<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137</id><updated>2011-11-29T13:27:12.994-08:00</updated><category term='Roommate'/><title type='text'>Lindsiosyncrasies</title><subtitle type='html'>Inconsequential opinions and impressions for your viewing pleasure.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>21</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-6239455154780485920</id><published>2011-11-28T20:03:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-28T21:23:44.371-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Our First Day!</title><content type='html'>Today, my friends, was a success. &amp;nbsp;The morning went smoothly, all three of us were ready to go on time, I remembered everything that the kids were supposed to have at daycare...it was great. &amp;nbsp;Well, it was great until I actually had to &lt;i&gt;leave&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;the babies at daycare. &amp;nbsp;Khloe was excited to see other kids. &amp;nbsp;She sat on the couch with Juan and bounced up and down, smiling the whole time. &amp;nbsp;Kaden broke down and clung to my leg in tears. &amp;nbsp;I felt horrible leaving my sweet boy, but I knew he was in good hands. &amp;nbsp;The other kids came up to him and introduced themselves and told him that they were happy and that they wanted him to play with them. &amp;nbsp;They were all very sweet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Here's my happy girl!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-auUKDTX-_FE/TtRbklA0ApI/AAAAAAAAAJI/QlfkcaRLaoU/s1600/2011-11-28_07-41-06_504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="179" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-auUKDTX-_FE/TtRbklA0ApI/AAAAAAAAAJI/QlfkcaRLaoU/s320/2011-11-28_07-41-06_504.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And here's my baby boy, stuck on my leg instead&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;of sitting with his sister for a picture.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6YLGjWMZIN4/TtRcGIyMNcI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/4BDYcqROnXc/s1600/2011-11-28_07-41-37_202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="179" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6YLGjWMZIN4/TtRcGIyMNcI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/4BDYcqROnXc/s320/2011-11-28_07-41-37_202.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I finally tore myself away from Kaden's pleading sobs with Khloe happily waving bye-bye to me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My first day of work went pretty well, except that I had a horrible headache all day from reading and staring at PowerPoint presentations. &amp;nbsp;My supervisor is awesome - she also has two kids, a boy and a girl, and she's a Diet Dr Pepper fan. &amp;nbsp;All the people I trained with and met were really nice. &amp;nbsp;My whole day was basically just filling out paperwork and learning all about company policies, safety, and perks. Speaking of perks, this job comes with lots of them. &amp;nbsp;Here's a list I'll call:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;10 Sweet Things About My New Job:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;1. &amp;nbsp;My insurance pays 90/10 and it's only like $140/month for me and both kids.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;2. &amp;nbsp;I get life insurance, dental, vision, accidental death and dismemberment, and a 401K.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;3. &amp;nbsp;If I put 6% of my paycheck into my 401K each month, the company will match that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;4. &amp;nbsp;Since the mother company is in Denmark and they want us to feel like we're all part of the same &amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; family,&amp;nbsp;we get cool European perks, like 12 paid holidays each year and an exercise room.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;5. &amp;nbsp;I can pick my hours and change them pretty much whenever I want to in order to better accommodate my needs.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;6. &amp;nbsp;If I need something for my workspace, I can just order it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;7. &amp;nbsp;I can carry my cell phone all day long if I want to.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;8. &amp;nbsp;Someone makes photocopies of the two crosswords in the paper every morning and leaves them on the tables in the lunchroom for our word-gaming pleasure.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;9. &amp;nbsp;It's really clean.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;10. &amp;nbsp;I can wear comfy shoes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;They also gave me quality schwag - no pens or keychains for these employees!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-69Rc6PFXNRg/TtRhs-xVRgI/AAAAAAAAAJY/SVBhOrVEgqY/s1600/112811200211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-69Rc6PFXNRg/TtRhs-xVRgI/AAAAAAAAAJY/SVBhOrVEgqY/s320/112811200211.jpg" width="226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Yeah, yeah, I know it's a cell-phone-in-the-mirror picture, which I despise, but look at my comfy new sweatshirt. &amp;nbsp;The inside of the hood is really cute plaid, too. &amp;nbsp;I got a stainless steel water bottle, too, but Kaden absconded with that as soon as he saw it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;And, as promised, the conclusion to the Shoe Dilemma:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;I wore my everyday, worn-out Keens with my nice work clothes. &amp;nbsp;No one said a word, and when I asked my supervisor about "building-dedicated shoes", she said I wouldn't be in areas where I'd need them frequently enough to worry about it. &amp;nbsp;She said to wear whatever shoes I want. &amp;nbsp;I think I'll get a new pair after my first paycheck - I've about walked the bottoms off of these shoes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Toward the end of the day, I had time scheduled specifically for reading a bunch of SOPs, which sounded dreadfully dull. &amp;nbsp;One of the Development Engineers that I interviewed with stopped by my cubicle and asked if I'd rather go help him with an experiment. &amp;nbsp;Of course I jumped at the chance, so I went with him for about an hour. &amp;nbsp;I'm not sure what details I can and can't give about the research at ALK, but I'd rather err on the side of secrecy. &amp;nbsp;I don't think it would be crossing any lines to say that it's an experiment to further purify one of the pollens we're working with, and that I thought it was very fun.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;I'm not entirely sure what my job is yet, which sounds weird, but really, the description I read was one thing, and what people kept telling me today was another, so I &lt;i&gt;think&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;I'm going to be doing mostly technical write-ups for the experiments that are currently underway, and assisting as needed. &amp;nbsp;I met the QC (quality control) girls today and they're like microbiology chicks, so now I see why I was asked during my interview if I had ever thought about working in QC. &amp;nbsp;That's another nice thing about this company though...I can move up or even side to side if I feel like I would be a good fit for a job in a different area. &amp;nbsp;I really think I'm going to like working for this place.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;And for those of you worried about my darling little boy, he calmed down after I left and had a great day. &amp;nbsp;He &lt;i&gt;loved&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;going to "school" with his little class, and they learned about colors today. &amp;nbsp;He proudly brought me this when I picked him up:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U4Oo6X380Z4/TtRmp04uUOI/AAAAAAAAAJg/H8TD05BI7n8/s1600/2011-11-28_18-28-35_237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U4Oo6X380Z4/TtRmp04uUOI/AAAAAAAAAJg/H8TD05BI7n8/s320/2011-11-28_18-28-35_237.jpg" width="179" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;He also showed me his classroom and the cubby where he hangs his coat and leaves his boots. &amp;nbsp;They said it takes most kids about a week to adjust to the routine, but that Kaden and Khloe were fine and are both very good kids. &amp;nbsp;Yay for a decent first day!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-6239455154780485920?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/6239455154780485920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2011/11/today-my-friends-was-success.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/6239455154780485920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/6239455154780485920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2011/11/today-my-friends-was-success.html' title='Our First Day!'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-auUKDTX-_FE/TtRbklA0ApI/AAAAAAAAAJI/QlfkcaRLaoU/s72-c/2011-11-28_07-41-06_504.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-7434390271584877803</id><published>2011-11-23T23:17:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-24T00:03:18.275-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Working Girl</title><content type='html'>So I have awesome news (and no, it's not that I'm actually blogging again...although that's pretty cool too). &amp;nbsp;I have a job! &amp;nbsp;I just got hired as a Product Development Technician at ALK-Abello Source Materials, Inc. in Post Falls. &amp;nbsp;Even though the job has been explained to me, I'm certain I won't actually know what I do until I start training, but I know I'll love it. &amp;nbsp;I think it's a sort of research and development position. &amp;nbsp;I know that it requires me to use my science-y skills, and I know that it involves a lot of writing, so both of the things I love the most will be incorporated into my job. &amp;nbsp;Isn't that the dream?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also get to work with these guys:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rstso8WcjXc/Ts3yi9u4iMI/AAAAAAAAAJA/CGB12o2_pOQ/s1600/House_Dust_Mite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="245" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rstso8WcjXc/Ts3yi9u4iMI/AAAAAAAAAJA/CGB12o2_pOQ/s320/House_Dust_Mite.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;It's a dust mite. &amp;nbsp;&lt;i&gt;Dermatophagoides pteronyssinus&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;for my fellow science geeks. &amp;nbsp;I don't care what you're thinking because &lt;i&gt;I'm&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;excited about it. &amp;nbsp;During my interview, my interviewers had all closed their notes and we were just talking about a few random things. &amp;nbsp;One supervisor told me that the job gets kind of gross sometimes. &amp;nbsp;I said, "I love gross! &amp;nbsp;Gross is my forte." &amp;nbsp;It made them all laugh and one of them even opened his notes again to quote me on that. &amp;nbsp;I'd like to think this is how they chose me over the other candidates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, it's very late and I should be sleeping, but instead, I'm stressing out about my work attire. &amp;nbsp;When I interviewed for a previous position at that company, I saw most of the techs wearing these blue scrub/track suit things with tennis shoes. &amp;nbsp;They have to wear those in the work area, so it wouldn't really matter what I wore to work because I'd just change into that every day. &amp;nbsp;For this new job, my dress code is "business casual," which means I either need to:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A) Lose 10 pounds over Thanksgiving so that I fit into my old work clothes, or&lt;br /&gt;B) Go buy new work clothes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first option is ideal but certainly not feasible, so I've resigned myself to the fact that I'll be shopping on Black Friday. &amp;nbsp;Thankfully, my mom has the day off and can wrangle the babies so I can try on a pair of pants without Kaden opening the door of my fitting room to show the world my cottage cheese thighs. &amp;nbsp;I really should do a blog post on what it's like to attempt to buy clothes while toting Kaden and Khloe around in a double stroller, but I digress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My next dilemma is regarding footwear. &amp;nbsp;I've had my share of jobs where I'm on my feet all day, and the right shoes make a huge difference. &amp;nbsp;I don't mind paying $80 for a pair of shoes if it's for a good cause, but in this case, I don't really know how much time I'll be standing. &amp;nbsp;I assume during training that I will stand and move around a lot. &amp;nbsp;The HR guy told me I would probably want to invest in a pair of building-dedicated shoes, but I don't know what kind. &amp;nbsp;"Business Casual" would suggest that I need some sort of close-toed, mary-jane flat or something with a low heel, but I completely forgot to see what kind of shoes all of the PDTs were wearing when I was in there. &amp;nbsp;The Production Techs all wear comfy athletic shoes of their choice. &amp;nbsp;My choice would be a new pair of Keens because they last a long time, they're comfortable, and I love them. &amp;nbsp;I just don't know if they're acceptable or not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My rational side is intervening and telling me that I'm WAY over-thinking this. &amp;nbsp;I know that whatever shoes I get will probably be fine. &amp;nbsp;The company is really into keeping up morale and making sure the employees are happy, and if Keens make me happy, I'm sure they're allowed. &amp;nbsp;I'd just really hate to buy a new pair and find out that they aren't. &amp;nbsp;I know I could wait and ask on my first day, but what the heck will I wear on my feet &lt;i&gt;during&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;my first day? &amp;nbsp;I can tell you that all of my business casual shoes are out of the question because none of them are tolerable past the length of an interview.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay tuned - I'll post all about my first day &lt;i&gt;and&lt;/i&gt; you'll get to see how this shoe conundrum turns out. &amp;nbsp;Oh, but I signed some huge confidentiality contract or something, and since my friend Elisa just got fired from a job for writing about work in her own blog, I'll need to figure out what I can and can't say. Wish me luck!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-7434390271584877803?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/7434390271584877803/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2011/11/working-girl.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/7434390271584877803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/7434390271584877803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2011/11/working-girl.html' title='Working Girl'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rstso8WcjXc/Ts3yi9u4iMI/AAAAAAAAAJA/CGB12o2_pOQ/s72-c/House_Dust_Mite.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-3381160980455020754</id><published>2010-01-10T00:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-10T01:47:32.587-08:00</updated><title type='text'>For My Little Brother</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S0mPc4cnmTI/AAAAAAAAAHg/_CMk0PTB0MQ/s1600-h/Me+and+Mattie.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S0mPc4cnmTI/AAAAAAAAAHg/_CMk0PTB0MQ/s400/Me+and+Mattie.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425024952496003378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I guess starting a post with a title like that makes it look like Matt died or something.  He did not.  He is alive and well, to my knowledge.  In honor of Mattie and our new year, 2010, I considered listing 2010 things I love about my little brother.  However, this would be a herculean task and I bet that no one would finish reading it even if I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;did&lt;/span&gt; manage to complete the list.  Instead, I will shorten "2010 Things I Love About Matt" to just &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;"10 Things I Love About Matt"&lt;/span&gt;.  Ready?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;1. He's super talented.&lt;/span&gt;  He's a self-taught musician skilled at several instruments and I'm totally jealous.  I wish his music career would take off because he deserves it more than many of the "artists" already in the music industry today.  I'm so proud of his accomplishments and I listen to his songs all the time, both originals and covers, because it makes me smile.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;2. We can just quote for entire conversations.&lt;/span&gt;  Whether it's Family Guy, Friends, Empire Records, or Big Bang Theory, we can have a whole conversation basically just quoting lines and phrases from TV shows and movies.  And it's always funny.  Even when it's just done in a random social situation, like at a family gathering for instance.  One of us can throw out a line and make the other laugh; everyone else will roll their eyes and Mom will go, "What?  Are you guys making fun of me?"  I love it because every line is like a private joke between us and it's fun.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;3. He's a great uncle.&lt;/span&gt;  For someone who has spent virtually no time with infants during his life, he's really good with Kaden.  He may not change diapers or bathe him or anything, but he loves spending time with him.  It's great when he interacts with Kaden, and it's adorable when he tries to impart musical talent in my 4-month-old son.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;4. He's fun to play games with.&lt;/span&gt;  It seems like a simple thing, but believe it or not, it is &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; fun to play games with just anyone.  Matt will play board games, card games, video games...it doesn't matter.  He's good at all of them, he catches on quickly, he follows the rules, and he's a formidable opponent.  I love game time when Matt's involved!  Right now, I really want to play Beyond Balderdash...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;5. We're buddies.&lt;/span&gt;  I think it's really cool that we are mortal-enemies-turned-friends.  I love that we can confide in each other and be honest without worrying the other one is going to get all butt-hurt.  As he mentioned in his post, it's awesome that at a family get-together, we're more than just a face in the room - we are always excited to see each other.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;6. He smells good.&lt;/span&gt;  The statement stands for itself.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;7. He's not afraid to do his own thing.&lt;/span&gt;  He didn't go to college and he wants to be a musician.  Many would scoff, but that doesn't bother him.  He's living his life, having fun, working hard, buying the things he wants, and he doesn't care what anyone thinks about that because it works for him and that's all that matters.  He thinks a lot about the future, dreaming big and making plans to help those dreams come true.  What will he be?  A musician?  A screenwriter?  I cannot predict the future, but as a scientist, I can reach a conclusion based on observation: he'll always do what makes him happy, regardless of the pressure applied by family or society in general.  Good for him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;8. He's a good seed.&lt;/span&gt;  He stayed away from every evil that high school peer pressure could have introduced him to (but then he went and got those tattoos...&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"&gt;(yeah, Mom, I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;was&lt;/span&gt; making fun of you there)&lt;/span&gt;) and he doesn't beat the elderly like Paul W did.  Good boy, Mattie.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;9. He said I could be in his movie.&lt;/span&gt;  Awesome.  Even if I'm just the Turkey Cashier.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0);"&gt;10. He's a romantic.&lt;/span&gt;  I guess that might seem like a strange thing to say, but he learned to be such a sweet guy from listening to my sister and I complain about all of our boyfriends to him.  He's kind of like our protege and I think he turned out pretty good.  I like that he treats girls the way that girls &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;should&lt;/span&gt; be treated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;This concludes my list.  Matt, you're the best brother anyone could ask for and I hope that I never have to move far away for too long.  Thanks for your blog, thanks for being awesome, and thanks for not posting that piñata picture of me on Facebook...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-3381160980455020754?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/3381160980455020754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2010/01/for-my-little-brother.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3381160980455020754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3381160980455020754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2010/01/for-my-little-brother.html' title='For My Little Brother'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S0mPc4cnmTI/AAAAAAAAAHg/_CMk0PTB0MQ/s72-c/Me+and+Mattie.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-3972696562397179468</id><published>2009-12-13T20:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-13T21:34:07.406-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Snowy Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyXILaiBJCI/AAAAAAAAAGo/AfLMUhZ6K-c/s1600-h/Not+Sure.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyXILaiBJCI/AAAAAAAAAGo/AfLMUhZ6K-c/s200/Not+Sure.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414954225409008674" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It started snowing yesterday afternoon and continued throughout the evening, so today we had a nice white blanket.  I took Kaden to the park across the street.  He hasn't seen snow yet, and his Grandma Debbie bought him a cute little snow suit that we decided to make use of.  We got all bundled up (though I don't think he quite knew what was going on) and headed out into the cold.  He fell instantly asleep, so I had to wake him back up for pictures!  He didn't mind too much.  He didn't even seem to mind the cold!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;With his puffy snow suit on, he was big enough to go in the baby swings all by himself - he really liked it, though you can't tell from the picture...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyXL28A0CCI/AAAAAAAAAHA/kI_QaToElss/s1600-h/Snowy+Swing.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyXL28A0CCI/AAAAAAAAAHA/kI_QaToElss/s320/Snowy+Swing.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414958271665801250" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;After we had a little fun, my friend Miah took some pictures of Kaden and I together in the snow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyXL2eAYw9I/AAAAAAAAAG4/trTci3Mhzig/s1600-h/Snow+Day.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyXL2eAYw9I/AAAAAAAAAG4/trTci3Mhzig/s320/Snow+Day.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414958263610950610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;He was so cute!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyXL2NdDRAI/AAAAAAAAAGw/C5qxg57_I6Y/s1600-h/Mommy+and+Kaden+Snow.JPG"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyXL2NdDRAI/AAAAAAAAAGw/C5qxg57_I6Y/s320/Mommy+and+Kaden+Snow.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414958259167773698" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I wish we had a saucer so I could pull him around - he loves activities!  Maybe he'll get one for Christmas...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-3972696562397179468?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/3972696562397179468/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/12/snowy-day.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3972696562397179468'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3972696562397179468'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/12/snowy-day.html' title='A Snowy Day'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyXILaiBJCI/AAAAAAAAAGo/AfLMUhZ6K-c/s72-c/Not+Sure.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-2669220292878545748</id><published>2009-12-09T20:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T21:09:49.306-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Mommy-Do</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;My friend, Casey, and I found out we were pregnant just weeks apart.  Her first question to me was:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt;"You're not gonna cut your hair, are you?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I assured her that I was not.  She had seen too many friends trade their long, silky locks for the kid-friendly "Mommy-Do" and she did not want me to be next.  No worries, Case.  I love my hair.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Except that after Kaden was born, I didn't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;All of a sudden, I had a newborn demanding my attention at all times.  I couldn't shower at my leisure anymore.  If I did get to wash my hair, I barely had time to dry it - forget about the straightener or anything else.  The messy bun became my go-to look, everyday.  Now Kaden is three months old and he's starting to grab things.  Dangling toys, glasses, and, yes, hair.  I was just done with it.  It was too long, too thin, too annoying.  It had to go.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I have never had my hair cut in a salon ever.  I don't color my hair, I don't get it styled, and until recently, I didn't even know where a salon was located.  I was driving to Costco the other day though and I passed Moxie on Main Street.  The phone number was on the sign, so I grabbed my cell, dialed, and scheduled an appointment.  Casey my friend, the deed has been done.  And it's not awful, it's adorable.  :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBtE1zTFI/AAAAAAAAAGc/xgwzJrLjiOY/s1600-h/Photo+23.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBtE1zTFI/AAAAAAAAAGc/xgwzJrLjiOY/s320/Photo+23.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413469363492834386" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBs-G8EiI/AAAAAAAAAGU/LabJhUqZAWQ/s1600-h/Photo+24.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBs-G8EiI/AAAAAAAAAGU/LabJhUqZAWQ/s320/Photo+24.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413469361685664290" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBsnjuu1I/AAAAAAAAAGM/hNNb4b2QA5A/s1600-h/Photo+22.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBsnjuu1I/AAAAAAAAAGM/hNNb4b2QA5A/s320/Photo+22.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413469355632409426" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBsNxKAgI/AAAAAAAAAGE/5jvqKqQx3uA/s1600-h/Photo+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBsNxKAgI/AAAAAAAAAGE/5jvqKqQx3uA/s320/Photo+2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413469348709401090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 51, 153);"&gt;Your turn!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBsNxKAgI/AAAAAAAAAGE/5jvqKqQx3uA/s1600-h/Photo+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBsNxKAgI/AAAAAAAAAGE/5jvqKqQx3uA/s1600-h/Photo+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-2669220292878545748?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/2669220292878545748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/12/mommy-do.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/2669220292878545748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/2669220292878545748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/12/mommy-do.html' title='The Mommy-Do'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SyCBtE1zTFI/AAAAAAAAAGc/xgwzJrLjiOY/s72-c/Photo+23.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-2888611191236285195</id><published>2009-11-30T22:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T23:27:45.949-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gotta Love the Internet</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;When I was little, my family had a big case of Christmas cassette tapes that surfaced every December.  We listened to Christmas music while we baked cookies with my mom, while we decorated the tree, and while we drifted off to sleep every night.  I knew all the songs, new and old.  My three favorites were the Sesame Street Christmas tape, the Raffi Christmas tape, and &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;A Cabbage Patch Christmas&lt;/span&gt;.  I loved the Cabbage Patch Kids.  I even had a Cabbage Patch cassette player to play my Christmas tape in.  I loved Colonel Casey's narration and I knew every song on the tape.  Whether my dad finally couldn't take it anymore and crushed it under his boot or it's lost in the depths of my brother's garage, I will never know, but my tape disappeared for good one year.  It was awful to open up the Christmas cassette case and see an empty slot where my favorite tape used to reside.  "It'll turn up," my mom had said.  It never did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As an adult, I searched eBay, Amazon, and countless other sites every year for my beloved Christmas album to no avail.  But &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;this&lt;/span&gt; year...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SxS-CSCY3nI/AAAAAAAAAFs/NZkHYlR_5uQ/s1600/cabbage_front.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SxS-CSCY3nI/AAAAAAAAAFs/NZkHYlR_5uQ/s320/cabbage_front.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410157998789680754" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 315px; height: 320px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;Ta-Da!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Though it was not for sale, someone had expertly uploaded the entire album from their LP and packaged it into a single downloadable file.  &lt;a href="http://vinylorphanage.com/"&gt;Our Lady of Perpetual Obsolescence Vinyl Rescue Mission and Orphanage&lt;/a&gt; is "A safe haven for forgotten and downtrodden record albums" and possibly the best gift I will receive this holiday season.  Not only were all ten tracks included in the file, the album cover (front and back) were graciously included.  As a result, I was able to make &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;A Cabbage Patch Christmas&lt;/span&gt; CD and place it in a jewel case with the original album cover.  I was so excited!  I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;am&lt;/span&gt; so excited!  Now my little boy can grow up listening to songs about Christmastime in the Cabbage Patch just like it did.  And tell me he doesn't look &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;exactly&lt;/span&gt; like Otis Lee (the little bald one in the middle), pictured on the album cover of the &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;other&lt;/span&gt; long-lost Cabbage Patch album I was able to download:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SxTCHUMUc9I/AAAAAAAAAF0/iZkEQEEjIDI/s320/cpdreams+front.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410162483314062290" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 310px; " /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SxTCHrImjpI/AAAAAAAAAF8/7V_xTKTMR00/s1600/Smiles.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SxTCHrImjpI/AAAAAAAAAF8/7V_xTKTMR00/s320/Smiles.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410162489472487058" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;So the wonderful world wide web came through for me this year.&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;M&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;e&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;r&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;r&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;y&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;C&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;h&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;r&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;i&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;s&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;t&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;m&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;s&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;t&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;o&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;m&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;e&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-2888611191236285195?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/2888611191236285195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/gotta-love-internet.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/2888611191236285195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/2888611191236285195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/gotta-love-internet.html' title='Gotta Love the Internet'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SxS-CSCY3nI/AAAAAAAAAFs/NZkHYlR_5uQ/s72-c/cabbage_front.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-3227273899538556588</id><published>2009-11-20T15:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-20T15:50:30.818-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let's Stay Healthy!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Alright, it's obviously cold and flu season, and the media has done its best to instill unnecessary swine flu-related terror in our hearts.  I hope that by now, everyone knows that hand washing is the number one defense against contracting the pathogens other people are putting out into the world.  However, if you want to do &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;your&lt;/span&gt; part to keep &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;others&lt;/span&gt; healthy, you really need to take five minutes and watch this entertaining (and totally legit) video.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ar3viebhkQs&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ar3viebhkQs&amp;amp;hl=en_US&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you were one of the millions of people who sneezed/coughed into your hands, erroneously thinking you were stopping the spread of germs, you were wrong.  The good news is that you now know how to cover your sneeze or cough appropriately.  Unfortunately, if you're already in the habit of doing it into your hands, it can be difficult to switch.  But with a conscious effort and the health of your community in mind, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;you can do it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 255, 51);"&gt;!!&lt;/span&gt;  Let's stay healthy!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-3227273899538556588?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/3227273899538556588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/how-to-sneeze.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3227273899538556588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3227273899538556588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/how-to-sneeze.html' title='Let&apos;s Stay Healthy!!'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-6064166424363829281</id><published>2009-11-18T13:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-18T15:09:25.527-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Currently Without State</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;o:hw&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;res&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:hsb&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;i&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:hsb&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;dent&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:hsb&gt;&lt;/o:hsb&gt;&lt;/o:hw&gt;&lt;o:prongrp&gt;&lt;o:pr type="US"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; "&gt; |ˈrez(ə)dənt; ˈrezəˌdent|&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:pr&gt;&lt;/o:prongrp&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;o:sb&gt;&lt;o:prelim&gt;&lt;o:ps&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;noun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:ps&gt;&lt;/o:prelim&gt;&lt;o:sense&gt;&lt;o:sn&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/o:sn&gt;&lt;/o:sense&gt;&lt;/o:sb&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;o:sb&gt;&lt;o:sense&gt;&lt;o:sn&gt;1.  A&lt;/o:sn&gt;&lt;o:def&gt; person who lives somewhere permanently or on a long-term basis.&lt;/o:def&gt;&lt;/o:sense&gt;&lt;/o:sb&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;Ah, if only it were as simple as that.  You would think that after spending my entire life in the state of Idaho that there would be no question of my residency.  You would think it would be easy to prove my residency in the event that someone &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;did&lt;/span&gt; question it.  Yes, you would think that, but you'd be wrong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:Georgia;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SwR9tRnSwzI/AAAAAAAAAFk/fqQuOCNh3Ro/s1600/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SwR9tRnSwzI/AAAAAAAAAFk/fqQuOCNh3Ro/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405583669527233330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 137px; height: 83px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;There are many hurdles involved in applying to medical school.  It is a challenging and grueling process, not to be taken lightly.  But of all the possible roadblocks, I never once thought that this would be the one to stop me.  The University of Washington School of Medicine was my first choice of medical school, and the WWAMI program was going to help me get there.  UW is the only medical school in all of Washington, Wyoming, Alaska, Montana, and Idaho (WWAMI), so the school reserves a select number of seats for each state's residents.  When you apply, you simply fill out the residency paperwork, submit it to the residency officer in your state, and wait to see if you are going to fill one of those reserved seats.  I submitted my application.  I was invited to fill out the secondary, more specialized, application.  I wrote the essays.  I paid the fees, I submitted my residency paperwork, and I waited.  I didn't have to wait long.  My paperwork was promptly returned to me "for completion."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;With my original form, I had attached photocopies of my Idaho driver's license, the lease agreement for my Idaho apartment, the bank statement for my Idaho checking account, and my marriage certificate.  I sent copies of vehicle registrations for my car, our 5th wheel, and our 4-wheeler, all registered in Idaho.  I got it all notarized.  Now, they wanted to know the date my checking account was opened, the original date of registration for all vehicles, and the original date my driver's license was issued to me.  Oh, and they wanted a copy of a bank statement from over a year ago.  I spent the rest of the day getting in touch with offices all over the state to obtain the information.  It was no trouble until I called the DMV about my license.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"Hi, my name is Lindsey Smith and I was wondering if you could tell me the date that my driver's license was originally issued to me."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"What could you possibly need that information for?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"I need it for my residency paperwork for medical school."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"We generally don't give out that information.  You need it for medical school?" she asks skeptically.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"Yes.  I'm applying to University of Washington but I get in-state tuition if I'm an Idaho resident because we don't have a medical school.  First, I have to prove my Idaho residency and they would like to know the date that my driver's license was originally issued."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;Silence.  And then:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"What is your driver's license number?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;I tell her.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style=" ;font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"What is your name?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"Lindsey Smith."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"How do you spell your middle name?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"K-A-Y-E."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"What is your address?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;I give her the one listed on my license.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"What color are your eyes?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"Hazel."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;Is this a matter of national security?  Seriously, why is it such a big deal for them to provide me with the date they certified me as a competent driver in their state?  Finally, begrudgingly, she gives me the information I was seeking.  I read over the returned paperwork to make sure I wasn't missing anything else and discovered that I needed to provide either a voter registration card from a year ago, or documentation certifying my abandonment of my previous domicile.  I wasn't registered to vote, so that left me with proving abandonment.  I called the residency officer to find out how to go about this.  She told me the state of Idaho accepts three things: proof of sale of your home, confirmation that your previous lease was completed, or bills for moving expenses.  I did not sell a home.  I only moved 10 blocks and I used my own truck.  I didn't have a lease because I was living with a friend.  What was I supposed to do?  She basically told me I was out of luck.  There are different sections of the form, and you can use any of them to show your residency.  I was attempting to use section V.  She suggested I try another section.  Why couldn't I just provide a copy of my Idaho taxes from last year?  Because I didn't pay Idaho taxes last year.  I didn't work, and my husband was traveling around California for his job.  Consequently, though our residence was not in California, he paid California state taxes last year.  Why couldn't I check that I was attending this institution immediately following graduation from an Idaho high school?  Because I graduated nine years ago.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;So I ask, "What are my options?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;"I don't know what to tell you."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Baskerville;"&gt;How can I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;NOT&lt;/span&gt; be a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;resident&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; of the state I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;reside&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; in?  Because the system is flawed.  I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;am&lt;/span&gt; an Idaho resident.  I love Idaho, and, with the exception of leaving for med school, I never want to live anywhere else.  But apparently, that doesn't count.  It doesn't matter that I've maintained a permanent residence in the state for 27 years, or that I have appropriate documentation for everything that it's possible for me to document.  It's about the money.  I didn't work or pay taxes to them last year, and this is my punishment.  The Idaho that I've known and loved my whole life has turned its back on me because of a technicality.  Thanks a lot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-6064166424363829281?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/6064166424363829281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/currently-without-state.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/6064166424363829281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/6064166424363829281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/currently-without-state.html' title='Currently Without State'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SwR9tRnSwzI/AAAAAAAAAFk/fqQuOCNh3Ro/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-5551774647849796038</id><published>2009-11-13T20:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-13T11:01:11.011-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Science Outreach - And We've Got T-shirts!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;Science Outreach is a program at Lewis-Clark State College that was started by Dr. Matthew Brady.  The idea is to get elementary school kids excited about Biology (and a little Chemistry).  Teachers from the elementary schools invite him into their classrooms to teach a little segment on a subject that they have been learning about.  Bats and Owls are the popular programs in the fall.  Insects, Marine Life, and Mammals of North Idaho are also popular choices.  The popularity of the program started to grow, and Matt couldn't handle it entirely on his own anymore.  The answer?  Recruit science majors to assist him with the specimens, and then eventually delegate the teaching of these programs to students as well.  I have been with Matt's Outreach program every semester and I absolutely love it.  Going out and working with kids is so much fun, and they always amaze me with how much information they already know!  Some of their questions are really good and they really get a kick out of all our specimens.  Outreach is great, but we were missing one thing...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;t-shirts&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;I took it upon myself to fix this problem.  I figured if we were a legit program, we should have a form of identification, so last spring, I painstakingly designed a shirt logo.  It's pretty simple, but each image on the shirt is a symbol for something that we talk about, and the Gummy Bear is an inside joke.  At any rate, I was really excited and I brought my design in for approval.  We had an overwhelming number of students in Outreach last semester - too many - and while they all liked the design, we couldn't agree on a color scheme and the project kind of got dropped.  I was bummed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;This semester, it's just me and one other girl.  I decided I was making my t-shirt and if anyone else wanted one, they could order it themselves.  Of course, I had one made for Matt, too, since he's the founding father of Outreach.  I picked up our shirts this evening and they're everything I dreamed they would be...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/Sv44bAgiGuI/AAAAAAAAAFc/xsLEdK-r1hE/s1600-h/1113092054.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/Sv44bAgiGuI/AAAAAAAAAFc/xsLEdK-r1hE/s400/1113092054.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403818639535250146" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);"&gt;Now I just hope we have some more Outreach requests this semester...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-5551774647849796038?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/5551774647849796038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/science-outreach-and-weve-got-t-shirts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/5551774647849796038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/5551774647849796038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/science-outreach-and-weve-got-t-shirts.html' title='Science Outreach - And We&apos;ve Got T-shirts!'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/Sv44bAgiGuI/AAAAAAAAAFc/xsLEdK-r1hE/s72-c/1113092054.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-5200069826461641903</id><published>2009-11-10T23:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T00:10:29.384-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Officially Ranting</title><content type='html'>There aren't many things that make me outrageously upset, and even fewer that warrant a blog post, but I'm mad tonight and I'm going on a rant.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't even know quite how to begin, so I'm going to start with a little story.  A few years ago, I started Organic Chemistry.  The first week, we had a decent sized homework assignment due.  After everyone had handed theirs in (at the beginning of class), a little blond girl walked up to the front of the room.  I didn't know her, but she struck me as the kind of girl who was really popular in high school and skated through by copying people's homework.  She turned on the innocent charm and approached our instructor.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I didn't know that we had a homework assignment that was due today.  Can I bring it by your office later?"  [Insert nauseating puppy dog eyes and syrupy voice].&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No.  You're in this class because you are planning for some kind of important career, whether it's a doctor or a vet or whatever.  In those kinds of professions, you are required to be responsible.  You need to start now.  I don't allow late homework."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This girl was practically in tears as she took her seat.  She quietly explained to her friends what the big bad teacher had told her.  They consoled her.  I smiled and thought, "Dang, this instructor &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;rocks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;  See, one of my biggest irritations is people who don't take responsibility in life.  My O-Chem professor set the tone right from the start - we knew what she expected and we all did our best to live up to those expectations.  That's how it is in the science department.  We can't say, "I got a C.  That's good enough," because it's not good enough.  A 2.0 GPA is never going to get you into graduate school or medical school.  A lot is expected of us and we work hard.  So now on to the thing that's making me absolutely &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;insane&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; with irritation tonight:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm getting my English minor, so this semester is full of English classes.  The semester is almost over, but this has been bothering me the entire time.  People in this department are incredibly lazy.  I'm not going to generalize and say that all English majors are lazy, but there are quite a few that are giving the whole group a really bad image.  The problem manifests itself most in my Creative Writing: Non-Fiction class.  It's a one-night-a-week class from 7-9:45 p.m.  At the beginning of the semester, Misty Urban explained to us what was expected.  She went over the assignments.  She passed around sign up sheets.  We got to &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;pick&lt;/span&gt; which essays from our anthology that we wanted to present (everyone was supposed to sign up for two).  We got to &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;choose&lt;/span&gt; which days we wanted to be responsible for bringing in our own essays to be "workshopped" by the class.  Misty &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;photocopied&lt;/span&gt; the schedule for both of these things and gave a schedule to everyone so we would have no doubt which nights we had to present something.  You would think that everyone could figure it out.  Wrong.  Here's a typical weekly conversation:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Misty: Student, I believe you are leading our discussion of this essay tonight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Student: Am I?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Misty: I have you down for it right here.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Student: Oh.  I didn't read it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then later...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Misty: Everyone who was supposed to bring essays tonight, do you have copies for the class?  Student A, Student B, Student C, Student D? [Students A and B pass around their essays]  Student C?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Student C: Would it be alright if I get it to you later?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Misty: Can you have copies outside my door by Thursday?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Student C: Probably.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Misty: Okay, everyone drop by my office on Thursday and pick up Student C's essay.  Student D, do you have your essay for us?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Student D: Was I supposed to have one?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Misty: Yes, I have you down right here.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Student D: Oh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Misty: By Thursday?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Student D: Okay.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But Thursday comes around and, after making the hike across campus to Misty's office, I find no essays outside the door.  Critiques of our essays are also supposed to be submitted by each class member after one of our essays is up for workshop.  This is a simple, one page response about the good and bad of our essay to help us in the revision process.  Out of around 16 students still enrolled in the class, I got 8 critiques turned in for my first essay and 6 for the next.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;How do people get away with this?!?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;  It is rude and disrespectful, not just to the instructor who tries to complete things on schedule, but to your classmates.  It is rude to make us print off copies of your essay when you were supposed to provide them.  It is rude to make us walk across campus to check for an essay every day that never materializes.  It is rude to give us a critique four weeks late and expect us to give you full points.  The worst part is that I see them getting away with it.  When they don't have their essays/critiques/notes prepared when they are supposed to, the instructors in this department continually smile and say, "Okay, when can you get something to me?"  I have not seen it affecting their grades.  What I see are lazy students getting the same grade as dedicated students who meet their deadlines.  It's not fair.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I have to leave class early to study for a Spanish test."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Really?  How long have you known about your test?  This class is over in an hour.  You really need to take off?  Haven't you missed more classes than you've attended?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"My printer was out of ink."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Then come back to the school ten minutes earlier and print it off in the library.  Don't say that, show up with nothing, and then not even turn your paper in by the following week.  It's absolutely ridiculous.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"I didn't have any paper."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;See above.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I can't believe what people get away with, and I nearly walked out of class in anger tonight.  Out of five people that showed up to class that were supposed to have essay copies for everyone tonight, two of us actually had them.  Now I am waiting on three people to post copies outside Misty's office.  I will have to go there every day to look for them.  I have to critique them by next Tuesday.  My guess is that one will show up on Friday and the others will never materialize.  I would also be willing to bet that none of these people fail the class.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I am a full-time student.  I had a baby early in the semester.  My husband lives 2000 miles away, my family doesn't live here, I have no roommates, and I'm basically a single parent with a newborn.  I get to sleep in two-hour increments every night.  If any of you &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;lazy-ass slackers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; have a better excuse for not getting stuff done, I'd love to hear it.  And if you &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;say&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(204, 51, 204);"&gt;"My printer was out of ink,"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; I'll go absolutely insane.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: right;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-5200069826461641903?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/5200069826461641903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/im-officially-ranting.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/5200069826461641903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/5200069826461641903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/11/im-officially-ranting.html' title='I&apos;m Officially Ranting'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-155118161219846177</id><published>2009-10-28T01:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T01:55:05.569-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Original, I Am - A Seamstress, I Am Not</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;This will be my baby's first Halloween, and I wanted his costume to be unique.  There are a handful of traditional baby Halloween costumes - a peapod, various animals, a pumpkin...they've all been done before.  My baby was not going to end up like the others, no matter how much my mother lobbied for an adorable costume.  When an idea finally came to me, I was giddy with excitement.  It was perfect.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My&lt;/span&gt; baby was going to be...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Methicillin-Resistant &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Staphylococcus aureus&lt;/span&gt;, a.k.a. MRSA.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Right now, you're either thinking I'm crazy, or wondering what the heck MRSA is.  MRSA is a type of staph infection, only it's resistant to the traditional antibiotics used for treatment.  It can be hospital-acquired or community-acquired (each results in a different kind of infection) and it is potentially deadly, as I nearly found out in August of 2006.  Since then, I've had it two more times.  I am fascinated by this "superbug" and have studied it extensively.  It only made sense that I should turn my child into something that has had such a profound impact on my life.  I would make his costume myself, modeling it after the stuffed animal representation of the bacterium.  Yes, they make stuffed animal bacteria.  They're awesome.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 275px; height: 275px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SugA3FhkDeI/AAAAAAAAAFM/iexoYzabHi4/s400/mrsa.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397565099779296738" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;All I'd need to do is get a pattern for a baby bunting outfit and hat, make a few modifications, and design a cape.  Should be easy, right?  Technically, I had never made an outfit before.  I'm not the craftiest chick, but I've created a few things in the past: quilts, no-sew fleece blankets, quillows, and scarves.  I can use my sewing machine.  How hard could it be to make a baby outfit?  Turns out, very.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I came home with my yard of tan fleece, some black for the cape, and a couple of large googley eyes.  I opened up the envelope containing the pattern.  I cut out the paper shapes, traced them onto the back side of the fleece, and cut the fabric out.  The pieces looked pretty good and I gave myself a mental pat on the back for succeeding thus far.  Next, I opened the instructions.  They were completely foreign; I'd never used a pattern before.  I pinned one side of the hat to the center band and grinned excitedly - everything matched up and sewing it would be easy.  My happiness was short-lived.  I realized that I had pinned it with the wrong side of the fleece facing outward.  I pulled the pins out and started over, calling it a night when I had finished.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Tonight, I picked it up and immediately got to work stitching the two pieces together.  It looked amazing.  I added the other side and the whole thing looked like a little hat.  I couldn't have been more excited.  I was doing it!  And then came the hat band around the bottom...I couldn't figure out the instructions, and I had no idea what "stitch in the ditch" meant.  Stuck, I moved on to the bunting outfit.  I didn't get far though - I realized I forgot to reverse the pattern when I cut the right sides of everything.  I had two left-side front panels and two left sleeve panels, front and back.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Awesome&lt;/span&gt;.  I thought I might have enough leftover fleece to cut them correctly later, so I figured I'd work at the one side I could actually do.  I hemmed the mitten and the sleeve and sewed the two together.  It looked alright.  Then I looked at the instructions and realized I needed a zipper, snap tape, some kind of hemming tape, and much more sewing skill than I had ever acquired.  I surveyed my progress, counted the days until Halloween, and then wadded it all up and stuffed it back into the Jo-Ann's bag.  Original, I am.  A seamstress, I am not.  But at least I can honestly say I tried.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SugA3Ssqj8I/AAAAAAAAAFU/dSe90jchhpA/s400/1028090032.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397565103315521474" style="text-decoration: underline;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;FAIL&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SugA3Ssqj8I/AAAAAAAAAFU/dSe90jchhpA/s1600-h/1028090032.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-155118161219846177?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/155118161219846177/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/original-i-am-seamstress-i-am-not.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/155118161219846177'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/155118161219846177'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/original-i-am-seamstress-i-am-not.html' title='Original, I Am - A Seamstress, I Am Not'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SugA3FhkDeI/AAAAAAAAAFM/iexoYzabHi4/s72-c/mrsa.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-4645241235987086913</id><published>2009-10-26T00:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T01:08:11.558-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Is Coming!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SuVYg_tf4QI/AAAAAAAAAFE/AuGr4Pf3BTE/s1600-h/Christmas+Tree.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SuVYg_tf4QI/AAAAAAAAAFE/AuGr4Pf3BTE/s200/Christmas+Tree.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396817052354732290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I know it isn't even Halloween yet, but if the stores can start selling Christmas stuff already, I should be able to make a blog post about it, right?  Christmas is my favorite time of year.  I love the Christmas feeling - it settles in the very first night that snow falls silently around me, lighting up the dark with that "Christmas Blue", and it doesn't leave again until the New Year.  Christmas music puts me in a fantastic mood.  I listen to it in the car, while I'm cleaning the house, and especially while I'm decorating cookies.  Last year, my little brother, an amazing self-taught musician, decided to get his musical buddies together and make their own Christmas CD.  I was excited about the idea, but I was even more excited when he asked if &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; wanted to cover a song.  In fact, he let me cover one and do a parody of another.  When it was almost time for the CD's release, several of his friends backed out and the track list was shorter than he had hoped for.  My friend, Jeremiah, and I came to the rescue (okay, he could've done this without us, but the CD would've been shorter).  We each wrote our own Christmas song to add to the playlist and the CD was a total hit.  I'm not sure how many copies were distributed, but I think it was around 50.  Anyway, we all worked really hard on it and I thought it would be cool to share an original Christmas song from that CD with everyone.  (I hope it works).  Without further ado, I give you "Santa Got A Wii" by Lindsey Smith and Jeremiah Croskrey...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;embed width="250" height="50" autostart="false" src="http://sites.google.com/site/aseindfsy/Home/SantaGotAWii.mp3"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-4645241235987086913?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/4645241235987086913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/christmas-is-coming.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/4645241235987086913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/4645241235987086913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/christmas-is-coming.html' title='Christmas Is Coming!!'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SuVYg_tf4QI/AAAAAAAAAFE/AuGr4Pf3BTE/s72-c/Christmas+Tree.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-102946014318200306</id><published>2009-10-21T21:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T22:22:41.269-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Hard Part Is Never Over...</title><content type='html'>If I can just pass Biochemistry, I'll be alright.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, if I can just get through the MCAT, the rest will be simple.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Really, if I can write a killer personal statement, getting accepted will be easy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, all I have to do is get these secondary applications sent in...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The hard part is never over.  There's always another one waiting for me.  I know becoming a doctor is not something that happens overnight.  I understand that it's an awful lot of work.  I just need to whine a little bit because I'm tired.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got the grades, I took the MCAT, I wrote a great personal statement.  I submitted my application with confidence to 10 schools and so far, six of them have had the good sense to invite me to fill out secondary applications.  Two of them rejected me.  Two of them have remained silent.  I'm still feeling good and confident, just a tad overwhelmed.  Keeping up with school is fine.  Doing it with a newborn baby is challenging.  Doing all that &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;and&lt;/span&gt; actively applying to med school?  That's nearly impossible.  But somehow I press on...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have procrastinated on the secondary applications for two reasons.  First, they're a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lot&lt;/span&gt; of work - each one has multiple essays that must be submitted with it and, in some cases, proof of residency applications, photos, etc.  I'm not intimidated by hard work, but many other things have been eating up my time and I haven't had the chance to really sit down and get these things out.  Second, they cost a lot of money.  Each one has a separate fee that must be payed before they will accept your application.  As if I didn't already shell out $408 to submit the primaries.  University of Washington is the cheapest at $35.  The others?  $75 - $100 each.  So either submit applications or pay rent.  Hmm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On that note, I have submitted one application fully.  I have written the essays for one other school but still need my residency paperwork completed.  Most of these apps aren't due until January (of course if you &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;wait&lt;/span&gt; until January, you'll never get in...), but one of them is due this Friday.  I have two essays to write for it and instead, I'm blogging.  It's just easier.  I work better under pressure anyway.  Hey, that's why I'm gonna make a great E.R. doctor, right?  :)  Just practicing...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I first set out to apply to med school, I wanted to go to University of Washington.  I didn't even have a desire to apply anywhere else.  Clearly that isn't wise though, so I asked for some advice and came up with all these other schools to apply to.  When you're filling out secondaries though, most of the essays are school-specific, so then I found myself actually having to &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;research&lt;/span&gt; these places to try and respond appropriately.  This is actually a good thing.  I have learned so much!  In fact, I decided that Creighton University School of Medicine is the place that fits me best so far.  I think I'll be pretty upset if I don't at least get an interview (that's the next step, by the way - if they like my secondary, I get an interview.  If they like my interview, I get accepted).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes I find myself thinking,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"If I can just get through the secondary apps, the hard part will be over..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But no, it won't.  Because the hard part is NEVER over.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-102946014318200306?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/102946014318200306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/hard-part-is-never-over.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/102946014318200306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/102946014318200306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/hard-part-is-never-over.html' title='The Hard Part Is Never Over...'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-6587799853388630124</id><published>2009-10-14T01:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T02:11:51.413-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Whole New World....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;No, I'm not talking about Aladdin and Jasmine's magic carpet ride.  If they thought &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; opened their eyes to a whole new world, just wait until they have a baby...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/StWVD25UUWI/AAAAAAAAAE0/jIJ0E7dk6lI/s200/Little+Bear.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392380022354104674" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Kaden LeDoux Smith joined us on September 4, 2009 at 9:04 p.m.  He weighed 6 pounds, 10 ounces and was 20 inches long.  I rarely think newborn babies are cute, but he totally was.  He's amazing!  From his adorable ears to his teeny tiny toes, I couldn't have asked for a more perfect baby.  The morning sickness (which was actually every-hour-every-day-for-2-months sickness), the aching back, the fat feet...it was all worth it.  I can't even believe how much I love this little boy.  Good thing, too, because his arrival really introduced me to "a whole new world".&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/StWUyLRyneI/AAAAAAAAAEs/85BC1nHiGHY/s200/Little+Kaden.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392379718587817442" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The world of Motherhood is incredibly exhausting.  I'm sure all existing mothers knew this, but for those of you who have not yet had the pleasure, get ready.  Forget about trying to keep up with baby, family, friends, school, and housework.  There is only so much time in the day to allot to each one, and "baby" certainly gets the largest slice of the time pie.  I no longer have lengthy phone conversations with my mother or go out for ice cream with my friends on Tuesday evening.  My usually immaculate home is in ruins (okay, that's an exaggeration, but I'm pretty obsessive about cleaning and organizing, and for &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt;, this place is a disaster...).  And &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;when&lt;/span&gt;, exactly, am I supposed to sleep?  I mean, the books say, "Sleep when the baby sleeps."  Ha!  What a joke.  When the baby sleeps, I have to do homework, pay bills, do laundry, eat a quick bite, clean the floors, and take a shower.  I am so &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;tired!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/StWVn4AucPI/AAAAAAAAAE8/TGbnO_5X-lo/s1600-h/Precious+on+the+Couch.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/StWVn4AucPI/AAAAAAAAAE8/TGbnO_5X-lo/s200/Precious+on+the+Couch.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392380641128902898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of course none of that matters, because this little baby means more to me than anything else.  He's next to me right now, making precious baby noises in his sleep.  I love him so much - I just can't get enough of him!  Yes, he turned my world upside down, but it's so hard to care when he's this adorable...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-6587799853388630124?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/6587799853388630124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/whole-new-world.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/6587799853388630124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/6587799853388630124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/whole-new-world.html' title='A Whole New World....'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/StWVD25UUWI/AAAAAAAAAE0/jIJ0E7dk6lI/s72-c/Little+Bear.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-3840686611064383797</id><published>2009-10-09T13:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-10T03:08:07.309-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Inevitable Return of The Great Jeff Deck</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;He's back!  My hero is back!!  The "Long Silence" is over: Jeff Deck and the Typo Eradication Advancement League have returned.  If you aren't a huge fan of TEAL, you might be a little lost right now.  See, Jeff Deck, disgusted with the declining English skills in our nation, set out across the country fixing typos, grammatical errors, and apostrophes on everything from billboards to business cards.  Then one day, he fixed a typo on a sign at a National Park.  It turned out that the sign was created at the park's birth by a local artist and is irreplaceable.  Jeff was charged with "vandalism" for making America look less retarded and was forced to disappear for a while.  He had to wipe out his website and put up a statement, mandated by the judge, that basically said it was wrong to vandalize signs on public lands without explicit permission.  I was devastated.  Seriously, SO many people are really bad at English and if there are a select few left in the world who can still get it right, they shouldn't be punished, they should be revered.  I wish I could have joined Jeff in his endeavor.  I'm not perfect, but I think I would have been a great asset to his team.  No word on whether or not he plans to continue his cross-country crusade, but he most certainly will continue to find and fix typos everywhere he goes.  So check your store fronts and sale signs carefully...if he's nearby, he will find you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 140px; height: 105px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/StBU8iIDVCI/AAAAAAAAAEc/-KKM4-5g7e4/s400/38895373-18085220.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390902152891946018" /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Jeff isn't the only one on this spell-check mission though.  While in California, I noticed an error on a bottle of Mountain Berry Windex - the tilde was over the wrong "n" in the Spanish translation of "mountain".  I wrote to the nice people at Johnson &amp;amp; Johnson.  They apologized for "any inconvenience this may have caused" me and gave me a coupon for free Windex.  I bet that error didn't get fixed.  Then I was on the Keebler website and noticed they spelled "Cheesecake" wrong.  They had written it as "Chesscake" so I e-mailed them.  They thanked me, fixed the error, and gave me a printable coupon for $1.00 off any Keebler product.  A few months ago, I was following a van down Main Street.  They had a decal in the back window that said, "Next time you think your perfect, try walking on water".  The "you're/your" and the "there, they're, their" misspellings are the most irksome, I think.  Anyway, Jeff is an inspiration to me and if you want to keep up with him, check out the TEAL website at www.jeffdeck.com/teal/ or browse his photos at http://picasaweb.google.com/jeff.deck.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/StBccrKUAlI/AAAAAAAAAEk/wguu_DIl1Tw/s200/typo2_primary.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390910401654555218" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-3840686611064383797?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/3840686611064383797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/inevitable-return-of-great-jeff-deck.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3840686611064383797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3840686611064383797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/10/inevitable-return-of-great-jeff-deck.html' title='The Inevitable Return of The Great Jeff Deck'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/StBU8iIDVCI/AAAAAAAAAEc/-KKM4-5g7e4/s72-c/38895373-18085220.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-1111557716190424788</id><published>2009-03-27T20:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-27T21:35:26.238-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Brain</title><content type='html'>Okay, so I've heard the term "baby brain" thrown around by various preggos I have known, but without ever understanding what it meant.  Well, let me tell you: I know what it means now.  The last week has been insane.  It started with dropping things once in a while.  Then I started forgetting random things that I normally would have remembered.  Tonight, I kept messing up at Dr. Mario.  That sounds dumb, but I am really good at Dr. Mario!!  Or I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;used&lt;/span&gt; to be....now I just flip the pills the wrong way and drop them to the side of where I should.  And also tonight, I couldn't solve any of the Wheel Of Fortune puzzles.  I can ALWAYS solve the Wheel Of Fortune puzzles.  I'm losing it.  I can't even type as accurately these days.  Oh, and forget about speaking.  I can't find the words I need anymore.  And once in a while, I use a word that doesn't even remotely come close to what I meant.  I feel SO frustrated.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I looked it up - it's a real thing.  The book says that during the 4th month, you'll feel like you're not quite together - you're scattered, forgetful, drop things, have trouble concentrating... well, guess what?  I just started the 4th month.  It was like clockwork.  So that's where I'm at.  Frustrated, stupid, forgetful, uncoordinated, and basically just retarded.  It's making me really mad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-1111557716190424788?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/1111557716190424788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/03/baby-brain.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/1111557716190424788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/1111557716190424788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/03/baby-brain.html' title='Baby Brain'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-8748301344846398312</id><published>2009-02-26T23:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T23:18:18.913-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tagged!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;Rules: It's harder than it looks! Copy to your own note, erase my answers, and enter yours. Use the first letter of your name to answer each of the following questions. They have to be real, nothing made up! If the person before you had the same first initial, you must use different answers. You must put the first answer that comes to mind! You cannot use any word twice and you can't use your name twice for the boy/girl name.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. What is your name: Lindsey&lt;br /&gt;2. A four Letter Word: Lump&lt;br /&gt;3. A boy's Name: Levi&lt;br /&gt;4. A girl's Name: Lexi&lt;br /&gt;5. An occupation: Lineman&lt;br /&gt;6. A color: Lemon Yellow&lt;br /&gt;7. Something you wear: Lingerie&lt;br /&gt;8. A food: Lettuce&lt;br /&gt;9. Something found in the bathroom: Lysol&lt;br /&gt;10. A place: Luxemburg&lt;br /&gt;11. A reason for being late: Lost your keys&lt;br /&gt;12. Something you shout: Let go!&lt;br /&gt;13. A movie title: Little Mermaid&lt;br /&gt;14. Something you drink: Lemonade&lt;br /&gt;15. A musical group: Little Big Town&lt;br /&gt;16. An animal: Lemur&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 0, 0); font-family: Verdana; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; "&gt;Um, upon completion of this, I realized it goes by another name:  Scattergories.  But there's no timer.  Where is the challenge, I ask?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tag anyone and everyone! Have fun!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-8748301344846398312?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/8748301344846398312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/02/tagged.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/8748301344846398312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/8748301344846398312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/02/tagged.html' title='Tagged!'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-4557780147447411991</id><published>2009-01-27T00:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T01:15:36.778-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"He screamed - actually *screamed* at some total strangers sitting in our seats..."</title><content type='html'>You know what &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;royally&lt;/span&gt; pisses me off?  Someone who completely misrepresents themselves in a sad attempt to please others.  You know what pisses me off more than &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt;?  When the other people actually buy into their act.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Especially&lt;/span&gt; when they are people I care about.  Ugh, I am physically ill thinking about it right now.  Is there no justice in the world?  Will these people ever be exposed for who they really are?  Knowing that retribution exists would help me sleep better at night.  The more people that their fraudulent representation fools, the angrier I get inside.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;And&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;no one else can see it&lt;/span&gt;.  Does anyone understand how frustrating that is?  It's like on Friends, when Rachel is dating Tommy...Ross keeps seeing Tommy yell and totally freak out on people for no reason.  Ross knows that the &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;real&lt;/span&gt; Tommy has anger issues and isn't very nice at all.  None of the other five can see it though and they just make fun of Ross, saying he's jealous.  The only big difference between that and my situation is in the end, they all find out Ross was right when they see Tommy being a maniacal jerk.  And no one is seeing anything that accredits &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;my&lt;/span&gt; claims.  So I'm stuck being bitter.  But at least I'm not pretending.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-4557780147447411991?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/4557780147447411991/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/01/he-screamed-actually-screamed-at-some.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/4557780147447411991'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/4557780147447411991'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/01/he-screamed-actually-screamed-at-some.html' title='&quot;He screamed - actually *screamed* at some total strangers sitting in our seats...&quot;'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-3931091882484778422</id><published>2009-01-22T14:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T14:53:36.971-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Fantasy Dinner Party</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SXjumHwX2GI/AAAAAAAAAC8/spFiMp1ZWt0/s1600-h/images.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 100px; height: 126px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SXjumHwX2GI/AAAAAAAAAC8/spFiMp1ZWt0/s200/images.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5294243700658395234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;What do C3PO, Benjamin Hobart, and Christie Brinkley have in common?  You know this.  Come on.  Give up?  They are all invited to Ross Geller's Fantasy Dinner Party.  And when I remembered this, I thought to myself, "Why don't &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; have a guest list for &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;my&lt;/span&gt; Fantasy Dinner Party?  So I decided to make one.  This is one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do.  I feel obligated to state one minor proviso:  This list is subject to change at any time.  Because I'm a girl and that's how we roll.  Oh, and I am estimating that the appropriate number of people to invite to a dinner party is 8, based on several reliable sources.  And by "several reliable sources" I mean "one website."  And the winners are...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  "The Author": Ernest Hemingway - A talented author, a soul from "the Lost &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Generation," he's well-travelled, pensive, he fought in the Great War, and &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;he blew his own head off right here in Idaho.  Fascinating guy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  "The Actor": Harrison Ford - He's been Han &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and&lt;/span&gt; Indi...need I say more?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  "The Funny Guy": Seth MacFarlane - It will be like having Stewie, Peter, &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;and Quagmire there.  I'm pretty sure we won't stop laughing.  Someone &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;will probably choke.  But several of my guests are dead anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  "The Wookie": Chewbacca - Okay, Star Wars is awesome, and if any of my &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;guests get out of line, he can pull their arms off.  I also think it will be &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;really nice to get a Wookie hug.  And I really want to know what he smells &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;like, and whether his fur is soft and silky or kind of matted and gross.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  "The Obstetrician": Ignaz Philipp Semmelweis - He dramatically decreased &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;mortality rates in women who gave birth by figuring out it was NOT, in &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;fact, a very good idea to perform necropsies and then go deliver a baby &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;without stopping by the sink first to wash up.  He was insane about germs &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;(though they didn't know what a germ was at the time) and critics bashed&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;him and called him crazy.  Later in life, he actually &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;went&lt;/span&gt; crazy, but &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;whether it was from the syphilis or the stress, we'll never know.  It's said &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;that he began turning every conversation to the topic of childbed fever...I &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;think he will add a challenge to the dinner conversation, and an &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;interesting one at that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  "The Beverage King": Charles Alderton - He gave the world Dr. Pepper, and &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;inviting him is the only way I can think of to appropriately say, "Thank &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;you, kind stranger.  You've changed my life."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  "The Unsung Hero": Rosalind Franklin - She was the best in her field.  &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Without her crystallography pictures of DNA, Watson and Crick might not &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;have beaten Linus Pauling to the structure of our genetic material and &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;history would be forever changed.  They SO owe her.  And she died before &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;she could collect.  I really just want to get her side of the story and tell her &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;that I'm proud of her for being a strong woman in a man's world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8.  "The Forensic Anthropologist": Bones (a.k.a. Temperance Brennan) - I &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;don't really know the rules about the Fantasy Dinner Party.  I assume &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;fictitious characters are acceptable, on account of Ross inviting C3PO, and &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I really don't want to know what Emily Deschanel is like in real life - I just &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;love her as Bones and I want to maintain that image.  So I would invite &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Bones to my dinner party, because I secretly want to be like her, antisocial &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;tendencies aside.  Gosh, I love Bones.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, that's my Fantasy Dinner Party.  Oooh!  Maybe we'll get Fazzari's...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-3931091882484778422?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/3931091882484778422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/01/what-do-c3po-benjamin-hobart-and.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3931091882484778422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/3931091882484778422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/01/what-do-c3po-benjamin-hobart-and.html' title='My Fantasy Dinner Party'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SXjumHwX2GI/AAAAAAAAAC8/spFiMp1ZWt0/s72-c/images.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-8849524314082257136</id><published>2009-01-08T00:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T03:06:51.891-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Five Secrets</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I don't know what it's like for all of you, but I'm pretty sure that it's a universal fact:  If you have a secret, you have to let it out somehow.  Write it in a journal, tell your best friend, whisper it to the stuffed tiger on your bed...just set it free.  It feels better than keeping it all pent up, right?  So I'm blogging mine, because I can.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Secret #1:&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I wish my parents would get back together.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know this is improbable.  I understand that circumstances made them grow apart, and that they couldn't keep up the charade anymore.  I realize that they have both moved on and found other people to share their lives with.  But all the logic and reason in the world can't silence the little girl inside of me that wants her fractured family to be whole again.  I hang onto this tiny glimmer of hope that someday, somehow, they will look deep into their hearts and realize that they still love each other; that they just needed some time to gain perspective and grow as individuals, and now it is time to put this silly "divorce" behind them.  I want go "home" for Christmas and Thanksgiving...to the &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;house&lt;/span&gt; I knew growing up and the &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;family&lt;/span&gt; I knew growing up.  I want to say things like, "My parents are coming to see me this weekend," or "My parents put in a hot tub."  And don't get me wrong - both my step-dad and my step-mom are great people.  I'm glad to know them and have them around, but if I had to, I would choose the nuclear family.  And as inconceivable and childish as it is, I will always keep waiting for the day...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Secret #2:&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I cheat when I make Thanksgiving dinner.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh, yeah.  Those who have been fortunate enough to eat my Thanksgiving dinners have unanimously claimed it was the best they've ever had.  While that &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;does &lt;/span&gt;give me a sense of pride and satisfaction, I also feel &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;incredibly&lt;/span&gt; guilty.  Why?  Because I think about my grandmother, my mother-in-law, the thousands of women bent over in the frozen food section duking it out for the biggest bird, and how they spend hours thawing, cleaning, stuffing, basting, and dressing their main course.  And me?  I buy the 12-pound Jennie-O Turkey-in-a-Bag.  It's delicious.  It's a real turkey, just like the other ones.  Oh, except that it is already cleaned, seasoned to perfection, and comes in convenient bag that goes directly from the freezer to the oven.  And when it comes out, it doesn't even need carved because the meat is so tender and juicy that it just falls off the bone.  It's delicious and practically impossible to screw up.  Then there's all the other accouterment...I mean, why do I feel like I'm cheating because I love Stove Top Stuffing?  Seriously.  I know that a lot of people spend hours on their "secret family stuffing recipes" and whatnot, but why so fancy?  Who wants apples in their stuffing?  Not me.  Stove Top is mouth-watering.  If stuffing wasn't so bad for you, I would eat it with regular dinners all the time.  But because all I do is pour a dehydrated packet of deliciousness into some boiling soup broth for 5 minutes, I feel like a cheat.  Same goes for potatoes.  I have never been a fan of gravy, and regular mashed potatoes almost require it.  Know what I like?  Betty Crocker Garlic Mashed Potatoes.  From a box.  Boil some milk, water, and butter, stir in contents of package, and voila!  Takes five minutes and tastes amazing.  And while that's going on, the Hawaiian Sweet Rolls are heating in the oven.  If the turkey didn't take so long to cook, I could whip up a Thanksgiving feast in 10 minutes flat.  To give myself a &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;little&lt;/span&gt; credit, I do prepare a Jell-O salad that takes some effort and time (Jell-O has to set, you know), and I always make an awesome Thanksgiving dessert from scratch, but the main courses on my table are a sham.  A succulent and delightful sham, but a sham nonetheless.  And so, weary women of the kitchen, I apologize.  My name is Lindsey, and I am a Thanksgiving cheater.  But if my meal is equally delectable, if not more so, than yours and takes a fraction of the effort, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "&gt;why not??&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Secret #3: &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I use big words, even when I know I am operating above someone's vocabulary level.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's a sickness.  A weird one, at that.  I love vocabulary.  I love learning new words.  I used to read the dictionary in junior high.  My dad tells stories about my crazy huge vocabulary when I was like five years old.  The more words you know, the better off you are: you always have a word for what you're trying to say.  If a person learns Spanish, their teachers will invariably tell them, "If you don't use it, you'll lose it."  Same goes for an English vocabulary, right?  So I try to throw the big ones in once in a while, and then it accidentally becomes automatic.  Then for some reason, even if I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;know&lt;/span&gt; that the person I'm talking to isn't going to understand the word, I use it anyway!  I mean, there's this speed-of-light thought process that goes through my mind first: &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;"Should I use a synonym here?  Something a little more common?  His vocabulary isn't as big - I'm pretty sure he doesn't know what this word means and he'll be too proud to ask, so maybe he won't even get what I'm trying to say.  I should use a smaller word.  No!  I like this one better..."&lt;/span&gt;  It's kind of mean, in a way.  But I want my vocabulary to grow, not atrophy, so I continue.  I don't even have a remarkable vocabulary compared to a lot of people, but I'm proud of what I do know and am compelled to keep throwing those unnecessarily large words in with the regular ones.  Sorry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Secret #4:&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I threw away two of Levi's shirts that I hated and then told him I didn't know what happened to them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm sorry!!!  But I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; hated them.  They were from The Buckle, so I know they were expensive, but every time he wore them, I was filled with disgust and resentment.  They put me in a bad mood.  And I can't even explain why I really hated them so much.  They just evoked this evil response deep within my core.  One was light blue and it had a stupid cartoon rooster on it.  Underneath, it said "Party Animal."  It was SO dumb.  I freaking hated that shirt.  I'm typing faster and harder just &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;thinking &lt;/span&gt;about the ridiculous thing.  Even my teeth are clenched.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Hated&lt;/span&gt; it.  The other one was brown, and in light blue letters it said, "Lie to me," but between 'Lie' and 'to', there was a little carrot (^) and above it said "next."  Again, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;seething&lt;/span&gt; at the thought of this inane concept of a shirt.  Hated the shirt.  So one day when he was gone, I just threw them away.  Buried them in the trash.  And they are out of my life forever.  ::deep, calming breath::  Ahh...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Secret #5:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt; I'm not as smart as I let other people think I am.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This should come as no great shock to the few of you who read this, because you can probably already think of a few examples where the facade failed on accident and the true depth of my ignorance glared through.  Let's start with "The Pentagon Incident" for a few laughs.  If you don't know the story, my brother, his friend Mark, and I were playing Outburst.  The category was "Things You Would Visit In/Near Washington D.C." or something like that.  When it was all over and the missing answers included "the Pentagon", I was baffled.  Why?  Because I thought the Pentagon was in Utah.  Here's where it gets good though.  I thought it was in Utah because I thought it was near Area 51.  And Area 51 is actually in Nevada.  So I &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; screwed that one up.  But it cleared up my 9-11 confusion, because I couldn't see how a plane could make it over the Atlantic Ocean and halfway across the U.S. to the Pentagon in Utah before it was shot out of the sky.  Mystery solved.  Want another example?  I was at Home Depot a few days ago getting some things for Levi.  I couldn't find the spray paint.  I looked at all the signs and couldn't figure out what section it would be in so to save time, I thought I'd just ask.  Turns out spray paint is in the paint section.  Who would've thought?  Apparently, not this genius.  Do you need a third example?  My brother and I were recording some music.  He left his equipment with me so I could finish some things on my own to save time.  I wasn't really familiar with the recording stuff, but his instructions were simple: plug the microphone cord in, make sure the headphones are plugged in, etc.  So I do all that, but absolutely no sound is registering and I try all the most complex solutions to make it work.  I was so frustrated.  But after almost a half hour of frantic problem solving, I discovered that when you are "plugging in the mic," you should make sure that you are actually plugging in the mic cord and not plugging in a random loose cord that isn't connected to anything on the other end.  So I'm sorry to disappoint anyone who thought I was going to go far in this life, but I am not the brilliant braniac you once thought.  I am regular.  And now you know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-8849524314082257136?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/8849524314082257136/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/01/five-secrets.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/8849524314082257136'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/8849524314082257136'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/01/five-secrets.html' title='Five Secrets'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7198824264256558137.post-8697500350487189246</id><published>2009-01-07T02:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T03:10:48.148-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Roommate'/><title type='text'>New Year, New Roommates</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SWSNqCU8xbI/AAAAAAAAACE/Cy74ID7IMkQ/s1600-h/Lindsey+%26+Miah.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SWSNqCU8xbI/AAAAAAAAACE/Cy74ID7IMkQ/s200/Lindsey+%26+Miah.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288507615758566834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, it is now 2009.  I have a new blog, a new onslaught of classes, so hey, why not some new roommates as well?  I mean, I didn't &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hate&lt;/span&gt; Kami and Rodney living with me, it's just...how do I put this?  Some things are just better left unsaid.  I'll just go with "it wasn't workin' out for me anymore."  I was sort of feeling like an alien in my own home...which sucks, because it was a nice home.  I put in a yard.  Looking back, I guess I was being forced out from the beginning.  But whaddya do?  Find a new place to live, apparently...&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I return from my winter break, I will be moving in with my friend Miah and his cousin, Tim.  "But Lindsey..." you say, "How can living with two &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;boys&lt;/span&gt; be more tolerable than living with your sister and her husband?  And how can you go from living in an adorable two-story duplex to living in a somewhat-creepy and uneven basement?"  Well, I'm glad you asked.  And I reply, "Fraction of the rent, clean, quiet, with dishwasher, Wii, cable, and internet included.  Oh, and it's right by the college.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And&lt;/span&gt; I have my own shower and toilet.  And they actually &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;like&lt;/span&gt; my cat."  So there you have it.  Here's to a better semester!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7198824264256558137-8697500350487189246?l=lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/feeds/8697500350487189246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-year-new-roommates.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/8697500350487189246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7198824264256558137/posts/default/8697500350487189246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsiosyncrasies.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-year-new-roommates.html' title='New Year, New Roommates'/><author><name>Linzee Kaye</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15519145002808732327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/S2u0oN454ZI/AAAAAAAAAHs/qxDQBeXdKnk/S220/Photo+21.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_uHjLA9I3rrc/SWSNqCU8xbI/AAAAAAAAACE/Cy74ID7IMkQ/s72-c/Lindsey+%26+Miah.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
