM5pg4l9dG6hAMXJw3pghcc2ifltFWH2pqmK4nuNR1BHgeYed8Yi7mRsN9gtSBb-CH1K75mULFCX62pa8gxT-cvOoby7Thc3mzEALch80KAx4EtROPGo9QpUuC6WCl/s1600/Crafty2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo9Epx9Dk4BOccj6OM5pg4l9dG6hAMXJw3pghcc2ifltFWH2pqmK4nuNR1BHgeYed8Yi7mRsN9gtSBb-CH1K75mULFCX62pa8gxT-cvOoby7Thc3mzEALch80KAx4EtROPGo9QpUuC6WCl/s320/Crafty2.png" height="311" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> The girl was excited because she thought this meant that <i>he</i> would make these baskets and they would be SO PRETTY! </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgomRywSLgkpzkgcVrF-mKQ_hQ85Fs9aFMoQmQr0G8VjFVKfiKZADPF93EizTNozOEPyTIbifuCxiPvM5a4dM2wl8JI2cs5wicmkVnWG83YnkEppC_ivNNeuYo4ntEcKWxZbf3GCVMe8E6m/s1600/Crafty1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgomRywSLgkpzkgcVrF-mKQ_hQ85Fs9aFMoQmQr0G8VjFVKfiKZADPF93EizTNozOEPyTIbifuCxiPvM5a4dM2wl8JI2cs5wicmkVnWG83YnkEppC_ivNNeuYo4ntEcKWxZbf3GCVMe8E6m/s320/Crafty1.png" height="320" width="297" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNK7Ehnij9QszyMom7j1e15nInPTqCibOcCBmXzyKj14iW1ikGSdMBx0JI6IlLCTwW6-uhZ-aqnZtsmtOSjirA0K6HdV0iHSIFxaCltjRuVv3fTvTvUrUKI0lFQJ6HO4NFRlOmHXncpB2-/s1600/Crafty3.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNK7Ehnij9QszyMom7j1e15nInPTqCibOcCBmXzyKj14iW1ikGSdMBx0JI6IlLCTwW6-uhZ-aqnZtsmtOSjirA0K6HdV0iHSIFxaCltjRuVv3fTvTvUrUKI0lFQJ6HO4NFRlOmHXncpB2-/s320/Crafty3.png" height="320" width="307" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">However, her joy was short-lived when he explained to her that she would be making the baskets <i>with</i> him. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOUz-1OiMZRU4e0gmXHTFGzUBxEYqfFrL99gXm6sTJWYVlXxRlwA-PVl1iaHbqRCEcaPeT2ew5oeiar7_BkvudeeCOGdhoh1Ty8bnS3JWAePG0RQ87v4MG-XOsWpaHZYAoTKbxHynTGHS/s1600/Crafty4.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMOUz-1OiMZRU4e0gmXHTFGzUBxEYqfFrL99gXm6sTJWYVlXxRlwA-PVl1iaHbqRCEcaPeT2ew5oeiar7_BkvudeeCOGdhoh1Ty8bnS3JWAePG0RQ87v4MG-XOsWpaHZYAoTKbxHynTGHS/s320/Crafty4.png" height="320" width="299" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> Her heart filled with dread. She would have to tell the boy that she was not, in fact, perfect.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9k24eXrR7F56r0zTzn-oT5fZt9_-VOWz38qzVIN8rNRk6yNzqZzdDjMueibAzMt7gBFVPy9u9bV4ai_MaQO_ZDftS8TP9U_jrXspVM7cq_uhMj2p9yRTkV7A-q4kIwLZFaz3SBsXgJKg/s1600/Crafty5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD9k24eXrR7F56r0zTzn-oT5fZt9_-VOWz38qzVIN8rNRk6yNzqZzdDjMueibAzMt7gBFVPy9u9bV4ai_MaQO_ZDftS8TP9U_jrXspVM7cq_uhMj2p9yRTkV7A-q4kIwLZFaz3SBsXgJKg/s320/Crafty5.png" height="314" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">That she was tragically born without a Crafty gene.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutTFN_Q1X02xWy0ULWcQS9Od5hQq-mX6d2OCH-9CVPqYSGwuhjyJSp9te0_TJdfSWmKsW9Y6GbY8gQ3h2yD-eNpQcUVygJvZ5PRbGM9tUx_Oc1wvUBE0ckMRVMRtAEmB0ZvWC_C_ApFm0/s1600/Crafty6.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutTFN_Q1X02xWy0ULWcQS9Od5hQq-mX6d2OCH-9CVPqYSGwuhjyJSp9te0_TJdfSWmKsW9Y6GbY8gQ3h2yD-eNpQcUVygJvZ5PRbGM9tUx_Oc1wvUBE0ckMRVMRtAEmB0ZvWC_C_ApFm0/s320/Crafty6.png" height="320" width="306" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"> She was Craft Deficient. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">When she told the boy, he thought she was being humbly modest about her abilities, because who couldn't glue some ribbon and flowers onto a basket? He reassured her that all would be well and she would make beautiful baskets for their Day of Bliss. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br />
Soon, Basket Day was upon her and the girl had arrived at the boy's house only to discover that not only would the two of them be making baskets, but he had elicited other family members to help (turns out his whole damn family is a bunch of crafting machines). However, once she saw the supplies laid out and was given instruction on how to decorate, she was put at ease.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXbvfrmGoPzZQeUcz4IA9aypIcKml1UCSfShZBXpQFREN5DwfCAzlMJD2shcQxg6I2zzd-vwbYCppyqvF4LqAuUbQIRjhMZs-MGKL4aCcGXrq0Gn2sPnq6rhYu_YiGkjM1qYc0QWE1Q4B/s1600/Crafty7.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlXbvfrmGoPzZQeUcz4IA9aypIcKml1UCSfShZBXpQFREN5DwfCAzlMJD2shcQxg6I2zzd-vwbYCppyqvF4LqAuUbQIRjhMZs-MGKL4aCcGXrq0Gn2sPnq6rhYu_YiGkjM1qYc0QWE1Q4B/s320/Crafty7.png" height="320" width="287" /></a></div>
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It's just glue! And ribbon! Relief washed over her as she was confident that even </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">she</span></i></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"> could handle this simple task. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj3UDMlFw7IW_DDdZANL-7crmrqDPh_qbS-4diQTERns7TBhVzRmmfC2wHND2z6gZ2zJ5fB9sB4gVskHgfZ0HW_Xu0UThiHLXMB7hhLIE5zD_hDG8tr1ep_S6pQnPZyWBZqp4waYwn0e09/s1600/Crafty8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj3UDMlFw7IW_DDdZANL-7crmrqDPh_qbS-4diQTERns7TBhVzRmmfC2wHND2z6gZ2zJ5fB9sB4gVskHgfZ0HW_Xu0UThiHLXMB7hhLIE5zD_hDG8tr1ep_S6pQnPZyWBZqp4waYwn0e09/s320/Crafty8.png" height="320" width="311" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">She was wrong.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYxcp23ujz3k5mAohyphenhyphenK2ptaK4r3APeYJaqv4HgfYfthgD5XUZRx-vbgymX1rXMBT76a2XhILAa0Zckf2AEH2KYsN74vx0rtOJewyP-Yyk0oRNmnMZJGZNe0wywtq5Zq_LQBb6DZwGCCUa/s1600/Crafty9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYxcp23ujz3k5mAohyphenhyphenK2ptaK4r3APeYJaqv4HgfYfthgD5XUZRx-vbgymX1rXMBT76a2XhILAa0Zckf2AEH2KYsN74vx0rtOJewyP-Yyk0oRNmnMZJGZNe0wywtq5Zq_LQBb6DZwGCCUa/s320/Crafty9.png" height="320" width="302" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;">The End.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: "Trebuchet MS","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiKIj0MHDXj3IhPPU3RC9H4mVQ0T01gbXKbMYgbRdrQ_x4tH-ogbWf09PtrUT7_JClOJTJGwWyya2Z68NGNQfQG16sWRw1ILh4FY4I0udqg6mdjAJHaihdoi3RGxGw3Uk1Vo-Qu3ylfD3/s1600/Crafty10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUiKIj0MHDXj3IhPPU3RC9H4mVQ0T01gbXKbMYgbRdrQ_x4tH-ogbWf09PtrUT7_JClOJTJGwWyya2Z68NGNQfQG16sWRw1ILh4FY4I0udqg6mdjAJHaihdoi3RGxGw3Uk1Vo-Qu3ylfD3/s400/Crafty10.png" height="312" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So pretty...</td></tr>
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<br />Harry and Seoulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11266749008656671749noreply@blogger.com1