<?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-887855841901652288</id><updated>2011-07-08T10:48:53.087-07:00</updated><category term='First blog'/><title type='text'>4Wquestions</title><subtitle type='html'>Random questions about life, people and the world in general all starting with the letter "W".</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>37</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-6028119065427318053</id><published>2010-01-25T19:04:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-25T19:14:05.869-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How Much Suffering is Too Much?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/S15d6RpPLzI/AAAAAAAAAEY/4n8Lz5UiNfg/s1600-h/dog_puppy_mill_rescue_puppy_close_270x224.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430881456405557042" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 270px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 224px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/S15d6RpPLzI/AAAAAAAAAEY/4n8Lz5UiNfg/s320/dog_puppy_mill_rescue_puppy_close_270x224.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a very low tolerance for seeing people and animals pain. I am such a sucker for the down and out. I crumble under the tears and filth of the homeless. I once gave 75 cents to a homeless guy who had a sign that read “Homeless and Need a Beer, Aint that the Truth!” If I were homeless I’d sure want to be drunk or high too. But how much suffering do we really need to see and hear about?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever seen the commercials for the Christian Children’s Fund with the poor kids living in squalor? Their bellies are distended; they have flies swarming around their faces and dirty clothes on? They had me at shoeless. I can’t bear to watch the videos, just tell me where to send my check. The commercials must have gotten to my mom to cause she adopted a sponsor child years ago. When she passed away my sister took over the care of him. And now my sister has been sponsoring this boy for so long that he is ready for a retirement home….or a retirement hut as the case may be in Kenya. I sponsor a little girl in Uganda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t even get me started on the ASPCA commercials for the abused and neglected dogs and cats. Ya know the ones with the starving dogs with their ribs showing and missing patches of fur. The ones with the one eyed cat and mangy mutts. Did you see the part when the kitten reaches through the bars of the cage as if he is reaching out to say “Help me! Please tell me the numbers to your bank account so I can drain it” And if the pictures weren’t bad enough they have Sarah McLaughlin singing about how they’re in “The Arms of the Angels.” Heck, I’ll be your angel little puppies! I want to take all of them home and nurse them back to health right in my own living room. Hold on tight, I’m coming to get your out of there! Those nasty people won’t hurt you ever again. How much do I send? God just make the commercial stop! I have several collage roommates that can attest to the fact that I have taken in strays and lost all reasonable sanity in the process because I smelled a tiny wafting of their suffering and had to step in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what about the people in Haiti? My heart just breaks for them. So much death and destruction is just unimaginable. These poor people were well, so darn poor to start with before the earthquake. The news said that 600, 000 people were now homeless. But I have a feeling that the majority of them were homeless before the earthquake too. So I probably would have given money to them before the quake. I’ve seen the video of the people being pulled from the ruble and I just want to offer them a smoothie and cool shower. Some guy drank his own piss for 10 days! Holy crap! Give that man some mouthwash, a gift card to Ruth’s Chris steakhouse and a Tetanus shot! And the kids, the poor children. I have been this close to investigating getting’ me a Haitian orphan too. I went so far as to ask my hubby if he would want a boy or girl. Girl it is. But I really could have done without seeing the dead bodies in a garbage pile on Dateline. They just went too far with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And last but not least I have to call your attention to a book that I was given for my birthday by my oldest sister. It’s called “Half the Sky.” It’s about turning oppression into opportunity for women worldwide. I’m all about liberating women but I can’t stomach reading one more page of this book. It goes into great detail about rape, prostitution and human trafficking that is taking place in India, Asia and the Middle East. It is horrific and trust me I was on board with helping to create change on page one. There is no need for me to read 13 more chapters on this topic. They should have just put the title of the book and an 800 number for me to call with my credit card information on the cover. That’s enough. I’m having nightmares of these poor girls from the stories that I read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;UPDATE: I have an email from the Humane Society in my in box titled “Animals in Haiti Need Your Help”…a double whammy and I’m not opening it because I’m sure their will be pictures attached to it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-6028119065427318053?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/6028119065427318053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=6028119065427318053&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6028119065427318053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6028119065427318053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2010/01/how-much-suffering-is-too-much.html' title='How Much Suffering is Too Much?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/S15d6RpPLzI/AAAAAAAAAEY/4n8Lz5UiNfg/s72-c/dog_puppy_mill_rescue_puppy_close_270x224.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-7904894798136144007</id><published>2010-01-19T19:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-19T19:25:31.956-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Are Sales People So Annoying?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/S1Z3okQCNGI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/zxW-mswl4xM/s1600-h/633905560160252690-annoying.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428657939651114082" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 256px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/S1Z3okQCNGI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/zxW-mswl4xM/s320/633905560160252690-annoying.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sales people are everywhere! In stores, gas stations, on the phone and yes even in your doctor’s office. When did sales people becomes such royal pain in the ass douchebags? I don’t remember it being this bad like 10 years ago. Everyone is so desperate for money because the economy is so bad, fine I get it. It’s like salespeople have all turned into the kids from the movie Slumdog Millionaire. They run up to you shouting “Wanna buy this, how bout that?” I get panic attacks just going to the mall. The people in the food court practically throw food samples at you as you walk by. Ouch, did I just get his with some MooGoo Gai Pan? One lady who did eyebrow threading at the mall yelled to me from her store that I REALLY needed to shape my brows, and she could help me. What? So insulting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the dentist today for a regular cleaning. Just a regular God. Damn. Tooth cleaning. Simple right? Na, not any more! They tried to sell me two sets of x-rays. Why two sets if I only have one set of teeth? The Dental Coordinator (that’s what it said on her name tag) told me I HAD to have the extra panoramic x-rays as well as the regular ones. I told her I was not paying for anything not covered by my insurance. She says “Well I know times are tough but we have to take care of ourselves right?” Thanks for the emotional check up Dr. Phil. Whatever, not paying for two sets. So the dentist comes in and looks at my REGULAR x-rays and tells me I have a few cavities. He leaves and “the coordinator” comes back with two separate estimates 1. The teeth cleaning and 2. The cavities to be filled. The tooth cleaning with my insurance is over $283!!!! It has crap in there like a Flex Care Dispensing Unit for $119. And Oraqix Cartridge for $20.00 What the hell is that? And to get my cavities filled is more than $230! Yes, that is WITH insurance. So, I left. With no work done, no sale made and an hour of my time wasted. I guess we’ll have to sacrifice diapers, tampons and fresh produce this month so I can get dental work done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even with all the extra crap taken out of the dental bill why was it so much money with insurance? Was another sales scam taking place within the insurance company too? When I got home I pulled out the paper work that I had from the dental insurance company and it says on their flyer:&lt;br /&gt;Benefits NO CHARGE:&lt;br /&gt;2 Routine Cleanings per year&lt;br /&gt;X-Rays&lt;br /&gt;Fillings&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called our sales agent and she told me only certain kinds of cleanings, x-rays and fillings were at no charge. I argued that the flyer was misleading. It lead me to believe that all cleanings, x-rays and fillings were…NO CHARGE. I told her there should be an asterisks saying *only covers certain types. She said well if we put an asterisk next to each one nobody would buy the plan. And I said EXACTLY! Yet another rude scheming sales person!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A while back I went shopping for a dress for my sister’s wedding. I went to Ann Taylor, Macy’s, Dillard’s, Express, Bebe and Nordstrom’s. As soon as I walked into each store, I got some way overly eager beaver who screams “Hellllllooooo, Welcooome to ___!!!!” from all the way in the back of the store or fitting room. Weird isn’t it, to be greeted from so far away? I know it’s uncomfortable to have someone invade your personal space up close but it’s also strange when someone greets you from way out of your personal greeting parameter. And have you noticed that they try and strike up a conversation with you like an old friend? “How are we (what’s with the “we” when you are speaking to me?) today? What brings you into Express?” Umm I need clothes jackass! “Do you have a special occasion that you are shopping for? Don’t you just love that jacket? It would look great on you! What size are you?’ Leave me alone Ms. Cheesy, we’re not friends, not buddies and in fact you are the enemy and I know you are working on commission.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then when you are in the dressing room they put their face up next to the door “Hi, how’s it going in there? I found a pair of jeans that would look great with that top you are trying on, do you like red?” OMG go away! I’m actually popping a zit on my back in here!!! Then when you check out at the “Cash Wrap” (not the plain old register any more) they try and snag a sale one more time. “Did you see the socks that went with your new shirt? They are on sale; buy 7 million pairs and get one free. The sale ends tomorrow. Are you sure? Allllright (waving socks in the air).” Then they ask for your phone number and email address! You want my digits and email? What are next are you going to add me as your friend on Facebook? This is why I love shopping online. If only I could get my dental work done in cyberspace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BTW I give Flo a 9 1/2 out of 10 for annoying the crap out of me. Anyone else?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-7904894798136144007?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/7904894798136144007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=7904894798136144007&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/7904894798136144007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/7904894798136144007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2010/01/why-are-sales-people-so-annoying.html' title='Why Are Sales People So Annoying?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/S1Z3okQCNGI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/zxW-mswl4xM/s72-c/633905560160252690-annoying.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-8547948224044713720</id><published>2009-09-22T18:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T19:03:11.250-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What Kind of Sex Are You Having?</title><content type='html'>Sex is not just sex. Think about it. It's complicated. And for such a simple task there are really a million different ways to do it. And the places, oh my the different places to be having it in!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's review...There's the...&lt;br /&gt;Wham bam thank you ma'am sex&lt;br /&gt;Make up sex (You may have felt the earth move during this emotional interlude)&lt;br /&gt;Break up sex (Which comes first break up then make up? Depends on the relationship right?) If it is true break up sex you are thinking to yourself the entire time from clothes off to clothes back on..."This may be the very last time we ever do it." Again, could be a bad thing. Could be a good thing.&lt;br /&gt;One night stand sex&lt;br /&gt;One night stand sex that leads to a prescription for an anti-fungul gel.&lt;br /&gt;One night stand sex that leads to a prescription for an anti-fungul gel and Plan B (no prescription needed for that but it is located behind the pharmacy counter.)&lt;br /&gt;Cheating on a boy/girlfriend sex&lt;br /&gt;Cheating on a boy/girlfriend sex with an ex&lt;br /&gt;Cheating on a boy/girlfriend sex with an ex that will only be in town for one night, never to return again. Now we're talking!&lt;br /&gt;Adventurous sex, think Mile high club&lt;br /&gt;Sex while you are at your parents house.&lt;br /&gt;Sex in your parents bed while they are out.&lt;br /&gt;Sex while the kids are in the house wondering if your bedroom door is locked and can't enjoy yourself until someone double checks.&lt;br /&gt;Sex while the kids are sleeping (always without spanking noises).&lt;br /&gt;Morning sex&lt;br /&gt;All night sex. Ouch!&lt;br /&gt;First time sex. Do I stay the night or go home? Does he/she want to stay the night? I don't have my make-up with me for the first viewing in the morning. Crap.&lt;br /&gt;I forgot to shave sex.&lt;br /&gt;Is someone watching us sex?&lt;br /&gt;Sex in the car. Front seat or backseat?&lt;br /&gt;Sex against the car. Also can be classified at adventurous sex.&lt;br /&gt;Sex with the dog or cat watching/laying on the bed.&lt;br /&gt;In every room in the house sex.&lt;br /&gt;Breaking in a new car or house sex.&lt;br /&gt;Sex with a boss, employee or janitor. Breaking the "never have sex with a co-worker" rule.&lt;br /&gt;Middle of the afternoon, on a lunch break sex. Go back to office like nothing ever happened.&lt;br /&gt;Sex while listening to a CD make just for sex.&lt;br /&gt;Sex while the TV is on.  Sex during the nightly news, so not sexy. Picturing Ted Kopel.&lt;br /&gt;Sex while picturing someone else in your head. It's not cheating ya know!&lt;br /&gt;Sex while thinking of your shopping list.&lt;br /&gt;Sex on the beach which is way over rated.&lt;br /&gt;Vacation sex. Awesome! But you already knew that.&lt;br /&gt;First time sex.&lt;br /&gt;Not your first time sex but it is their 1st time.&lt;br /&gt;After his/her favorite sports team just won a game sex.&lt;br /&gt;I just f'ed up really bad and I don't want you to find out about it sex.&lt;br /&gt;I just spent a lot of money at Bloomingdale's and I'm trying to hide the receipt and bags sex.&lt;br /&gt;Sex in the city.&lt;br /&gt;Are we having sex or making love sex?&lt;br /&gt;Sex with lots of dirty talking.&lt;br /&gt;Sex with lots of dirty talk and someone just crossed the line.&lt;br /&gt;That time of the month sex. Some people are into it some aren't.&lt;br /&gt;Making a baby sex.&lt;br /&gt;So don't feel like trying to make a baby sex AGAIN.&lt;br /&gt;I think I like you but I'm not sure so let's see how this goes sex.&lt;br /&gt;So not compatible in bed sex but the conversation over dinner was marvelous.&lt;br /&gt;Conjugal visits in jail sex.&lt;br /&gt;Sex with shoes on.&lt;br /&gt;Oops I farted sex.&lt;br /&gt;Honeymoon sex.&lt;br /&gt;Sex while pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;First time sex after a pregnancy.&lt;br /&gt;Boring sex.&lt;br /&gt;Sex in a hot tub.&lt;br /&gt;Throw some meat under the door we are going to be in here for hours sex.&lt;br /&gt;I just lost 20lbs sex.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not doing what those people in that DVD are doing sex. How much did you pay for that porn?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, choices are good thing aren't they? Now where is my husband?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-8547948224044713720?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/8547948224044713720/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=8547948224044713720&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/8547948224044713720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/8547948224044713720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2009/09/what-kind-of-sex-are-you-having.html' title='What Kind of Sex Are You Having?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-406009953898360065</id><published>2009-08-15T21:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T21:46:20.634-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why do People keep their Kids up so Late?</title><content type='html'>I'm at Barnes and Nobles...or is it Barnes n' Nobles? last night. Trying to have some alone time, some away from kids time and wouldn't you know it...kids of all kinds of ages were there at 10:50 at night! WTF!!!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my child dearly but I also love when its nighty nighty time for him. It's finally the time when I get to be alone with my thoughts. When I get to put on my woman meets adult brain and remember what it's like to actually be interested in things other than tractors and Thomas the Train. I watch Rachel Maddow. I get to eat adult foods like Hummus and drink a Latte. I get to talk to my husband about our business, taxes and healthcare reform. At 8:09 I finally get the tune of "Bob the Builder" out of my head and listen to some Linkin Park. Can I hear it...YES I can! (If you have ever watched Bob the Builder you will know exactly what I am talking about).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bookstore is my escape. It's quiet. I love that people are reading and thinking. Thinking intelligent thoughts. Or so I like to think. I read books about things I couldn't even dream about during my Gymboree Sesame Street Barney freakin' day. Like bird watching, religions of the world and yes self improvement. I don't want to hear whinning, shouting or even kid like giggling. Shut the F up this is a bookstore, it shares the same rules as a library SHHHHHHHH!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I have to ask parents of the universe why oh why are your kids not in bed at 10p.m.? Or at least at their house where they can drive YOU and only you insane in the privacy of your own home? Where they belong! It’s 10:50 p.m and Yes I know where YOUR children are!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-406009953898360065?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/406009953898360065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=406009953898360065&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/406009953898360065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/406009953898360065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2009/08/why-do-people-keep-their-kids-up-so.html' title='Why do People keep their Kids up so Late?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-4905005199296961560</id><published>2009-07-04T09:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-04T09:55:36.617-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who You Gonna Call?</title><content type='html'>I would like to bring something very important to your attention. But only my readers of the US of A. So, if you live in say Serbia, don't bother reading this post. (I hear I have a huge following in Serbia...I'm popular with the Serbies…that’s my pet name for them). Serbia may not have the same policy as the U.S. you’ll see why in a minute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway. There is a question you must ask answer and I bet you never even thought to ask it. Here it is: If you get thrown in jail (I know, I know, it wasn't your fault) and you have only one phone call to make (you only get ONE call right? I have never been incarcerated so I cannot confirm this...but just go with me on this) WHO ARE YOU GOING TO CALL? Ghostbusters is the wrong answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let’s look at our options:A parent? Nope, they'd never let you live your crime down. You would be reminded of your deed at every single holiday get together over the apple pie. Remember the time that ___ got arrested and we had to bail him out of jail?&lt;br /&gt;A neighbor? No way, you'd be forever known as the neighborhood hoodlum.&lt;br /&gt;A co-worker? Do you really want your boss to find out about this?&lt;br /&gt;A friend? Which one? Would they make “bending down to pick up a bar of soap in jail” jokes from now until forever? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A mutual friend of my husband and me who will go by the name PDiddy picked my husband to be his "only one phone call friend." I thought that was a rather big compliment until I realized what being the "only one phone call friend" would entail. It's not an easy job by any means. Let’s explore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don’t ruin your one phone call and call someone who will only give you a shoulder to cry on and not take any action (That rules out all women cause we know women are good listeners.) Call a man. Men are fixers! Call someone who will bail your sorry orange jumpsuit wearing ass out of jail!  It would have to be someone who would be willing to A) Answer the phone at all hours of the night if they see the county jail phone number on the caller ID B) Front you the cash to bail you out C) Not tell your spouse/family/co-workers about this little mishap D) Help you get your car out of the impound lot E) Feed your pets while you are away. That’s a lot to ask! What happens if you call your "only one phone call friend" and you get a busy signal? I know, call waiting, but just suppose your luck is as bad as mine and you do get a busy signal do you get to call back later? Does that make it two phone calls now? Or can you call your second choice back up friend? If they take away your cell phone do you even have any phone numbers memorized? If you left a message how does the person call you back? Suppose you got a wrong number? Suppose you called MOVIE PHONE by accident. Is the movie phone guy with that deep voice gonna help you out? “Press 1 for Goonies” Press 2 to be bailed out of jail. Nope. Not an option!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lawyer…think Lawyer…yes, that seems like a great idea! But umm how do you find one at 3A.M? This is your first time in jail right? Can you call 411 for a phone number; but then you’ll be making two phone calls again. Is there a phone book next to the phone to look one up?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahhh so much to think about! “You must choose, but choose wisely” –Indiana Jones. Remember you only get ONE phone call…don’t mess this up! Bad things do happen to good people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-4905005199296961560?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/4905005199296961560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=4905005199296961560&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4905005199296961560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4905005199296961560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2009/07/who-you-gonna-call.html' title='Who You Gonna Call?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-5717540872926360285</id><published>2009-04-29T20:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-29T20:31:04.125-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's up with this freak?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SfkYpkmMIGI/AAAAAAAAAEI/YCJyLZgoSNM/s1600-h/Rey+before.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5330318736447250530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 130px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SfkYpkmMIGI/AAAAAAAAAEI/YCJyLZgoSNM/s320/Rey+before.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Have you seen the show Dr. 90210? It is about plastic surgery in Beverly Hills. Yes, those kind of before and after shows are intriguing. But the real interesting part of the show is the main doctor Dr. Rey. At first he was just a normal plastic surgeon...how normal could one be whose job it is to rearrange someone's face? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I think the fame has gone to his head! Have you seen his clothing choices? He is way beyond metrosexual with the highlights in his hair and his man cleavage.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;He has no boundaries with his patients, most of whom are female. He calls them honey and beautiful but in a really skeevy way. He wears sleeveless scrubs...why? Turn on the AC if you are hot in the operating room. And he treats his waif of a wife like dirt. Eww, he just grosses me out!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is him now. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.tmz.com/2009/04/29/dr-rey-karate-video/"&gt;http://www.tmz.com/2009/04/29/dr-rey-karate-video/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Wow. Just wow.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&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/887855841901652288-5717540872926360285?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/5717540872926360285/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=5717540872926360285&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/5717540872926360285'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/5717540872926360285'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2009/04/whats-up-with-this-freak.html' title='What&apos;s up with this freak?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SfkYpkmMIGI/AAAAAAAAAEI/YCJyLZgoSNM/s72-c/Rey+before.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-4260423511275091803</id><published>2009-03-25T19:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-25T19:44:45.722-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who Cares?</title><content type='html'>This is a post of random crap that I don't care about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jennifer Aniston and John Mayer breaking up for the third time. Who Cares? No, really does anybody care?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Big Lips Jolie arguing over Brad Pitt. Girl fight or made up Bullshit?  Either way just cut it out because no one really cares right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OctoMom and her gazillion kids. I kinda care. Only because she has more chaos in her house than mine and that makes me feel better about my life. Next to her I'm a great freaking mom!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Economy and all the details. Yes, I care but I don't want to hear about it just friggin' fix that shit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kelly Clarkson weighing like 189lbs. I don't care. I'm glad she is chubby. I can't stop singing her new song "My Life Would Suck Without You". But I suck at singing. And I can't sing it around superman cause her repeats everything I say and I don't want him saying the word SUCK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Real Housewives of Any County. Nope, don't care. The whole trophy wife ideal is stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie Holmes being brain washed by her husband. Who hasn't made some dumb choices for a man?  I care about as much for what religion she is as I care for weeds in my yard. I do however care about the length of her bob.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Micheal Phelps smoking a bong. Raise your hand if you care. Put em up! I only care because they got pictures of that cocky trophy hording monger. That's funny shit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah Jessica Parker getting her mole removed. I care about cancer prevention.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The shows Lost and House. I don't care because well...I can't follow the plot therefore I am Lost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Snuggie. I don't care about it because I live in Florida and it's too warm to care about putting arms on my blanket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and last but not least...drum roll please:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;American Idol. I only care about watching this show in the beginning of the season when people sing and super suck at it. So hilarious! When they start getting good I stop watching it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-4260423511275091803?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/4260423511275091803/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=4260423511275091803&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4260423511275091803'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4260423511275091803'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2009/03/who-cares.html' title='Who Cares?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-1621034633018068802</id><published>2009-03-05T19:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-06T06:52:41.563-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Who's That in the Stir-ups?</title><content type='html'>What's worse, going to the dentist or the gynecologist? I vote for Gyno.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the Gyno today. And I say Gyno and not OB (as in obstetrician i.e. baby doctor) because it was a very much anti-baby kind of appointment. Even though my Gyno is also my OB. I was actually looking forward to this appointment because it brings me one step closer to not having to worry about birth control for a while. And once you know you and your man are actually capable of his sperm dating your egg it brings on a whole new sense of panic to get some good birth control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, there I was in the waiting room. This office has 8 doctors in it so it's basically a mass herding of the vaginas all day. When I arrive there are like, 20 pregnant women waiting to be seen. Most of them looked pretty darn miserable and I have to say I don't blame them. I could just see their ankles swelling as we sat there. It made me all the more anxious to get my hands on some BC. I was afraid the pregnancy thing might be contagious so I sat as far away as I could from the incubators...I mean women. It cracks me up when I see men in there with their wives at appointments. They just look so out of place. One guy was reading a Good Housekeeping magazine. How humiliated would he be if his friends found out about that? But what else would he read in and OB/Gyn office?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On to my appointment. They call my name and bring me back into the exam room. The nurse tells me to take off my clothes below the waist and drape the paper towel over me and wait here. Where else was I going to go? I did and then just sat there for 14 minutes waiting for the doctor. It is so humiliating wearing the paper towel across my lap. Nobody looks cool wearing paper. Unless you are a paper doll which I'm not. I look around the room and see a plastic uterus with the Mirena IUD in it sitting on the counter. Who came up with that marketing idea at the pharmaceutical company? A plastic uterus. No ovaries, no labia just the uterus. My uterus is not for sale thank you very much! And then there is Nuva ring sitting next to its friend the plastic uterus. Wow that sucker is huge! It could fit around a tennis ball, no lie! There is a poster on the wall about how to do a breast self exam. Oh shit, I never do those. Who has the time? Today I took a shower with superman staring at me. It was the only way I could get a shower in before my appointment. Am I supposed to do a BSE under those circumstances? I think that would be illegal on so many levels. Doesn't everybody shower on the day of going to the Gyno...and shave their legs and pits? Like my doctor even cares if I have stubble on my legs or a hairy bikini line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway my doctor comes in and before you know it my feet are in the stir-up that have little mittens on them. Who thought of making mittens for the stir-ups? She busts out the cold speculum...yadda, yadda, yadda and then it's over. Thank God! We talk about BC options. The exam last all but 3 minutes but it seems like 40 minutes. I put my clothes back on and suddenly I feel a little more humbled by the experience. I pick what is left of my dignity off of the floor and head out the door like a dog with its tail between its legs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ya know how they say when you are speaking to someone and you are nervous to picture them in their underwear?  Well, the next time you are up against some biotch that has an attitude as big as an elephant instead just think about her in the mitten covered stir-ups. She doesn't seem so bad ass now does she?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-1621034633018068802?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/1621034633018068802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=1621034633018068802&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/1621034633018068802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/1621034633018068802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2009/03/whos-that-in-stir-ups.html' title='Who&apos;s That in the Stir-ups?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-8688722248365617210</id><published>2009-03-01T19:37:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-01T19:53:42.495-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Do Girl Scouts Sell Cookies?</title><content type='html'>As I write this I am chomping away at a Thin Mint. Those darn Thin Mints! They make my thighs expand before the chocolate cookie even gets to my stomach. They clog my arteries and make me feel &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;lethargic&lt;/span&gt;. They make me feel bloated. How you ask? How could one cookie make me feel bloated? Because I can't eat just one. Oh no! I go in for one but come out with a whole sleeve and before you know it I'm popping those suckers like tic &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;tacs&lt;/span&gt;. One whole Thin Mint will fit in my mouth nicely. No biting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;necessary&lt;/span&gt;. How easy is that? Too easy I tell ya!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So why do Girl Scouts sell fattening cookies? Aren't those little kids supposed to be little "do &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;gooders&lt;/span&gt;". Ambassadors to good will? Doesn't selling high caloric cookies go against everything they believe in? They should be selling fruit. Or green veggies. There has got to be a veggie badge that they have to earn right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And who can pass up the sale of girl scout cookies? Nobody! Just try it. They walk by you with a cart full of sinfulness and a pathetic smile. And your knees get weak at the sight of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Samoa&lt;/span&gt;. All that chocolaty, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;carmel&lt;/span&gt; coconut &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;yumminess&lt;/span&gt;. I think they knew what they were getting into when they came up with this fundraising &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;heart attack&lt;/span&gt; in a box. How could they? They should be ashamed of themselves. They might as well sell crack in a box! Because I'm hooked! Those &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;F'ing&lt;/span&gt; cookies! Thank God they only come out once a year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-8688722248365617210?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/8688722248365617210/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=8688722248365617210&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/8688722248365617210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/8688722248365617210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2009/03/why-do-girl-scouts-sell-cookies.html' title='Why Do Girl Scouts Sell Cookies?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-1178731129976116466</id><published>2009-01-20T18:47:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-20T19:34:57.927-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What do I do all day?</title><content type='html'>Ok, so it's been a while since I have posted. But I'm back baby!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always wanted to blog about this topic because I get asked about it a lot...A LOT. And it bugs me, I dunno why. I guess because the question implies that I don't do anything all day when in reality I am crazy busy all day. As any other stay at home mom is. And it would imply that my day actually has an end and my job is over. Well, there is no end time. There is no end to the day when I am off duty. So, here is the breakdown of my day...and night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8am wake up to Superman's screams and screeches (he just started doing this shriek two days ago) for MAA MAAAAA!!!!! EEEEEEKKK!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;Pee. Change pajamas.&lt;br /&gt;Wash sippy cup. Heat up milk in microwave, pour into sippy cup. Feed dog. Let dog out.&lt;br /&gt;Get child out of crib. Give kisses. Wrestle child on table to change diaper.&lt;br /&gt;Try to convince child to drink milk. Pick up cup from floor.&lt;br /&gt;Turn on the Today show knowing full well I will not have time to watch it.&lt;br /&gt;Try to throw in a load of laundry. Try to start washer before toddler has time to open door. Unsuccessful. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Remember to turn on washer when toddler is napping.&lt;br /&gt;Try to wash dishes. Pry toddler out from inside the dishwasher. Take knife out from toddler's hand. Close dishwasher...remember to do dishes when toddler is napping.&lt;br /&gt;Try and vacuum. Success.&lt;br /&gt;Wrestle toddler to change into clothes for the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9am Speech Therapist arrives. I join in activities to persuade toddler to speak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10am Breakfast. Make oatmeal. Superman is learning to eat with a spoon. Clean up oatmeal from wall. Clean off resistant toddler.&lt;br /&gt;Try and brush my hair, teeth and put make-up on with toddler in bathroom throwing toilet paper (the day before it was shells) into the toilet. Take perfume bottle out of toddlers hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11am Try and think of activities to keep superman and myself occupied. A bored child is a bad troublesome child! Take a walk to park. Toddler wants to walk and will not be pushed in the stroller. Between stopping to look at bugs and playing with leaves it takes us 20 minutes to get there when it normally takes 4 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;Push superman on swing for no kidding...17 minutes..&lt;br /&gt;Walk back to house....20 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12noon Snack time.&lt;br /&gt;Try and make a phones calls to doctor's offices and insurance company to settle bills from Superman's hospital stay from TWO freaking years ago!&lt;br /&gt;Have to hang up because toddler is practicing his screeching again.&lt;br /&gt;Read books.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:30-2:30pm Nap time (his not mine). My favorite time of day!&lt;br /&gt;(Can't make phone calls because it wakes up Junior)&lt;br /&gt;Finish dishes, finish laundry, finish putting on make-up. Clean up mess in toilet bowl.&lt;br /&gt;Change sheets on bed.&lt;br /&gt;Finally check email. Jump on Facebook for 10 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;Pay bills. Eat lunch. (Can't eat lunch with superman awake cause he will steal my food.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:30pm MAAAA MAAAA!!! Greet toddler. Change diaper.&lt;br /&gt;Make lunch with hungry toddler stuck to my leg like a leg warmer.&lt;br /&gt;Clean up lunch from floor and wall and dog's head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3:30pm Food shopping. Try and convince child that sitting in the cart is fun. Throw crackers at him to keep him from jumping out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5pm Stop at office supply store for husband. Chase child around store. Child has had enough of errands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6pm Gymboree, Superman's play class. Sing corny songs. Act like I'm having a great time. Take asprin for headache listening to corny songs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:15pm Dinner. Clean up food from walls, floor, cabinet and dog's head. Feed dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7:45pm Bath time, read books, make sippy cup with warm milk (toddler wouldn't have it any other way.) Wrestle toddler to put on PJ's. Fight with him to brush his teeth. Put child to bed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:30pm Lay on couch and drool&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10 pm Jump online to plan superman's birthday party.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:16pm Try and soothe crying child back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;12am Try and soothe crying child back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;2:30am Try and soothe crying child back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there you have it folks! Sounds peaceful and fun doesn't it? Yeah right. This mom...this stay at home...but not really at home... mom thing is the hardest job I have ever had. Most of the time I'm exhausted. I love my son dearly or I would not do this but I cannot wait till he goes to school! I get the question "So, when are you going to have another?" right after I get asked what I do all day. Are you kidding me? So, what DO you DO all day?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-1178731129976116466?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/1178731129976116466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=1178731129976116466&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/1178731129976116466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/1178731129976116466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2009/01/what-do-i-do-all-day.html' title='What do I do all day?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-2101838118016037946</id><published>2008-11-29T19:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-30T07:11:24.921-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Who the hell does Madonna think she is?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/STKtC5AKw_I/AAAAAAAAADw/U4M2wqzzlTs/s1600-h/amd_madonna.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274468378777142258" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/STKtC5AKw_I/AAAAAAAAADw/U4M2wqzzlTs/s320/amd_madonna.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;On Wednesday night my husband and I went to the Madonna concert. Or is it called a show? I dunno. Somewhere along the way I think the word "concert" was phased out and the young kids started to call concerts shows. Anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drove 5 hours to Miami to see her royalty. Why do I call her royalty? Cause my ass only waits for Jesus and royalty for TWO AND A HALF HOURS! Yes, she was 2 1/2 hours late! B-I-O-T-C-H!!!!! Who the hell does she think she is? Who makes 40,000 people wait that long? Nobody puts baby in the corner!!!! I cursed her name the entire time. I bet she was with Rodriguez having some kind of steamy rendezvous. Whore. Damn her for having sex on my watch. She never apologized for being so late and didn't even wish us a Happy Thanksgiving! And there was no band that came on before her...boring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We actually got to the stadium 15 minutes early. And early never happens for us. So it felt like forever sitting in those hard plastic seats. I got a lot of junk in the trunk and my rear still hurt. After two beers I started to get sleepy so I had to cut myself off from alcohol. I did spot a few people in the crowd actually sleeping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were there waiting so long that I got to know my neighbors. There was an old dude and his wife in front of us. He was literally 70 years old no lie. He grew up in Italy and we chatted about that. And next to us was a guy with really long dread locks who danced his ass off the entire time. In the row behind us was three older women with bad face lifts and jumbo lips. Such a broad spectrum of fans? Not something I expected to see at the Madonna concert/show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also wasn't expecting to see a concert that was more like a Broadway show on steroids. The set and stage were amazing. Holy crap! Ms. Madge danced her ass off for almost two hours non-stop. Man, she has got a body to die for. Or at least a body to leave your current wife and kids for. She also played guitar for four songs. Who knew she could play guitar? At one point she french kissed a female back up dancer...didn't see that one coming...Madonna never kisses women on stage. I also wasn't surprised that several dancers humped her from behind. Interesting non-the-less. What cracked me up was her charm: "C'mon you mother fuckers, stand up and stop trying to look bored. Put your hands in the air and smell your armpits." The crowd went wild. She called us mother fuckers numerous times as well as bitches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She has been on the radio for a like a million years. She has reinvented herself like a million times. The lighting was outstanding. The sound was unbeleiveable. Her show was amazing, totally worth waiting for. And she is 50. So who does she think she is? Well just none other than Madonna.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-2101838118016037946?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/2101838118016037946/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=2101838118016037946&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2101838118016037946'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2101838118016037946'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/11/who-hell-does-madonna-think-she-is.html' title='Who the hell does Madonna think she is?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/STKtC5AKw_I/AAAAAAAAADw/U4M2wqzzlTs/s72-c/amd_madonna.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-1036374283212252566</id><published>2008-11-05T10:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T10:33:01.012-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Where do you sit?</title><content type='html'>Have you ever been in a restaurant and seen two people sitting on the same side of the table?  This drives me nuts! Why are they sitting on the same side of the table when there are four chairs at the table? Or a booth made with two benches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's so much easier to talk to someone across from you than next to you.  Picture this, you turn your head to talk to the person next to you and their cheek is facing forward stuffed with a big mouthful of hamburger. And now you are like 2 inches away from this person chewing their cow and talking into their cheek. Gross! Some things are just not meant to be seen up close.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are people really this co-dependant that they can't even stand to be apart from each other for one meal? You can still hold hand across the table so don't act like it's a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;PDA&lt;/span&gt; type of thing. I've been in love before but I like a little space between me and my honey. We can play footsie under the table...people who sit next to one another can't play footsie. Who doesn't like footsie?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another seating &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;issue&lt;/span&gt;, people who sit too close to the driver of a car. You know what I'm talking about. A pick-up truck with the passenger sitting right smack next to the driver. "Love" you might call it? I think it is more like "hate" than anything. Why? Cause the passenger can't even wear a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;seat belt&lt;/span&gt; sitting that close to the driver! Nothing says "I hate you" more than your loved one being thrown from a moving vehicle in an accident. Move over you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;dumb ass&lt;/span&gt;! Cuddle when you get to your destination safely.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-1036374283212252566?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/1036374283212252566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=1036374283212252566&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/1036374283212252566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/1036374283212252566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/11/where-do-you-sit.html' title='Where do you sit?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-6224045755157494346</id><published>2008-11-03T19:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T19:25:18.408-08:00</updated><title type='text'>How much is that sticker worth?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SQ_AkG2IM-I/AAAAAAAAADo/UGywEi0LYyw/s1600-h/voted.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5264638215964865506" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 188px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SQ_AkG2IM-I/AAAAAAAAADo/UGywEi0LYyw/s320/voted.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tomorrow is election day. As if you didn't know. So this is my one political post. It is deep so bare with me. I could talk about the economy, environment, gas prices. But I am going to focus on a truly important question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who pays for the "I voted" stickers? Every person gets one who votes right? I be they are like 2 cents a piece. Times a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bazillion&lt;/span&gt; people. So that could add up to a hefty sum. I'm assuming neither political party flips the bill. Are the tax payers paying for it? If so I want to put my money else where. Who cares about some dumb sticker? It's not like people will see me out in public with my stupid sticker on and think "Oh gee look at Ms. Smarty Pants, she voted." What's this first grade? I'd rather have a gold star sticker anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-6224045755157494346?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/6224045755157494346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=6224045755157494346&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6224045755157494346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6224045755157494346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/11/how-much-is-that-sticker-worth.html' title='How much is that sticker worth?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SQ_AkG2IM-I/AAAAAAAAADo/UGywEi0LYyw/s72-c/voted.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-4898804870342837492</id><published>2008-10-29T08:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-29T08:51:05.163-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who am I Cybil?</title><content type='html'>Do you remember that old movie about the woman with multiple personalities? I never saw the whole thing but she was pretty crazy, bonkers, coo-coo for cocoa puffs if ya know what I mean. I think I may be a little wacky too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday was a rough day. It was one of those days where I wanted to QUIT. Throw my hands up in the air and quit being a mom, let a lone a stay at home mom. We had to take superman to the pediatric optomologist. We can't go to just any old eye doctor nooooo. They have to specialize in preemie eyes. There is only ONE in the Tampa Bay area. TB has a population of over TWO million people so to get in to see her is tough. Her office is 45 minutes away. This was our ordeal:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wake sleeping toddler up from nap. Waking sleeping toddler is like waking a sleeping bear.&lt;br /&gt;Drive 45 minutes. Play "On top of Spaghetti" four times. (His favorite song)&lt;br /&gt;Wait in office for 45 minutes. Feed crackers to restless child, read books and play with car.&lt;br /&gt;Pick up books, crackers and car from the floor multiple times.&lt;br /&gt;Apologize to other patrons for screaming child.&lt;br /&gt;Finally get into room and nurse puts eye drops to dilate panic stricken child's eyes.&lt;br /&gt;Wait another 20 minutes. In the mean time...&lt;br /&gt;Walk fussy child around shady areas of parking lot trying to avoid sunlight. We live in FL hello!&lt;br /&gt;Pick tantrum throwing child up from parking lot put into stroller.&lt;br /&gt;Feed banana. Pick banana up from pavement.&lt;br /&gt;Push stroller around in circle inside office waiting room 38 times.&lt;br /&gt;Listen to my hunger pains.&lt;br /&gt;Finally get in to see Dr. ...&lt;br /&gt;Remove child's hands from expensive equipment repeatedly. Over. And Over.&lt;br /&gt;Dr. looks into child's eyes, he is fine. Must return in six months.&lt;br /&gt;Ignore my hunger pains.&lt;br /&gt;Sit in rush hour traffic for one hour.&lt;br /&gt;Play "On top of Spaghetti" 13 times on ride home and sing along.&lt;br /&gt;Praise Jesus when we pull into driveway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After this nightmare superman's molars start to peak through his pink gums turning him into grumpy stinkerpants for the rest of the evening. We listened to whining and crying the majority of our night.  Tylenol does not work! Damn that Tylenol! One of the worst feelings is not being able to help an upset child. I reached my breaking point. This particular day was the straw that broke the camel's back. I deal with his frustration and pour myself a heaping cup of patience on a daily basis. That's what parents do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point, I look to my husband and say, "I just can't do this anymore. No, FOR REAL! Being a mom, the whole stay at home mommy thing. It is just not for me. I quit." And I was serious. Where is the nearest day care center? When does school start?  If the nearest exit is located behind me I'm turning around. Take me out coach I don't like this game. It's days like this that are good for population control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is another story. Superman was happy and in turn so was I. His smile lit up the room multiple times. He was so cute in the bathtub tonight splashing around that I actually thought of having another child. For a mere second I thought, "Another bambino sure would be fun." It's days like this that keep the human species going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, I'm nutty. Crazy. Insane. I tol ya so.  I don't know either of these women. How can I go from one extreme to another so quickly? Medication, do they make medication for this? I'd like some please.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-4898804870342837492?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/4898804870342837492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=4898804870342837492&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4898804870342837492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4898804870342837492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/10/who-am-i-cybil.html' title='Who am I Cybil?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-6992960154893858013</id><published>2008-10-23T09:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T15:36:46.323-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What am I doing?</title><content type='html'>I have a confession to make. As a mom, I have no idea what I'm doing. I always thought that parents knew stuff. I thought that I'd get to a certain point in my life and exclaim "I know about a lot of stuff!" and then be ready to have kids. But at 33 that time never came and I figured I'd better have a baby while I was still dumb and naive or I'd miss my opportunity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The truth is I'm just winging this whole parent thing. As soon as I get the hang of a certain stage in my son's life he grows up a bit and then there is a new stage I know nothing about. I read some books here and there and they gave me little tips on how to make things easier. But there are plenty of times I look at my husband and shrug my shoulders and go I dunno. This happens a lot!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When my son was born early the nurses referred to me as "mom". I think they just didn't want to remember all the parents names in the neonatal intensive care unit. I was like who? Me? Mom? Because he was early I wasn't ready to be a mom but I stepped up to the challenge. And I do so every day cause that's what moms do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we took my son on his first vacation last year across the state to Amelia Island we were a mess. We looked something like a National Lampoon's vacation and the two Stooges. We had no idea how my son would handle being off his schedule (kids need a schedule as I was told), sleeping in a hotel or the three hour car ride. He went easy on his clueless parents. God bless him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When he got croup last year and had a cough that sounded like a dog barking.... I had no idea what to do. But I knew giving him beef &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;snausages&lt;/span&gt; was not the answer (it works for the dog). Choking on a cracker...is it pat on the back or sweep his mouth?&lt;br /&gt;Attacted by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;mosquito's&lt;/span&gt;...B&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;enedryl&lt;/span&gt;? Ice pack? For that one we brought him to the urgent care center when his eye swelled shut.&lt;br /&gt;Waking in the middle of the night...cry it out? Who can listen to their baby cry for hours on end?&lt;br /&gt;I still am dumbfounded on what to do when he bites my husband and I. Time out didn't work. Or maybe we didn't do it right? I know I don't want to spank but why not?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So once again I'm faced with an issue. Superman has had the poops and I mean the worst poops ever for five days. No fever though. We have tried the bland diet to no avail. This afternoon I'm taking him to the doctor. And I'm sure he will look at my son, look at me and tell me I'm crazy and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;worrying&lt;/span&gt; about nothing. And I will look at him and say "I'm a first time mom!" But I will bring him in anyway. Cause I have no idea what I'm doing! Please world, go gentle on me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-6992960154893858013?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/6992960154893858013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=6992960154893858013&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6992960154893858013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6992960154893858013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/10/what-am-i-doing.html' title='What am I doing?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-624425569172339172</id><published>2008-10-18T09:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T09:20:12.378-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Crap. What would you do?</title><content type='html'>I know this has happened to you. Don't pretend like it hasn't. You are out and about, going about your business and suddenly it hits you...time to do your business! I expect this kind of thing if I go to Starbucks and smell their coffee. What is it about the smell of coffee? I usually don't talk about this kind of stuff but I must share my experience that almost turned me into somebody that I didn't recognize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at Publix (insert Pathmark for you people living up North) grocery (insert food for those of you living down South) shopping and I noticed half way through the store a little strange feeling down below. I thought eh, I can wait till I get home. I hate to use the bathroom for #2 in a public place. I quickly finished my shopping and headed toward the checkout line. One person ahead of me. I start to read the cover of the magazines to get my mind off of my problem and I wait...and wait. Hmm I really gotta go! I start to load (forgive me for using this word at a time like this) my groceries onto the belt while the person ahead of me finishes up. Wait. What is she doing? Writing a check! Noooo! Oh for Pete's sake! Are you kidding me? Who writes checks anymore? Where is your debit card woman? Oh and don't tell me the old lady is working the cash register today. The old lady who loves to chit chat about nothing. They are taking their sweet old time laughing it up. Alright people, this isn't funny, I gotta go! NOW! Move along sweet cakes. And I mean pronto!  Suddenly, I'm wishing horrible things on this woman in front of me. I'm hoping she can feel my hatred through the back of her head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finish unloading my groceries onto the belt. Suddenly I hate being tall. Why? Cause tall people must bend over into the cart to pick up the junk they want to buy. Repeatedly. And bending over is not the position you want to be in when nature calls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally Thelma and Louise are finished with their gab-a-thon. I'm up. OK lady just move quickly and nobody gets hurt. Scan, scan, scan sister! Today is not my lucky day. She has an ace bandage on her wrist. She starts in with "Hi...beeep (scanning sound)...how are you...beeep? Did you...beep...find everything you were...beeep...looking for?" I'm like "Yeah, whatever hi yes." Panic sets in. I'm now crossing my legs. Oh good there is a bagger here “paper please.” "So...beep...how about the Rays (baseball)...beeep." "Isn't it wonderful how well...beep...they are doing? Don't you just love ...beep...baseball?" Me:"Um no I don't follow baseball." It must be bagger boys first day on the job because he is packing my bags so slowly you'd think he was carefully placing newborn babies in there! Me: "Ya know, you can just throw the stuff in there I'm kinda in a rush." Beep, beep, beep, beep. Jeez how much crap am I buying...will the beeping ever end? Cashier: "Baseball used to be the American past time...beeep..beeep. I remember when....."(My thoughts start to trail off as she rambles on.) Dear God, please don't let me shit my pants. Not here, not now, not in public. Will I actually shit myself? A grown woman shitting herself. I'm breaking out in a sweat at this point I'm sure of it.  I start to recite every prayer in my head that I know. I pray to God, Jesus and every saint I know. Crap, why don't I go to church? Who are the disciples? Who was at the table with Jesus?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ma'am do you want your meat wrapped in a plastic bag?"&lt;br /&gt;"Oh isn't this a pretty nail polish color. Are you going to do your nails later?"&lt;br /&gt;"I didn't know they made soy nuggets."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beep. Beep. Beep.&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs "Hurry the F up! Please for the love of God and all that's holy!!!"&lt;br /&gt;Beep. Beep. Beep.&lt;br /&gt;And then I hear the most amazing words in the English language:&lt;br /&gt;"Your total is..."&lt;br /&gt;Oh thank God!!!!&lt;br /&gt;Bagger boy wants to know if I want help out to my car with my cart.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm not going to my car!" I exclaim as I haul ass over to the restrooms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it's over, as quickly as it was brought on. If only I had gone straight to the public restroom none of this would have ever happened.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-624425569172339172?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/624425569172339172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=624425569172339172&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/624425569172339172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/624425569172339172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/10/crap-what-would-you-do.html' title='Crap. What would you do?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-3175995232421252975</id><published>2008-10-10T20:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T20:11:22.032-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why does Al Roker do the food segments?</title><content type='html'>Do you ever watch the Today show in the mornings? I put it on and glance up at it every now and then while superman is destroying the house and I am putting out fires. Every time there is a segment on cooking Al Roker is the one interviewing the chef. But not just interviewing, he helps cook and certainly tastes all the yummy dishes. I have to wonder, why on earth do they have the fat guy who had stomach surgery to help him lose weight do the food segments??? Matt does politics, Ann does the news, the Viera lady does the feel good stories and Natalie does family stuff. C'mon couldn't Al switch with Viera? Does he hafta do food?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poor Al has had a long battle with food. I'm sure it was a tough decision to get the surgery done. He lost a whole bunch of weight afterwards. But then they took him from just doing the weather to talking about food! Whose brilliant idea was that? That would be like having Courtney Love do a segment on heroine. I wonder what the conversation went like when his boss and producer called him into their office one day to tell him his new job role. "Al, we are going to have you work with food. Our viewers identify you with food. Now, I know it's your poison so you are just going to have to be tough and suck it up. Well not really suck up all the food but you get my idea. Ok?" What was Al to do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever seen the section on your job description at the bottom in fine print that says "and other things as needed." It leaves a whole lot open for responsibility. Well Al's "other things as needed" include eating and obsessing over recipes. So if he gains all the weight that he lost back I say it's not his fault. I blame his boss. I think he may have a lawsuit on his chubby hands.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-3175995232421252975?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/3175995232421252975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=3175995232421252975&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3175995232421252975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3175995232421252975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/10/why-does-al-roker-do-food-segments.html' title='Why does Al Roker do the food segments?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-3499428707304808423</id><published>2008-10-08T09:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T10:01:23.279-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who would hire these two?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOzmJgfQHxI/AAAAAAAAADE/P4WIyaRaM18/s1600-h/Clown2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254827916248751890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOzmJgfQHxI/AAAAAAAAADE/P4WIyaRaM18/s320/Clown2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOzk-pPlpsI/AAAAAAAAAC8/IeeJSVfVvF8/s1600-h/Clown.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254826630108784322" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOzk-pPlpsI/AAAAAAAAAC8/IeeJSVfVvF8/s320/Clown.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I was planning superman's first birthday party I wanted it to be a really special celebration. I wondered how I was going to entertain the guests. Should we rent a bounce house? Should we get a juggler? What about a balloon sculptor? What kind of theme should we have? The best parties always have themes. We went with a farm theme party at our community park. I bought farm themed plates, napkins, banners and balloons. The animals in the theme were cute and colorful. For entertainment I hired a petting farm to come out. Yes, I hired a petting farm for my son's first birthday.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, when I was thinking of entertainment for our party never did I imagine clowns like this! What freaks. I found these "clowns" when I was driving into NYC this past weekend and they were driving next to me. "Hip Hop Magicians" is what they are called. Specifically "Uncle Majic" and "Shock-Kim" the clown. What kind of crazy names are those? I don't want any kind of entertainer for my child who has the word Shock in the name! They are more like the Insane Clown Posse. And they claim to be Seen on TV...what TV show is this? Or do they have an infomercial? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.hiphopmagicians.com/"&gt;http://www.hiphopmagicians.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With a name like Hip Hop magicians it makes me think that they can do a little hocus pocus and make my car or jewelry disappear. I bet they show up to your house like an hour late smelling like they smokey smoked up before they got there. Hmm maybe that would make them pretty darn funny if they were high. Call me judgmental, but would you hire these two? I don't know if it was Uncle Magic or Shock Kim driving the car but they were pissed that I took this picture. Pissed off hip hop clowns...not something you see every day!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&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/887855841901652288-3499428707304808423?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/3499428707304808423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=3499428707304808423&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3499428707304808423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3499428707304808423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/10/who-would-hire-these-two.html' title='Who would hire these two?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOzmJgfQHxI/AAAAAAAAADE/P4WIyaRaM18/s72-c/Clown2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-7006084161914634021</id><published>2008-09-28T14:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-28T19:42:01.177-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What famous people would you be friends with?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOA9ezUkfII/AAAAAAAAACU/A5J6moDfkJw/s1600-h/Julia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251264764895853698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOA9ezUkfII/AAAAAAAAACU/A5J6moDfkJw/s320/Julia.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Imagine you have a sprawling home in Beverly Hills. With like 10 bedrooms and a maid. Who would you hang out with? While I had a migraine today I laid there in bed and thought about this. Hmmm... &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think I would be friends with Julia Roberts. She seems down to earth and has a good head on her shoulders. We'd lounge around and watch movies and stuff at home. We'd watch TLC in our sweat pants and comment on the home renovations. Our kids (with uncommon names) could play together at the park. She'd be the friend I'd call when I just needed to talk. We could be seen at Barnes n ' Nobles reading books and drinking lattes and talking about how our husbands drive us crazy. And I’d ask her “What were you thinking Juls (that's what I call her) with the whole Lyle Lovette thing?” I can ask her things like that, we’re friends. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOA--tAbYJI/AAAAAAAAACs/ZvTBi3LDqNk/s1600-h/Chelsea.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5251266412468199570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOA--tAbYJI/AAAAAAAAACs/ZvTBi3LDqNk/s320/Chelsea.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Jenny McCarthy would be my fun friend. We would crack jokes and make fun of people till our stomachs hurt. I'd join in her autism cause and she'd join in my cause to fight prematurity. We would do silly things in public (wearing big sunglasses and wigs so nobody would recognize us) like jumping in public water fountains and people would wonder who those wackos were.  My husband and I would double date for Sushi with Jenny and Jim of course.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One of my BFF's would be Chelsea Handler. She is hilarious! And her little buddy Chewie could hang with us too. Where did she find that guy? Such a strange combo. We could go out on Saturday nights in L.A to all the hot spots and make jokes about the famous people who think they are too cool. One of us would undoubtedly break one of our heels off of our shoe and have to hobble home. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd love to hang with Sheryl Crow. She'd be my health nut friend and I think she'd be really good for me. We could go to the health food store and by organic fruit and soy beans and she'd show me how to eat wheat grass smoothies. We'd talk about Lance and how he broke her heart. And I'd tell her when God closes one door he opens another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and Drew Barrymore and Cameron Diaz. The three of us would eat ice cream and flip through celebrity mags just for fun. We'd go shopping together and talk about sex. Drew likes to get pedi’s while Cameron prefers a mani. We’d complain how annoying the paparazzi are and Cameron would give them the middle finger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And a guy friend, who would be my guy friend? Every girl should have one good guy friend. How about Clinton from the show What Not to Wear? He is brutally honest and incredibly sarcastic. I love him. He would tell me about all the latest fashion trends but forgive me for not wearing skinny jeans. My other guy friend would be Matthew Machoney. We’d have this crazy attraction for one another but we’d know in the back of our minds that a relationship just wouldn’t work. And I’d joke around all the time about how he needs to take a shower and marry the momma of his baby.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You have to pick your friends wisely. There are so many celebs that just seem weird like Katie/Tom, Britney and Paris. I just don't have time to listen to all of their drama. Does Katie even have friends?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&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/887855841901652288-7006084161914634021?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/7006084161914634021/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=7006084161914634021&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/7006084161914634021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/7006084161914634021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/09/what-famous-people-would-you-be-friends.html' title='What famous people would you be friends with?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SOA9ezUkfII/AAAAAAAAACU/A5J6moDfkJw/s72-c/Julia.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-4236011717596676438</id><published>2008-09-25T17:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T17:31:15.495-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why does Sara Snow bug me?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SNwqDUE8iMI/AAAAAAAAACE/8USHlrfzRyw/s1600-h/SaraSnow_tomato_sm90.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250117502024583362" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SNwqDUE8iMI/AAAAAAAAACE/8USHlrfzRyw/s320/SaraSnow_tomato_sm90.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Do you know who Sara Snow is? She is the guru on going green. She has her own show on T.V. called "Get Fresh with Sara Snow". It is about eating organics, embracing local businesses, composting, recycling, natural cleaning and more. It all sounds good right? Yeah, yeah, yeah I guess whatever. I think she bugs me cause she seems so darn perfect. &lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She is all into recycling everything. On last night's show she found a place in NYC that recycles yogurt cups (and only yogurt cups). They send them to a company that makes razors out of them. As if that wasn't enough if you send back your used razor to the company hey make park benches out of it. She also found a company that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;recycles&lt;/span&gt; used glass bottles and turns them into counter tops. And then a company who &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;recycles&lt;/span&gt; clothing. Did you know polyester is made out of  petroleum? But seriously, who has time to go to all these &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;different&lt;/span&gt; places to recycle all this stuff. I have a hard enough time with just one or two &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;recycling&lt;/span&gt; bags that I leave out at the end of my driveway. I bet this woman &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;recycles&lt;/span&gt; her dental floss.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There was a segment about eating from local farms. You should only eat what was made in a 100 miles radius from your home. Great concept but with urban sprawl I have no idea where a local farm is in the area. Seriously, I have never seen one. Cows sure but a farm that produces fruit and veggies? There is a guy who sells fruit and stuff from his van on the side of the road but I just don't trust it. Call me paranoid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She is a pretty, young 30 something, so why the annoyance with her? I don't really know. Watch her show, tell me what you think. Do you see a little Martha Stewart attitude going on? I do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&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/887855841901652288-4236011717596676438?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/4236011717596676438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=4236011717596676438&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4236011717596676438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4236011717596676438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/09/why-does-sara-snow-bug-me.html' title='Why does Sara Snow bug me?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SNwqDUE8iMI/AAAAAAAAACE/8USHlrfzRyw/s72-c/SaraSnow_tomato_sm90.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-3011435212487581364</id><published>2008-09-22T18:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T17:09:48.176-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What will you do when you are old?</title><content type='html'>I was walking back to my car from the grocery store when this older/old lady in the parking lot said, "I wish I had your energy!" To which I kinda laughed because I just took a nap before I left the house while superman was sleeping. Then it got me thinking...what does she do all day that takes away her energy? When does you energy leave you? Is it just after menopause? Does it walk out the door with your estrogen? And at what age are you officially old? Senior citizens at the official 65 seem so young to me. Or is it the older I get the younger old people look since I am getting closer to their age and God for bid I call myself old! By the way I have been feeling old since I turned 28.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do old people do with their days? I know most of them get up really early in the morning like 5 am or something crazy like that. Maybe they don't have any energy by the afternoon cause they have been awake for 7 hours and it's time for a nap! I can relate to that! So old folks sleep in and you will have more energy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think old people like to watch the birds and feed them if given the chance. You know you are old if you watch the birds outside your window and you have names for them. (Substitute squirrels for birds if need be).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They collect &lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;chackiis&lt;/span&gt;. In every old person's house there are little animal/fairy/magnets/dolls just collecting dust. How could they not collect junk? I mean junk just accumulates year after year when you have "been there done that." Which brings me to my next thing they do...clean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Old people like to hang out in groups at Dunkin' Donuts. I see a group of old dudes there every morning. For the spicy lady within, the Red Hot Mama's group is always an option. I see them eating out with there hats on. Looks like something I might be interested in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know they go to lots of doctor's appointments. I wonder if they really are that sick or are they just looking to talk to another human being? I hear old peeps are lonely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random things they do:&lt;br /&gt;They read the newspaper.&lt;br /&gt;Count loose change and pay for things with checks. So annoying!&lt;br /&gt;Put hard candies in dishes on their coffee tables.&lt;br /&gt;Drape fabric or plastic over their furniture.&lt;br /&gt;Get their hair done at the Salon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there are the really wild and crazy old people. For fun they play bingo or bridge. Take up a hobby like photography or yoga. They do silly crafts like knitting tissue box jackets. My favorite old dudes are the baggers at my grocery store. They are so darn happy all the time and excited...about what I don't know. I think they are just thrilled to be alive. They ask me if I want help out to my car with my bags and if I say yes they are just overjoyed!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there are the crabby old ones who do nothing all day but butt into other people's business. Again, so annoying!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this brings me to my original question...what will you do when you are old? Broke or rich we need to do something to fill our days. The possibilities are endless...unless you have serious arthritis, then are you are screwed!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-3011435212487581364?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/3011435212487581364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=3011435212487581364&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3011435212487581364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3011435212487581364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/09/what-will-you-do-when-you-are-old.html' title='What will you do when you are old?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-2281825704899046902</id><published>2008-09-17T14:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T18:53:22.555-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who are your neighbors?</title><content type='html'>Really, do you know who they are?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Growing up in NJ we lived in the same house for like 25 years. I kinda knew who my next door neighbors were but the people next to them...clueless. No, seriously I have no idea who lives on our block. No hellos or waves. Murderers? Could be. Perverts? Possibly? Nice people? Dunno.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have lived here in FL for about three years. We have 80 homes in our development. We are all basically middle class families or people that resemble a family. I don't know how it happened but somehow in our three years here we have really gotten to know our neighbors. I can tell you some kind of dirt on just about every house here. There are some real freaks here but I think every neighborhood has common freaks if you just get to know them. Let's see, in your neighborhood I bet you have:&lt;br /&gt;1. The people who don't take care of their yard. The grass grows very high, the bushes need cutting and you can't tell the difference between weeds and plants. The lower the property values in every one's house. The house on our block like this is owned by THE &lt;span style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffff00"&gt;biggest dumbass&lt;/span&gt; on the planet.  I have called animal control on him about 13 times (no lie) for not taking care of his dogs. No shock that the person who doesn't take care of their lawn also doesn't take care of their pets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. The house with the scary dogs. A house down the street has two dogs, one is a Lassie dog and the other is some large white mutt that foams at the mouth. Every time we walk past this house these two Cujos will bark, snap and lung at us from behind their glass front door. When the owners take them for walks the dogs pull the owners quickly along the sidewalk yanking out their arms. I fear the day those two dogs escape from their house and eat us for dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. The family with some kind of steamy affair going on. There are two homes like this actually. The first one is across the street. An Asian woman and white guy live there. I think she may have been a mail order bride. They never talk to anyone, not a word. Except the one time the guy came over to ask if he could borrow our shovel to kill a snake in his driveway. He returned it with blood on it. Nice.&lt;br /&gt;One day we looked out our window and see Asian lady leaving in her car. Apparently they were getting a divorce. The VERY NEXT DAY a new lady moved in! Jeez! He wasted no time huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other affair that is going on we just can't quite figure out. Lady has two sons. She is white, kids look Hispanic. We see two trucks come and go from driveway with two different men driving them. Not sure which truck belongs to the dad. Now mommy just had another baby. We think it was with Indian guy who drives truck A. We are dying to see the color of baby to help decide baby daddy and owner of truck A or B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The house with strange things going on. We had a guy that was arrested for making bombs in his house. We always knew something strange was going on there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. The house with a gazillion holiday decorations out. Someone really needs to tell them that less is more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. A neighborhood drunk. Ours just moved to Alaska but left his family behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. A family with really annoying kids.  Either they are noisy or just unruly teenagers who throw eggs at houses the night before Halloween.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. A neighborhood pervert. Whether it be an actual pedophile, peeping Tom or someone who just has shifty eyes. Every neighborhood has at least one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. A phantom pooper. We can't identify the owner of the dog but this dog has been crapping around the neighborhood for months. So irresponsible!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Dale Earnhardt. We have one maniac that races around our block in his BMW. I think he is the one that hit the possum in front of my house! A-hole.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. An old person/couple. When they are out gardening we say hi but the old lady is half deaf so she can't hear us. We yell even louder and this startles her making us feel like asses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm pretty sure most people can relate to my neighborhood. We are just your average run of the mill weirdos. I'd love to hear about your neighbors, I think I may write a book about weird neighbors some day. I wonder how my neighbors label me? What kind of neighbor am I?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-2281825704899046902?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/2281825704899046902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=2281825704899046902&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2281825704899046902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2281825704899046902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/09/who-are-your-neighbors.html' title='Who are your neighbors?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-2712855880147226873</id><published>2008-09-10T20:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-11T10:08:32.057-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who else was raped by their stylist?</title><content type='html'>John Edwards for one. &lt;a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/07/04/AR2007070401258.html"&gt;http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/07/04/AR2007070401258.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, it's kinda a love affair. No, make that a love/hate relationship. Me and the scissors. Me and the bottle of bleach and hair dye. Me and my stylist...my hair lady. I love the way I look after a great cut and style but hate the price I have to pay for it. And I'm not just talking about the way I'm raped in the pocket book. I pay with my integrity and common sense.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It started long ago when I got a perm when I was like 10. Oh the curls, the joyful spiral curls! I felt like a new girl prancing around school with my new do. But then it grew out and I needed another perm, and another, and another. It got expensive. I tried the home kit a few years later. My brown hair turned orange and became dry and frizzy. Time to go back to the salon. Just one more perm I thought, I'll save up for it. And I did. Thank God the perm went out with the eighties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then I found out about highlights and how I could reinvent my identity. I could capture the feeling of sun kissed hair all year. Then I went through the red phase. Suddenly I was mysterious. I couldn't possibly let my red fade. I wanted more. I wanted long layers. I wanted bangs that needed an "every two week trim." Who can afford that at $20 a snip? So I went shaggy and let *Karen give me a razor cut. How could I let someone with a razor blade come near my head? What the hell was I thinking?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things have gotten out of hand. I have hit my low. My bottom. My bottom is exactly $246 plus $50 for a tip. (There were two people. Why one person cutting one head of hair needs an assistant I don't know) The crime occurred yesterday between the hours of 1:30pm and 4:30pm. I came in for highlights thinking it would be a wham bame hour and a half job that would only set me back $150 at max. But throughout the course of 4 hours I was swindled into a cut, color, highlights, toner, glaze and more color. I say swindled because no one said, "We'd like to rape you financially are you OK with that?" They just went ahead and did it. Yes, OK I knew about the cut. But I didn't know they raised their prices for a cut to $56! It's just freakin' hair people! That is more than my phone bill each month! I got up to the counter to pay for my crime and *Tiffany said "That will be two hundred and forty-six dollars, would you like to put the tip on your card as well?" Huh? Wha? How much? I was stunned. Flabbergasted. And like a jackass I shelled out the coin....plus tip...for...both people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked out of there feeling like a moron with my tail between my legs. I was just had. Why didn't I say something? Why didn't I speak up? Because I didn't want to piss off my hairstylist for fear that next time she will really fuck up my hair. She is one powerful woman. Sure I could go see someone else next time but then we'd have to start all over again getting to know one another like a first date and you know how awkward those are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hairstylists will never go out of business because there is a serious addiction in this county to their drug. I can't live a life of mousy brown, split ends and grey temples. It doesn't matter how much they charge us we will pay their fee, take our drug and keep our mouths shut! They are no better than drug dealers. TWO HUNDRED AND FORTY SIX DOLLARS (plus tip). Do you know what that buys you? A plane ticket! An Ipod! This is insane and I say to you we must stop the insanity! Women of the United States get a hold of yourselves! We have lost our minds. We look damn good with our inverted bobs and chunky highlights but crazy none the less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Names have been changed to protect the guilty rapists involved&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Avoid these people:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.forbes.com/2006/06/13/expensive-hair-salons_cx_sy_0614featb_ls.html?partner=email"&gt;http://www.forbes.com/2006/06/13/expensive-hair-salons_cx_sy_0614featb_ls.html?partner=email&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-2712855880147226873?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/2712855880147226873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=2712855880147226873&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2712855880147226873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2712855880147226873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/09/how-did-this-craziness-get-started.html' title='Who else was raped by their stylist?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-6275249983506505775</id><published>2008-09-07T10:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T18:52:35.191-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What grosses me out?</title><content type='html'>This is a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;compilation&lt;/span&gt; that has taken me about 24 hours to come up with. It is not your average grossness like a dirty diaper. It is really &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sceevy&lt;/span&gt; things that make my toes curl with horror.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spit that collects in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;corners&lt;/span&gt; of people's mouths and then turns &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;whitish&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;The junk and food particles that are left over in your sink after the dirty dishes sit there.&lt;br /&gt;Leftover toothpaste that collects just below the bristles on your toothbrush.&lt;br /&gt;Feet. Anything to do with them including but not limited to toe jam, cheese, dead skin around the nail, bunions, corns and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;callouses&lt;/span&gt;. I cannot discuss this any further. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.&lt;br /&gt;The smell of hot garbage. Especially if it is in a parking garage.&lt;br /&gt;The area just outside of the back of a restaurant. Where the cooks have smoke breaks. It smells like old burnt food and the huge dumpster of garbage is usually there. A few stray cats or rats linger there looking for scraps of food.&lt;br /&gt;Lots of old white men in suits gathered together. You know at least one of them molested a child, several of them cheated on their wives and most of them cheated on their taxes.&lt;br /&gt;The ring around a bathtub. What is that? Am I that dirty?&lt;br /&gt;Hairs left in the bathtub after a woman shaves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Gardening&lt;/span&gt;. Specifically digging in dirt. Not so much putting a plant into the dirt but making a hole and seeing worms slither out of the dirt into the hole I just made.&lt;br /&gt;While we are on the topic, b&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;eatles&lt;/span&gt;. Not the band &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;although&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; not too fond of them either. I mean the bugs. With their hard shells and wings. Ugh!&lt;br /&gt;And Love Bugs. Native to Florida, the crunchy bugs fly around while they are connected to one another having sex until they die. They get caught in my hair and stick to the front of my car. I did not make this one up.&lt;br /&gt;Pink Gum stuck to hot pavement.&lt;br /&gt;The smell of old apple juice left in a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;thermos&lt;/span&gt; in a lunch box. This really made me sick when I was a teacher.&lt;br /&gt;The diaper pail in my son's room. It is the worst smell known to man. It burns the inside of my nose hairs when I have to change the pail.&lt;br /&gt;The crumbs that fall off my kitchen &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;counter top&lt;/span&gt; and into my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;utensil&lt;/span&gt; drawer. They actually take up residence inside each plastic slot that holds my knives, forks and spoons.&lt;br /&gt;The plastic, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;latexy&lt;/span&gt; smell of a condom. A condom should be disposed of properly and immediately after use before snuggle time sets in.&lt;br /&gt;Long hairs that fall into my butt crack throughout the day. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Hmm&lt;/span&gt;? What's this doing here?&lt;br /&gt;Door handles. They are dirty and you should never, EVER touch them with the bare hand.&lt;br /&gt;Dirty tissues left in coat pockets from the winter before.&lt;br /&gt;The floor of a movie theater. You know dozens of sodas were spilled there. Candy and chocolate have melted on to those floors and I'm pretty sure no one ever washes it. Is is a hard floor or carpet? I don't know but my feet always stick to it. Nasty.&lt;br /&gt;Used band-aids left in the shower.&lt;br /&gt;When you go to get your hair colored and they put this goo around your face so the color doesn't get on your skin...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;eww&lt;/span&gt; the feeling of it is gross. It's cold and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;goopy&lt;/span&gt; and I just don't like it.&lt;br /&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;fluoride&lt;/span&gt; treatment at the dentist. The taste of it is nasty flavor mixed with cherry flavor. And the consistency of it makes my skin crawl. I hate having to sit there for 10 minutes with it around my teeth and gums.&lt;br /&gt;Stuff on window sills. Like dead bugs, dust and the likes there of. If I go to your house and can write my name in the filth on your sill I'm leaving.&lt;br /&gt;The junk that comes out of your earlobe holes when you've had a pair of earrings in too long. You know what I'm talking about, it's all crusty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the top two things that gross me out beyond belief:&lt;br /&gt;1. The dirt and debris that collects from the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;vacuum&lt;/span&gt;. We had to return our new &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;bagless&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;vacuum&lt;/span&gt; because I refused to clean out the gunk. I can't even look at it. Seriously. The pet hair, dust bunnies, random bugs, food particles etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. The words moist and pus gross me out completely.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-6275249983506505775?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/6275249983506505775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=6275249983506505775&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6275249983506505775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6275249983506505775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/09/what-grosses-me-out.html' title='What grosses me out?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-6779083389106616685</id><published>2008-09-03T14:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T14:22:02.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why do babyish words end in "Y" or IE"?</title><content type='html'>You know what I mean, "ouch-y" or "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pac&lt;/span&gt;-i". Or blank-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ie&lt;/span&gt;. Where did this come from? It's not like my kid is not going to like something just because the word I'&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;m&lt;/span&gt; using ends in a hard sounding &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;consonant&lt;/span&gt;. Honey do you want your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;blankie&lt;/span&gt;? Yes please. Honey do you want your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;blankET&lt;/span&gt;? &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;AHHH&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;noooooo&lt;/span&gt;! Not the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;blankET&lt;/span&gt;!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does an IE or Y at the end of the word make the item all that more appealing? Na. So why do we do it? I'll admit I'm the first one to throw around an Icky or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;shoeys&lt;/span&gt;. And heck I think I've even said "did you get a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;booboo&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;ie&lt;/span&gt;?" &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Booboo&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;ie&lt;/span&gt;, what the hell is that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are many appropriate times to add the Y. Like mommy and daddy. Or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;poopy&lt;/span&gt;. Those are three staples that must not change and sound perfectly fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But for the other instances do we realize how stupid we sound talking to our kids? Do we care?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-6779083389106616685?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/6779083389106616685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=6779083389106616685&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6779083389106616685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6779083389106616685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/09/why-do-babyish-words-end-in-y-or-ie.html' title='Why do babyish words end in &quot;Y&quot; or IE&quot;?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-4730024982870097161</id><published>2008-08-26T14:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-26T15:12:46.920-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What the hell?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SLR9AXtO7dI/AAAAAAAAAAs/z6kTUpbyI_4/s1600-h/IMG00048.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5238949711855939026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SLR9AXtO7dI/AAAAAAAAAAs/z6kTUpbyI_4/s320/IMG00048.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Possum&lt;/span&gt; here, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt; there, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt; everywhere! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I believe in fate, destiny. Everything happens for a reason. God, a higher power and what not. But this is just strange.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;About a month ago I was leaving my house and noticed a neighbor in the street just outside of my house. She had a box and was walking over to a heap of dark fur. Low and behold there was an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;opposum&lt;/span&gt; on the road. I asked her what she was doing and she pointed at it and said "babies!" I got closer and sure enough there were little pink babies &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;squirming&lt;/span&gt; around in the fur. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Aww&lt;/span&gt;, babies. I know &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt; (round her in the south we take off the "O" in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Opposum&lt;/span&gt;) are quite ugly but all babies are cute. She picked up the dead critter and put it into a box and took it to a vets office. But I was so puzzled. How could momma &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt; be dead and the babies were still alive? And there was no blood? Did she give birth? Was she hit by a car and only a small hole was made in her belly?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So for the next week I told several people about this and most of them were horrified at the thought of pink babies crawling around on their mother. I googled &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Opossum&lt;/span&gt;. There it was, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt; are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;marsupials&lt;/span&gt;. They carry their babies in a pouch. That explains it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it didn't answer the question of what happened to the babies. Did they survive? Did someone take them in and bottle feed them. Were they going to be set free back into the wild? Part of me didn't want to know the answer. And a part of me was mad at the person who hit and killed the mom. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Damn&lt;/span&gt; that urban sprawl! Damn those developers who built this neighborhood on top of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;possums&lt;/span&gt; land.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Two days later I was driving home with some friends in the car late at night down a dark road. We were all laughing and talking when Diddums (not his real name) screamed "Watch out!!!" I slammed on my breaks and came to a complete stop. I almost had a heart attack. There before me was another &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt;! It was just sitting in the middle of the road with its beady little eyes staring at my headlights. And it wouldn't move! "All right little guy get the hell &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;outta&lt;/span&gt; my way!" Nope. So I drove around it. I thought only bunnies froze in the face of fear? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Third time is a charm.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yesterday I notice Gus (our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;ferocious&lt;/span&gt; beast of a dog) didn't want to go outside. He would get to the doorway and stop. Turn around and come back in only to want to go outside two minutes later. After 15 minutes of this I decided maybe my silly dog had a reason for not wanting to go outside and I should just trust his instincts. I looked around the backyard. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;Hmm&lt;/span&gt;? &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Nothin&lt;/span&gt;'. Time to call for backup. Husband. T walks outside and directly next to the back door leaning up against the house is the cover to our hot tub. He pulls it back quickly and screams! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;Ahhhhh&lt;/span&gt;! I hear this hissing sound. He yells "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;POSSUM&lt;/span&gt;!!!" Wouldn't you know it another freaking &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;How can one person have three encounters with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt; in one month? I mean how many have you had in your whole life? None right? This &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt; wouldn't leave our house. It just hung out next to the door for hours. I know we are cool and all but go away, my dog needs to use our backyard as a bathroom! How do they go from being cute pink babies to ugly mean bitches? Although this particular &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt; was a dude, I saw its jewels. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26"&gt;Possum&lt;/span&gt; are the Tom Petty of animals. If he were an actor he'd be Christopher &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27"&gt;Walkin&lt;/span&gt;. Scary! Look at those teeth? Ugh, nasty.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what does Karma have to do with my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28"&gt;possum&lt;/span&gt; encounter? What is my higher power trying to tell me? I'm afraid if I don't have answers soon another one will bless me with its &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29"&gt;presence&lt;/span&gt; and this time I'm calling for better backup that is armed and dangerous!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-4730024982870097161?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/4730024982870097161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=4730024982870097161&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4730024982870097161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4730024982870097161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-hell.html' title='What the hell?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SLR9AXtO7dI/AAAAAAAAAAs/z6kTUpbyI_4/s72-c/IMG00048.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-3960537988871350053</id><published>2008-08-20T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T10:27:34.627-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where is the food?</title><content type='html'>Why is it that the more you pay for food the less food you get?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few years ago hubby and I (boyfriend at the time) decided to bail out on our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;families&lt;/span&gt; and go on a trip for Thanksgiving. We wanted to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;splurge&lt;/span&gt; on turkey day dinner since we wouldn't be with out families. So we made reservations at this expensive restaurant that everyone raved about. I don't know about you but I pig out on Thanksgiving. I mean two servings of mashed taters...yes please! Triple the stuffing, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;lotsa&lt;/span&gt; gravy and a huge piece of apple pie.  Well our dinner was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;served&lt;/span&gt; as follows: a sliver of turkey with one cranberry on the side, spoonful of mashed potatoes, teaspoon of stuffing, three &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;asparagus&lt;/span&gt; sticks and a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;fru&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;fru&lt;/span&gt; garnish. That's it! Don't disrespect me with your garnish! Yeah it was tasty but it just tempted my tummy to want more, a mere &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;appetizer&lt;/span&gt; if you will.  The only thing hefty about that meal was the bill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever left MacDonald's hungry or broke. No. Impossible. You only need to spend $5 bucks and you get a huge meal complete with side items and what not. And you get cholesterol and heart trouble at no extra cost. Sweet!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I took the hubby out for a birthday dinner. He wanted to go to some fancy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;shmancy&lt;/span&gt; steakhouse. I got the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Mahi&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Mahi&lt;/span&gt;. There were two little fins on my plate surrounded by tomatoes and onions. I'm like is this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Nemo&lt;/span&gt;? &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;WTF&lt;/span&gt;? Where is my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;starch&lt;/span&gt;? Where are the veggies? I was starving when I came in and I was starving when I left. Not to mention broke! This should be illegal. There should be a law that says the more money that you spend the more food that you get. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;I was&lt;/span&gt; ripped off, hoodwinked, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;bamboozled&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-3960537988871350053?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/3960537988871350053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=3960537988871350053&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3960537988871350053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3960537988871350053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/08/where-is-food.html' title='Where is the food?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-92004538728413511</id><published>2008-08-18T19:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-18T19:42:53.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's so funny?</title><content type='html'>(This post is in honor of my friend Melanie)&lt;br /&gt;I admit, I have a cruel streak in me. I get a chuckle at other's people's expense. I bet you do too. So, wanna know what's funny?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you see someone leaving a store walking through a parking lot and they go up to the wrong car and think it's theirs. And they click the remote unlock button as they are walking up to the car and nothing happens. But the lights on THEIR car a few isles away are flashing. And they are all confused and start trying to open the door handle. "Huh, why won't my car door open?" But DUH its not their car!!!!! They look inside the window. "Huh where is my stuff and why is the interior of my car brown not blue?" They slowly back away from the car when they realize it's not theirs. And then they look around to see if anyone saw them winning the award for dumbass of the year. At this point I'm about rolling on the pavement in hysterics. AHHHHHH!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;I have a family member who did this with me once and we laughed about it for hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What else?&lt;br /&gt;Today I went to put gas in my car. Gas prices are so not funny. But this is. This lady pulls her car up to a pump with a bright red bag over the gas handle. She gets out of her car. Hello, bag on handle. Puts her credit card into the pump. Bag still there. Scratches her head why it won' take her card. Pushes the attendant call button and asks what the problem is. When the guys says, "The pump is broken!" She looks all annoyed. Then looks around to see if anyone saw her win runner up for dumbass of the year. I saw it and yes I laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing.&lt;br /&gt;When someone trips. Not the kind of trip and fall that results in injury. (I've certainly been there and done that!) But the kind where they just kind of skip over their feet. It's only funny when it's someone who thinks they are so cool. Like a person in a business suit or a woman who is totally hot. It's the best when this kind of trip reminds them that they are not as cool as they think they are...they are just a regular dumbass like the rest of us. I love when they try and pretend like it didn't happen and keep on walking. But oh no...I saw it...I know it happened and I'm calling you out on it! I admire people with two left feet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One more thing.&lt;br /&gt;Farting. Have you ever been in a meeting or a family function and someone farts? But nobody says anything about it? But you know everybody heard it. And you are thinking...is the fartee going to own up to it? Say excuse me? How can they just carry on business as usual when they just floated an air biscuit with noise? It's like a pink elephant in the room. &lt;br /&gt;This is why I love kids. There is no way a 4 year old would fart and not own up to it. In fact, they insist upon stopping everything to claim it. So adults, be proud, own your farts so I can laugh my ass off when you do it and not have to stiffle my smirks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-92004538728413511?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/92004538728413511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=92004538728413511&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/92004538728413511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/92004538728413511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/08/whats-so-funny.html' title='What&apos;s so funny?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-2817736953310782214</id><published>2008-08-14T18:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-08-14T18:44:05.889-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What kind of crazy person flys with a toddler?</title><content type='html'>A crazy person that looks like me! And my husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, superman is 18 months old and into and on top of everything. He is just curious about the world, people, cabinets and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;refrigerator&lt;/span&gt;. We decided to take him to NJ for a family vacation. Now so called friends of mine said he would sleep during the flight. So called friends of mine who shall remain nameless said to give him his bottle during take off and landing to avoid his ears from getting blocked.  But no, my child wanted no part of his milk. He did eat those little stars (God bless them) but I think someone laced them with uppers because he did not sleep AT ALL. What did he do during the long journey for two hours and 22 minutes? Poked the people's heads in front of us. He loves to go fishing for hair accessories. Turned around and made faces at the people behind us. It was cute the first six times he did it. Threw his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sippy&lt;/span&gt; cup at the people behind us. Licked the window, arm rest and tray table. I am a total &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;germaphobe&lt;/span&gt; so this horrified me! He wined, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;whimpered&lt;/span&gt;, made noise but surprisingly did not cry. He also had a big &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;poopy&lt;/span&gt; diaper blowout. Thank God someone at Spirit Airlines put in a changing table in the bathroom. That was the highlight of out trip. He played with the seat belt. He tried to scale the seats and make a run for the isle. We played peek-a-boo 6 million times. Read three books over and over. And prayed to God several times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The toys that I brought to entertain him were a complete joke. Yes, I went and bought him new toys to play with. At one point he looked at his play keys and then up at me as if to say "Are you kidding me? How boring." The DVD player with three different movies held his attention for about 3.5 seconds. I tried to pass the time by feeding him crackers, water, juice, fruit...anything that was edible and would keep him still and quiet. He played with the window shade...up...down...up...down. Repeat over and over for 8.9 seconds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The flight was incredibly long, painfully long. We were so worried about superman bothering other passengers that when we got off the plane my husband said he thought he might throw up from him nerves being shot. If you see an adult with a toddler flying on a plane, have mercy. Have mercy on their poor souls. Because those are crazy people who will only make this mistake once.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-2817736953310782214?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/2817736953310782214/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=2817736953310782214&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2817736953310782214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2817736953310782214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/08/what-kind-of-crazy-person-flys-with.html' title='What kind of crazy person flys with a toddler?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-4517606648275621114</id><published>2008-07-21T10:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-21T10:29:22.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Whose time am I on?</title><content type='html'>Certainly not mine! I have learned a very valuable lesson from my superman. Here's how:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I was pregnant with him he was measuring very large for his age. We were told I may have to have a c-section because he might get too big. Then he was born 10 weeks too early and surprised us all! Good thing he was big for his age. As he spent 8 weeks and one day in the hospital he progressed at his own pace learning to maintain his body temperature, eating from a bottle, recovering from heart surgery and slowly but surely getting through apnea and bradycardia episodes. He couldn't leave the hospital until he recovered from apnea (when he would stop breathing) and brady spells (his heart would stop beating) on his own. This took forever! At one point he was the biggest baby in the NICU (neonatal intensive care unit). We used to joke around that the school bus was just going to pick him up at the hospital to take him to kindergarten because he was there so long. I remember saying to my husband that I was sooo sick of going to the hospital, I just wanted him home already. Eventually he got the hang of it and he came home. Yay!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward to today. He is 17 months old and developmentally superman still takes his sweet old time. He is somewhere between his adjusted age, 14 1/2 months old (when he was supposed to be born) and his real age. He crawled just after his first birthday and took a few steps three weeks ago. But he decided that walking was just not his thing so he stopped that and went back to crawling. I occasionally get these weird looks when we are out in public from people because my son is so large and not walking yet. "C'mon hurry up baby! Walk it out will ya?" I secretly think this to myself all the time. But he also started to try and eat with a spoon and this typically doesn't happen until 18 months so he is ahead on that. Huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week superman came down with some nasty cold, poopy viral infection. yuck! He can't sleep well and he can't drink anything because he can't breath. My husband calls him Cybil (from the lady with the multiple personalites) because sometimes he acts just fine and a second later he is crying...sometimes a combination of both. What is that about? Two days this week it rained the ENTIRE day so I was stuck in the house with a sick baby. None of us had any sleep either. Not. Fun. I kept asking myself "When will this end?" Two nights ago in the middle of him being Mr. Crankypants he got up in the middle of the floor and started walking! Fell, got up and walked again! Where did this come from? Aren't kids supposed to sleep and nap a lot when they are sick? Not my child, he hits major milestones when he is sick!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a book called "What to Expect...the Toddler Years." I never bought it because what they tell me to expect and when to expect it never happens with my son. He walks (I can now say WALKS!) to the beat of his own drum. He has shown me that I can try and rush him all I want but he goes at his own pace...sometimes slowly and sometimes quickly. He wakes up when he wants, gets sick, hungry, thirsty for juice and I just have to be patient and play by his rules.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you seen the moive Fast Times At Ridgemont High? It’s one of my favorites. Jeff Spicoli (the student) is always bothering Mr. Hann (his teacher) and their class. In one scene Spicoli orders a pizza for himself that arrives in class. Finally Mr. Hann says to Spicoli "I will not have you taking up my time like this!" And Spicoli replies "If you're here AND I'm here isn't it OUR time?" Kinda reminds me of my relationship with my superman.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-4517606648275621114?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/4517606648275621114/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=4517606648275621114&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4517606648275621114'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/4517606648275621114'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/07/whose-time-are-are-on.html' title='Whose time am I on?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-6190469934228020749</id><published>2008-07-14T13:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T13:10:12.286-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Where is the old lady?</title><content type='html'>I'm right here. Or I should say I was the old bag at the club last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend and I decided that we really wanted to go dancing. Just to hear some great music and let loose.  We haven't gone dancing in years and are a little rusty about the whole scene. Now this friend and I have a long running history of dancing the night away. On top of speakers to be exact, without a care in the world. As we discovered some things have changed over the years, some have remained the same. The biggest change is that my friend and I are both stay at home moms. And I think we lost our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;mojo&lt;/span&gt; for coolness, dancing and all things hip. This is so incredibly sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things that have changed:&lt;br /&gt;I had nothing cool to wear. Jeans are still a staple but I have not bought a cute top in two years. Style? I have none. Nursing bra tops, oh yes I have several of those. I had to rig up a bra to fit a spaghetti top shirt. Accessories? My sex pot hoop earrings had some green stuff on them because I haven't worn them in so long. Belt or no belt? Agonizing. Night time make up...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hmmm&lt;/span&gt;? Would more make up make me look older like Mrs. Roper? And I actually had to go out earlier that day and buy a pair of black sandals since my old ones broke.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had no clue where to go dancing. Where was the trendy club in town with great music?  We picked a place that one of us went to like a year and a half ago. We approached the building and suddenly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;couldn&lt;/span&gt;’t figure out what line to get in! We certainly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;were not&lt;/span&gt; VIP unless VIP stands for Very Old People. How could we be so stupid as to not figure out our lane? And then the big question: Would we be carded? We offered up our ID’s and the bouncer actually chuckled. So not funny! I thought he was going to make a joke of there being a senior special on drinks that night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crowd was a mix of trailer park trash meets early 20 somethings who shop at Forever 21. The music was pretty good and I think the DJ knew old peeps where in the house when he mixed in “Let’s Hear it for the Boy” from 1985.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are two ways a guy will get a woman to dance. 1. He can casually move in closer to her area on the dance floor until he is dancing against any north, south, east or west end of her body. 2. He can ask her to dance. And this is where the highlight of my night comes in! A black guy asked me to dance! Suddenly it hit me, I knew that at 35 I was still a hot bitch! (Years back this was a regular &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;occurrence&lt;/span&gt; for me. We never could figure it out?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things that have not changed:&lt;br /&gt;There were plenty of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;hoochy&lt;/span&gt; mamas showing off way too much &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;boobage&lt;/span&gt; and upper thigh.  We spotted a few &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;bacheroette&lt;/span&gt; parties and we wanted to run up and tell the bride that after tonight she will no longer be cool in a weird sorta way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next to us on the dance floor was a couple with their tongues down each other throats and grouping one another as if they were in a hotel room by themselves. Another couple was engaging in some strange kind of mating ritual. He was humping her and she was bent over touching the floor. I thought they were playing twister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the end of the night my friend and I were hobbling back to our cars in pain. Our feet were killing us and I thought for a second that my toes had turned into bloody nubs. Damn those new shoes! Just like the old days. Good times. Good times.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-6190469934228020749?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/6190469934228020749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=6190469934228020749&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6190469934228020749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/6190469934228020749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/07/where-is-old-lady.html' title='Where is the old lady?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-2048810843854625776</id><published>2008-07-11T19:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-11T19:46:12.377-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why do so many banks get held up in Tampa?</title><content type='html'>What is with all the hold ups?  Tampa in 2007 had 39 bank robberies!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I used to live in NJ (and that is really hard for me to say in the past tense) I never remember hearing about any banks being robbed. I thought bank robberies were from the days of the wild wild west. It seems so caveman like to go into a bank, hold it up with a gun and steal some money. How do so many people get away with it? Where is the technology to prevent this insanity I ask you? We can send people into space but we can't prevent thugs from holding up a bank?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that I live in Tampa (I'm gasping at the thought) it seems like every day I hear about a bank robbery. And not just in the bad parts of town but literally in my backyard. We have, and I kid you not 7 banks within a quarter mile of my house. Evey strip mall also has one nail salon and Chinese take out. Gotta love urban sprawl. This is supposed to be suburban living at its best. Now I know Tampa is technically part of "the South". And I have come to accept that things are still a little backwards down here. But it would not surprise me in the least if some of these bank robbers are riding off on their horses with a bag full of cash. It happens so often here that I don't even think the cops go after the bad guys anymore. I guess its not worth letting your donuts get stale over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How difficult could it be to rob a bank? How much money do these people actually get? Are we talking hundreds, thousands of dollars? Why does it seem to happen so much more often here rather than up North? Are the criminals up North into more elaborate crimes that pull in bigger numbers? And do people actually have to get down on the ground during a hold up? Or was that just in the movies? Why lay down on the floor anyway?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bank robberies, all the more reason to just go through the drive though. Does anyone still go into the bank? Hello people that is what ATM cards are for! Did I mention how convenient online banking is?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-2048810843854625776?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/2048810843854625776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=2048810843854625776&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2048810843854625776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/2048810843854625776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/07/why-do-so-many-banks-get-held-up-in.html' title='Why do so many banks get held up in Tampa?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-8111186806090113545</id><published>2008-07-10T19:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-11T19:03:48.414-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Men, what are they good for?</title><content type='html'>Men. What are the really good for? I got married for a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;coupla&lt;/span&gt; reasons. I found a great guy is reason #1. I was tired of eating dinner by myself every &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' night. I wanted to take a lover. I hate that phrase. Yes, I have THOSE needs but I also need a man with killer instincts. I guess when I said "I Do" I thought my husband would just do some things instinctively. Like take out the garbage. This was just assumed in our house. We never talked about it but some how the garbage gets taken out on a regular basis. I don't even remember what days are garbage days. That's his business and he is good at it and I do enough nagging around here so if he misses a day I don't even know about it. Another instinct: Tools. I just thought all guys liked tools. Boy does my husband like tools. He could get a power drill for Valentine's Day and think its the best most romantic gift ever. I don't get it but whatever. And I, instinctively know where all lost things of his are; one left shoe, calculator, keys, a cd etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now here is where my husband goes wrong. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; eating in the kitchen yesterday by myself. I hear this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;buzssszzz&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;buzzzzSSSzzz&lt;/span&gt; sound. No, it wasn't his power drill. It was the kind of annoying &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;buzzz&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;buzzssszzzz&lt;/span&gt; sound that can only come from a flying insect. I look over and there is the mother of all flying ants! It was the black queen Elizabeth of bugs. She was buzzing to get out, mad as hell and going through &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;menopause&lt;/span&gt;. So I scream cause it scares the crap out of me "HONEY get in here quick!" And what does he do? He says "what?" from the other end of the house. This is a life or death situation here folks! Suppose she attacks, suppose I'm allergic to her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;venom&lt;/span&gt;? We have no E&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;ppie&lt;/span&gt; pen in the house. Time is of the essence! No time to dwindle and take our sweet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;ol&lt;/span&gt;' time. This is war! No time to mosey on in and call Dick &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Cheany&lt;/span&gt; to come up with some kind of strategic attack. If I said the house was on fire you don't stand around and ask questions, you get your smart little ass outta there in a heartbeat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I wanted him to do...what most normal men do is run in, grab a newspaper, tell woman to stand back, and whack the shit out of the little beast. But no, it takes a little arguing to actually get him into the kitchen. He looks around, inside drawers, in cabinets for something to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;mame&lt;/span&gt; the bug. Finally 37 minutes later he takes a swing. And another, and another. FOUR swings later the thing is squirming around on the floor. It's not even dead yet! Dear God man where are your killer instincts? What happened to my protector? My hero? My Superman?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sheesh,&lt;/span&gt; I think it's time to call the exterminator.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-8111186806090113545?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/8111186806090113545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=8111186806090113545&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/8111186806090113545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/8111186806090113545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/07/men-what-are-they-good-for.html' title='Men, what are they good for?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-1639928150911022251</id><published>2008-07-08T13:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T19:43:18.470-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why are these shoes so popular if they are ugly?</title><content type='html'>I used to have a bumper sticker on my desk in college that read, "What is Right is not Always Popular and what is Popular is not Always Right." It reminds me that sometimes I have to go against the grain. So it is with this motto that I sit here and finally proclaim after so many months that CROCS are freakin' ugly! They are the American equivalent of wooden Dutch clogs. They do not flatter any one's foot, ankle or leg. As all good shoes should flatter one or all. Think of the sexy strappy sandal that laces around your ankle. It slims your ankle and is somewhat provocative. You could be 10lbs over weight, roots need to be highlighted, mascara smeared but heck you've got strappy sandals on! Feeling hot? Yes I am thank you! Just like magic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the Crocs...no sexiness at ALL! I hate to tell you all this but they do nothing for your "look". I mean how many guys would check out a woman at the mall in a pair of rubber gardening shoes? "Hey Bill check out the clunkers on that chick, man she is hot!" So not happening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rubber shoes are funny looking. Are they even made of rubber? I'll Google it. Now I did own a pair of "Jellies" back in... what was it elementary school? But those were cute and very similar to "flats". They had cute patterns on them. Crocs have holes and a dumb strap that people don't even bother to put behind their heel. So kinda like a slinky sling back but not so slinky. A thick rubber band is so wrong!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I understand some people who work in kitchens or the medical field need special shoes so they don't slip. But I think the old white nurse shoes with a wedge heal were better than these. Maybe I can see kids wearing them but the shoes are big and clumsy, not very supportive for running and playing. For Pete's sake (who is Peter anyway?) they were meant for gardening people! They were created to be near dirt and worms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ya know what gets me worst of all? MEN wearing Crocs! Grown Men! At Newark Airport I saw a whole family of Croc wearing idiots. The mom, kids and dad all had Crocs on. The dad was wearing nice dress pants with a pair of beige Crocs. Are you kidding me! I know you are thinking, maybe they weren't from the U.S.? Sometimes foreigners wear funky shoes. But oh yes, they were!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please for the love of God, toss your Crocs out if you have a pair. No, better yet put them outside and use them as a planter to hold flowers. They'd be perfect for that! Remember Crocs love dirt and worms.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-1639928150911022251?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/1639928150911022251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=1639928150911022251&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/1639928150911022251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/1639928150911022251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/07/why-are-these-shoes-so-popular-if-they.html' title='Why are these shoes so popular if they are ugly?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-7477283760435791083</id><published>2008-07-03T17:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-10T19:39:53.106-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Use of Words</title><content type='html'>Who determines what words are "in"?&lt;br /&gt;I feel old because I don't know all of the cool words anymore. It just makes me mad. Back in my day...oh God did I just say Back in my day? That's how you know &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; old too. We said "awesome" "cool" "as if" "the bomb or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;da&lt;/span&gt; bomb" and "don't go there". Then one day that wasn't cool anymore. And you were a loser if you said it (with a big L on your forehead.) That's not cool to say anymore either. But who decided that? I mean is there a coalition of cool wordsmiths that has an annual meeting? "The coalition of cool wordsmiths will now come to order! First up on the agenda the word "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Biotch&lt;/span&gt;". In or out? Ah, let's give it six more months and then it is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;officially&lt;/span&gt; uncool. All those in favor say I."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a few words that are in now and they truly annoy the piss out of me. The first one is: Super. Super is super stupid! I think Marcia used to say this on the Brady Bunch. Now I know fashion comes back around but words? It should have been left in the 70's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I caught on to this one quickly: Fabulous. But can we stop with it already? I've had enough of everything slightly flashy being fabulous. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Fergie&lt;/span&gt; had a song about this but it came out like two years ago. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Kimmora&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;c'mon&lt;/span&gt; find a new term.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going Green. Alright people I know we all want to save the planet but use of this term is getting out of hand. Get off the bandwagon and nobody gets hurt and that means you too Al.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However there is a new term that I am quite fond of: Hot Mess. I'm still not quite sure how to use it. I feel like a teenager with a learner's permit. I think it applies to women but I have seen it used for other persons, places and things. I also love the terms: Random and Interesting. Because of its general use I can apply the word "random" to just about anything that doesn't belong. And "interesting" is a perfectly PC word to use when someone says something that is stupid or nuts but you can't tell them that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Alllrighty&lt;/span&gt; then (Jim Carey), peace out (not in) dudes (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;debatable&lt;/span&gt;).&lt;br /&gt;If you come up with a word that is just a hot mess and you want to add it into the English language: Merriam-Webster lets you recommend a word for inclusion in their open dictionary at &lt;a href="http://www3.merriam-webster.com/opendictionary/"&gt;www3.merriam-webster.com/opendictionary&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-7477283760435791083?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/7477283760435791083/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=7477283760435791083&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/7477283760435791083'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/7477283760435791083'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/07/stupid-use-of-words.html' title='Stupid Use of Words'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-3774393681298308111</id><published>2008-06-30T18:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-30T18:55:20.519-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spam Email-Why Me?</title><content type='html'>Where does all the spam email I get come from?&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm not no computer dummy, I have a certification from Microsoft in website development. And I worked in marketing for years. I know that spam email works like the game telephone. One person/company gets my email address and passes it on ...or is bought by the next person. So i probably was looking at a website like Zappos (for shoes of course) and they gave my address to someone else. I would assume that the someone else would want my address to sell me something similar to shoes. Tell me, how on earth did this cycle get so out of control that I now get spam trying to sell me a colon cleanse?  My colon is no body's business! What were the colon cleaning people thinking, "Oh lets send all the woman between the ages of 28-49 who like to buy shoes online an ad for a colon cleanse. People who like to shop online for shoes have dirty colons."  And bam is that how this works?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also get spam from the following: Wall Street Journal (like I have time to read it cause most stay at home moms do nothing else but read the newspaper at length), Medical Billing Training (thanks, I already have a job! Who told them I might be interested in Billing Training anyway?), Terminex bug people and my favorite The Four Seasons hotel (yeah i can afford that place!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanna know what kind of spam have you gotten lately that makes you go huh? Why me?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-3774393681298308111?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/3774393681298308111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=3774393681298308111&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3774393681298308111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/3774393681298308111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/06/spam-email-why-me.html' title='Spam Email-Why Me?'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-887855841901652288.post-5450706885642238680</id><published>2008-06-29T19:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-03T18:10:57.618-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='First blog'/><title type='text'>First time</title><content type='html'>So many questions, so little time! Why does the platypus look like several animals all in one? Why in the English language do we have one word that can mean different things and can sometimes be spelled differently but sounds the same? So confusing. When will someone do an intervention with Amy Winehouse? I have three words for her: train wreck and birth control. Oops that’s four. Why does chocolate taste so darn good? How did we allow George W to be elected &lt;strong&gt;twice&lt;/strong&gt;? American people I ask you WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? Just for the record there was a slight "problem" with me voting in both those elections. I call it sabotage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The questions I have about people, the world and life in general are endless!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you can find the answers please post a comment! I’m dying to know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/887855841901652288-5450706885642238680?l=4wquestions.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/feeds/5450706885642238680/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=887855841901652288&amp;postID=5450706885642238680&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/5450706885642238680'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/887855841901652288/posts/default/5450706885642238680'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://4wquestions.blogspot.com/2008/06/first-time.html' title='First time'/><author><name>Jennifer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08502453987704946612</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_gbSLxkDlHjU/SPoNAojawGI/AAAAAAAAADQ/N16-MvYztCk/S220/IMG_1455.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
