tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58884298927110225782024-03-19T14:38:09.450-07:00Lovely Little LifeChristie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-57628195129340440622012-10-27T22:05:00.001-07:002012-10-27T22:18:05.918-07:00Out with the old, in with the new.I have a new website! Come check it out and leave a little note :)<br />
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<a href="http://www.christieruth.com/">www.christieruth.com</a><br />
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<br />Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-16013009590447306122012-04-13T20:55:00.000-07:002012-04-13T20:55:03.758-07:00The Good'ol'willIn high school I was the girl who always had to have name brand everything. If it wasn't popular, I didn't wear it. If I thought for one second I'd stand out (in a bad way), I didn't wear it. If it was a hand-me-down, I didn't wear it. And if it was purchased at Walmart, I <i>definitely </i>didn't wear it. Thank heavens I grew up-or at least out of that nasty habit.<br />
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As most girls realize when they age, things that are oh-so-important in high school aren't nearly as significant in the <i>real</i> world. No one really cares if you have the 2 crossing half-circles on the butt of your abercrombie jeans. In order to make up for lost time, I have gone the other extreme, buying much of my clothing from secondhand stores and, heaven forbid, even picking up a piece from Walmart on occasion. I definitely still have my splurges, but the beautiful thing is no one can really tell what I spent bucko bucks on and what I got for pennies. Or maybe they can and I'm just oblivious :) Regardless, life is so much better not fretting about brands and labels, let me tell you.<br />
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Now, it's not easy to be a secondhand shopper, it usually takes more time searching and a <i>lot </i>more creativity. But, if you purchase 3 items for 10 bucks, and you only end up loving one, it's still a steal.<br />
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A couple days ago, after rummaging through some "pre-loved" goodies, I brought home some beautiful new additions to my wardrobe. And then made my roomie take some pictures to prove that you can dress like a fashionista without spending like one.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51McCFnDvbPVp5mhhycJljmF-R6sncmQJKechoQXdLeDunwJYhAngQs4lyUA-6sHSkFvgXg5LA6vKPJhdCq9uZS81WKLs3ENH_oq4qrL360GA4uQ3r-CSeBZfujMZ7j4SnVeMOdh3W2ST/s1600/goodwill+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh51McCFnDvbPVp5mhhycJljmF-R6sncmQJKechoQXdLeDunwJYhAngQs4lyUA-6sHSkFvgXg5LA6vKPJhdCq9uZS81WKLs3ENH_oq4qrL360GA4uQ3r-CSeBZfujMZ7j4SnVeMOdh3W2ST/s320/goodwill+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQB53FPcPlh_m_wqaoZGuCH5Xl1rU9Xjbr56fmlSPK9qt3NwwbrmgZIVHK8jtdogk4V4-pyyZTguPDpqQ61rIqLjinZbKGCvQVqWsOrvVkmaUL9HKdZwLTX920Mw6sw4_TSYtWxX43iVlL/s1600/his+and+hers.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQB53FPcPlh_m_wqaoZGuCH5Xl1rU9Xjbr56fmlSPK9qt3NwwbrmgZIVHK8jtdogk4V4-pyyZTguPDpqQ61rIqLjinZbKGCvQVqWsOrvVkmaUL9HKdZwLTX920Mw6sw4_TSYtWxX43iVlL/s320/his+and+hers.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">His and hers</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYJ1j_6xutEozz8XvFkca3cMjXYdjdZkyAs5qQfSM__MOpIPORattT1vATMBFdGWPZmvc0uPRe3wCqa-doUBe5CcRlHvHW4mm5fHxX0gGGZKOMkQcDhJ8eyrQCmqYTLKAZwhpCfAWblVU5/s1600/goodwill+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYJ1j_6xutEozz8XvFkca3cMjXYdjdZkyAs5qQfSM__MOpIPORattT1vATMBFdGWPZmvc0uPRe3wCqa-doUBe5CcRlHvHW4mm5fHxX0gGGZKOMkQcDhJ8eyrQCmqYTLKAZwhpCfAWblVU5/s320/goodwill+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
Lastly, you'll be tempted to disregard all washing/handling instructions because you're not going to pay 10 bucks to get those 6-dollar wool pants dry cleaned. But don't. Because you may end up with capris. Unless of course you like capris. In which case, go right ahead.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicKe8u1NRc4Db1-ECJBZGeJ8eOgGVVFOJIuJy9q23jEnOiH4mVWeSwseJVfK5XYqfh10wXJSnUsUjoEoQQhFruSqpCEbIB299XyfhHMT7zTWkJNWY-oM1hrnC0Vm-XDV_IcncY6qKQ1W1/s1600/goodwill+1-new.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjicKe8u1NRc4Db1-ECJBZGeJ8eOgGVVFOJIuJy9q23jEnOiH4mVWeSwseJVfK5XYqfh10wXJSnUsUjoEoQQhFruSqpCEbIB299XyfhHMT7zTWkJNWY-oM1hrnC0Vm-XDV_IcncY6qKQ1W1/s320/goodwill+1-new.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Whoops.</div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-21514732381354459662011-10-14T23:18:00.000-07:002011-10-14T23:18:56.517-07:00Extreme PlanetsI woke up this morning with every intention of going bike-boating. For those of you who don't know what bike-boating is, it shouldn't be too hard to figure out...let your imagination run wild and you'll probably be right. Anyway, I went to print off the awesome deal I got from Groupon only to find that I would not be able to use the tickets until tomorrow. Tomorrow?! I have to work tomorrow! After pouting for a sufficient amount of time, I decided to find something else to do, and turned to the world wide web.<br />
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I've always been amazed by astronomy and love visiting planetariums. Now, I had <i>heard</i> that San Antonio College had a great one, and I'd been wanting to check it out for some time. So, I did what anyone does who needs information on something, I googled it. I was brought to a website for San Antonio College Planetarium and located the calendar of events to see that not only was there a show tonight, but it was a Magical World of Wizarding show (for any witch, wizard, or muggle over the age of 6). Perfect. Julie looooooves wizards, and I loooooove stars. I thought it was too good to be true.<br />
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I was right....sorta.<br />
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I quickly purchased the tickets which said "absolutely no late seating", and we were late-by about 10 minutes. <i>And</i> we had no idea where on campus the planetarium was. It was 8:40, and the show was to start at 8:30. So, we ran into the closest building and asked a kind gentlemen to direct us. After he pointed us in the right direction, we ran (sprinted) across campus, dodging trees and jumping off brick walls, until we found it: the dome. To our surprise there was a great big line still out the door! We high-fived each other for making it in time and tried to catch our breath as we waited, sweaty and hot, to see the Harry Potter-inspired star show.<br />
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Upon reaching the door, we looked at the line-up for the evening and noticed that the schedule was totally off. Extreme planets? 9:00? This makes no sense. Once we reached the doors, the man took one look at my tickets and made a <i>lot </i> more sense of the situation. Apaaarantly there is a San Antonio College in California, at which we had tickets to attend a Harry Potter show at 8:30. He kindly informed us that even with the time difference, we would inevitably be late. Ha. Ah well. We were about to turn around, brokenhearted when the gentlemen gave us free passes to watch the show (which started at 9-no wonder we made it on time), "Extreme Planets".<br />
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It was no Harry Potter Star Show, but we were grateful nonetheless. We got to see an awesome display of some of the crazy findings of planets and the search for life in outer space. THEN we got to go out and see Jupiter through their massive telescope. After being sufficiently humbled (I always feel small after attending the planetarium), the emcee handed out some beautiful gold coins in red velvet bags to a few lucky attendees in celebration of the planetarium's 50 year anniversary we just so happened to attend. So, after giving one to a little boy who got 100% on his science test during the week, he gave two honorary coins to the two crazies who had tickets to see the show in California, and would not be able to make it.<br />
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Awesome.<br />
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Now I gotta go check out that website and see if it was completely obvious that the college was in Cali. Maybe it's better I don't look.Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-25832965301988846682011-10-06T22:10:00.000-07:002011-10-06T22:10:13.026-07:00Less is More<div class="MsoNormal">One of my favorite sayings goes as follows:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Too often we buy things we don’t need,</div><div class="MsoNormal">with money we don’t have, </div><div class="MsoNormal">to impress people we don’t like.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m not sure who said it, but whoever it was knew a thing or two about people, especially <i>American </i>people, especially <i>the rising generation,</i> American people. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Too many of us have WAY too much debt, too many toys, clothes, and gadgets we can’t afford and all-in-all just way too much “stuff”. <span> </span>I’ve always known this to be true, but I (like so many others), have fallen prey to the notion that you need to <i>have </i>more to <i>be</i> more; more popular, more respected, more successful, more happy. ..etc. How untrue that is. And how <i>especially</i> untrue that is when we have to move.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t hate a lot of things, but there's nothing in this world I hate more than moving. “Easy enough,” you say, “just don’t move”.<span> </span>No. Not that easy. You see, I <i>love</i> to move. Ha ha, let me rephrase that.<span> </span>I love to be new places. I love to meet new people. I love to see new things. I love to sample new cuisine…and there’s no better way to experience a place than to live there. That’s just one of the things that have brought me to the conclusion than less may very well be more. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’ve also come to realize that I’m much happier with fewer things that I <i>really</i> like, than loads of things that are okay. I care for them more, I use them more, and overall, I end up getting more of my money’s worth out of them. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">There are a few things that spawned this way of thinking, one being an awesome Ted video that I watched this afternoon. So, I’ll end my little thought with this…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/graham_hill_less_stuff_more_happiness.html">http://www.ted.com/talks/graham_hill_less_stuff_more_happiness.html</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-12955041397734446682011-09-15T22:56:00.000-07:002011-09-15T22:56:20.447-07:00Snake FarmMaia's in town! ...and you would think (with it being her first time in San Antonio...or Texas for that matter), that I would take her to the Riverwalk, the Alamo, Seaworld...maybe even Six Flags...but no-I bring her to a snake farm.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgitKXWcug2Iq_wSz-XKJrsXtDz653pxAWz8AEEExc-AARrv1V9qoBbUJCXgpDLwqS4LhQ214KYd6Lr4Zi2X5pYg1ZBrCC2QIAwFszZIbqg-mNJRZDMoDsfdMOgrfVqqCSYED_gSw3_vlyk/s1600/018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgitKXWcug2Iq_wSz-XKJrsXtDz653pxAWz8AEEExc-AARrv1V9qoBbUJCXgpDLwqS4LhQ214KYd6Lr4Zi2X5pYg1ZBrCC2QIAwFszZIbqg-mNJRZDMoDsfdMOgrfVqqCSYED_gSw3_vlyk/s320/018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We pass it every time we go up to Austin, or to New Braunfels for any reason, and it has always made me curious. Turns out it's just what it says...and more. It's chock full of exotic snakes, reptiles, monkeys, birds...and last but not least, a petting zoo, where if you pay $1.00 for a bag of food, you can be stuck inside a cage of 50 starving goats to be head-butted, trampled, cornered, and slobbered on. MY idea of a dream vacation.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1siIs4ey95gC9_IyFbrgxrj643aK1chmLOmn0o4OG4SlQnxCVc0cTTL4aemBwy6-JmaSD0gDud4rpaW5bKozociXVEPxYD56Vg2lNpL_7ggJbvoPilvURLNUyCOzIgfx9o1wot-UTybf/s1600/020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz1siIs4ey95gC9_IyFbrgxrj643aK1chmLOmn0o4OG4SlQnxCVc0cTTL4aemBwy6-JmaSD0gDud4rpaW5bKozociXVEPxYD56Vg2lNpL_7ggJbvoPilvURLNUyCOzIgfx9o1wot-UTybf/s320/020.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQVKkf5zFKgjPWwdE6jqOc8xFnNoWI2brisbNceWfxE4yDvIP_lrluPohTe9KoW841DLKDlWreXTmjbCuQmdmbbwiYiGKQtQIiPnya-VUwkVoBazYapkaW_mIo4j87VjaZ6bcKF5PoE8IC/s1600/IMAG1168.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQVKkf5zFKgjPWwdE6jqOc8xFnNoWI2brisbNceWfxE4yDvIP_lrluPohTe9KoW841DLKDlWreXTmjbCuQmdmbbwiYiGKQtQIiPnya-VUwkVoBazYapkaW_mIo4j87VjaZ6bcKF5PoE8IC/s320/IMAG1168.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
We started out in the snake room where we quickly made friends with the fearless snake-charmer who later helped us save a poor tortoise from a completely unprofitable struggle out of the corner where he was wedged between the glass and a giant rock. We rooted for him for about 15 minutes until snake man came to the rescue, making me hold the friend he had wrapped around his arm, while he opened up the tortoise cage.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOytGOX5QShDtyn2SPRDoCY9KrooDTXYWx-qfUa3VVPE8FdmZppl2muZoo0qpLIMnYFth5zbTnP4mMefHwmrHvEkgMYUnQ1i5DseLu78R6WVKiYiY2ffjeQ01RXgHJJHhemz9koiY0JnZd/s1600/025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOytGOX5QShDtyn2SPRDoCY9KrooDTXYWx-qfUa3VVPE8FdmZppl2muZoo0qpLIMnYFth5zbTnP4mMefHwmrHvEkgMYUnQ1i5DseLu78R6WVKiYiY2ffjeQ01RXgHJJHhemz9koiY0JnZd/s320/025.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCWbbeKByb6jn0-CrGOggixrpVepeauOzvZ-QsQAYxLhFOW3JhhKmgtWS7nAIwGZbSmrTs7Fa88oD75cE_H4XuNGw6hXfYDyp9Q5pDxF2-ZWWLUOmwLaAEw2lGCJoYlk1RUReDVEI-Vm2I/s1600/032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCWbbeKByb6jn0-CrGOggixrpVepeauOzvZ-QsQAYxLhFOW3JhhKmgtWS7nAIwGZbSmrTs7Fa88oD75cE_H4XuNGw6hXfYDyp9Q5pDxF2-ZWWLUOmwLaAEw2lGCJoYlk1RUReDVEI-Vm2I/s320/032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Then it was off to see the safari animals outside...I hung out by the monkey cage for most of the time, reminiscing on the love I had for them as a child. I had monkey socks, stuffed monkeys, monkey trinkets, monkey backpacks, monkey postcards...you name it. I loved watching them play today and for a second, had the same thought I had every day of my childhood...I want one.<br />
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The petting zoo, though, was probably the most entertaining of all, for <i>here</i> is where we would meet the most ferocious of all the exotic animals...goats.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTOcSvto-TNKBPsPJVEPq0Pal1WfWhKNSI0MQ1KzXPt4RvH4qNfsGRjkjRCwapzOgPFIWOVIr_rMQrcevq69_B5dpjiHOhDzva6gdQ9ntkwk8FoFHB3ERj87c7AlTeCn3-KkV0qdKhLrf/s1600/035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsTOcSvto-TNKBPsPJVEPq0Pal1WfWhKNSI0MQ1KzXPt4RvH4qNfsGRjkjRCwapzOgPFIWOVIr_rMQrcevq69_B5dpjiHOhDzva6gdQ9ntkwk8FoFHB3ERj87c7AlTeCn3-KkV0qdKhLrf/s320/035.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Don't be fooled by their apparent good nature (as was I).</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpth8v3ogBJ-bQgwwX8Yt0nPzJH3KcljZxAwWqUhHbbe0nqbDWF0FA8cDsGapPzQmE99rCI5AX_UhJRf6wBAS3i5olyszY7Z-VEyDJNHjOh8WV-GN58aUr8pYoaYvsVHv_xey6m8Qc1-c/s1600/038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpth8v3ogBJ-bQgwwX8Yt0nPzJH3KcljZxAwWqUhHbbe0nqbDWF0FA8cDsGapPzQmE99rCI5AX_UhJRf6wBAS3i5olyszY7Z-VEyDJNHjOh8WV-GN58aUr8pYoaYvsVHv_xey6m8Qc1-c/s320/038.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">And Ju Ju. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH1eoYmOMKtlk_-XC35uW7CaF-WLSXpLzedvdzJpSSrz907zwxNf_HanJzl3xSNTDm4U-yWz7JnCI4hys1CIa7hokBFZJTM9SqLZsis94BnWbYxjW1HdT7WWM3DlRIECtHLYktPXmoRLdL/s1600/044.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH1eoYmOMKtlk_-XC35uW7CaF-WLSXpLzedvdzJpSSrz907zwxNf_HanJzl3xSNTDm4U-yWz7JnCI4hys1CIa7hokBFZJTM9SqLZsis94BnWbYxjW1HdT7WWM3DlRIECtHLYktPXmoRLdL/s320/044.JPG" width="320" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Maia knew better. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhkwcF7zATNFtSFCBw0oPbCJHLHTPJ8L7Se5GVtJY1Djoa_801d7rC8oCaPIxlbaONO3o92ArCyAvklCHCIIWexGJa_8Ghmn8PbLEMBlfsn1hhX9Lde1_Hys-X7bQ87shUL8lJuw_sRpo/s1600/IMAG1176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwhkwcF7zATNFtSFCBw0oPbCJHLHTPJ8L7Se5GVtJY1Djoa_801d7rC8oCaPIxlbaONO3o92ArCyAvklCHCIIWexGJa_8Ghmn8PbLEMBlfsn1hhX9Lde1_Hys-X7bQ87shUL8lJuw_sRpo/s320/IMAG1176.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, he is trying to clobber me. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPdCu3emsYOvbXe1Qd-8r_ZfJUXFWKOlV6ktDqfouB4pu5eApEcOMvfP8EH8L5agws-xgAWreW8U612eYNwNC2u8kaA-w2XyiTMKGXpGGX4wudHKPGeSnKD_D4CZCBvhLjZOVL9TVTdbn/s1600/043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPdCu3emsYOvbXe1Qd-8r_ZfJUXFWKOlV6ktDqfouB4pu5eApEcOMvfP8EH8L5agws-xgAWreW8U612eYNwNC2u8kaA-w2XyiTMKGXpGGX4wudHKPGeSnKD_D4CZCBvhLjZOVL9TVTdbn/s320/043.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">What the? A llama?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">So, we left the snakes unscathed and poison free, but we left the "harmless" goats covered in dust, slobber, and scratches :( </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">It was worth it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-34072152550790191722011-08-31T07:37:00.000-07:002011-08-31T07:37:13.317-07:00Yuck!I love to cook. I can spend hours on food blogs, searching for recipes. I love to roam Barnes and Noble with my frozen vanilla frappuccino (with hazelnut), perusing over countless "real" cookbooks and getting ideas for dinner. However, I am a safe cook. What is a safe cook, you ask? I don't mean the type that is sure to use hot-pads and always have a fire extinguisher close...though both things are a <i>great</i> idea. I mean the type that only cooks things that they <i>know </i>will turn out wonderful. Things that my friends/family have <i>tried. </i>Things that are made with only ingredients that will undoubtedly taste delicious together. Desserts that I can pronounce....etc. etc. etc. But. I love to eat new and exotic foods and I admire people <i>so</i> much that are willing to try (and sometimes fail), while trying out new recipes. My roommate is a prime example. She looks for dishes that are just outside her "scope of practice", and just goes for it. Because of her I have had things like shrimp gumbo, 40 clove garlic chicken (made with a <i>whole</i> chicken, mind you), and curried...well everything.<br />
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So. This week I decided to try a couple new things. Bright-eyed and hopeful, I carefully read the directions of how to use a charcoal grill. I adore grills. I generally love everything that comes off of them. But, with my grill-master of a boyfriend being thousands of miles away, I realized I had know idea how to start the thing. In hopes of preventing this becomming a "how not to grill" blog, I will spare you the details, but let's just say I have mastered the lighting of the coals, but have yet to learn the art of temperature control. So, I spent that evening eating a doughy pizza, charred black on the bottom.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1f_4Lfhz7UZ0ul9mJyDPLNgAZMfu4kT25ni0OQw_od2Dy2HP5sqjNPpGJBkZZrHU_TRcJAm8a5ValISYx_bpqjkXGf3SfhI3rmEPjvFZyeJBJrnQrE3BV6qrwqNHxARsH4AtePbRNVsdp/s1600/IMG_1333.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1f_4Lfhz7UZ0ul9mJyDPLNgAZMfu4kT25ni0OQw_od2Dy2HP5sqjNPpGJBkZZrHU_TRcJAm8a5ValISYx_bpqjkXGf3SfhI3rmEPjvFZyeJBJrnQrE3BV6qrwqNHxARsH4AtePbRNVsdp/s320/IMG_1333.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
My next challenge was to try a new ingredient. I found an awesome (looking) recipe with pasta, goat cheese, lemon, asparagus and herbs. Simple enough. I love all those things, except of course the goat cheese, which I haven't tried. How bad could it be?<br />
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Bad. Really Bad. Goat cheese is disgusting! So, instead of throwing away a whole dish, I rinsed the pasta and asparagus in hot water and put a "safe" alfredo dressing on it instead. And although my roommate loved it, I could still taste the goat cheese, so...I ate this:<br />
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After two failed attempts this week, I was feeling pretty down until I saw this on the counter:<br />
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And I remembered seeing this after coming home from work one day:<br />
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So, for all you safe cooks out there, don't give up! It's okay to make a disgusting thing or two! It's okay to burn things! It's okay to try new things and <i>not</i> love it! It's okay to experiment! And for all you amazing cooks who try new things and it always turns out amazing...you make me sick.<br />
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<div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-13831587914794199482011-08-24T23:09:00.000-07:002011-08-24T23:09:07.617-07:0017 ways to make your girlfriend's day:1. Drive 5 hours through the night after working all day to meet her in the Lolo forest even if you can only see her for a few hours.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIH4xGabgGvSdmlEdRijPk5Q1TXd9iK6uRSdiCByS1k3weZM2UvxySKX4C6LVL3eSfsI6Pwmsn5tDFuSoNiue-3TzvOt2NJgKdN34fx9fGefAfIJObkw2Mx1a3yRmOaiVhyphenhyphenH_BucBqsPR/s1600/IMG_1283.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnIH4xGabgGvSdmlEdRijPk5Q1TXd9iK6uRSdiCByS1k3weZM2UvxySKX4C6LVL3eSfsI6Pwmsn5tDFuSoNiue-3TzvOt2NJgKdN34fx9fGefAfIJObkw2Mx1a3yRmOaiVhyphenhyphenH_BucBqsPR/s320/IMG_1283.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
2. Wake up after only an hour nap because she's anxious and wants to play. <br />
3. Make her an egg, bacon, and portabella mushroom breakfast (even if it means burning down the forest to do it). <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnwzw7oxo1to9oVa1RkNRK5FtaSr4rev7sz0ARGenS-QHc_8pOh8NlhMrZM0uZXgkFHqkpEcba19rTvJsi49s00fOEswiIg624TR-CEEl0_4P9TKsmgd8sIhAIjBaWWbb1X9MAfAQrNMq/s1600/IMG_1281.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixnwzw7oxo1to9oVa1RkNRK5FtaSr4rev7sz0ARGenS-QHc_8pOh8NlhMrZM0uZXgkFHqkpEcba19rTvJsi49s00fOEswiIg624TR-CEEl0_4P9TKsmgd8sIhAIjBaWWbb1X9MAfAQrNMq/s320/IMG_1281.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
4. Give her your brand spanking new mountain bike to ride because the old one is uncomfortable.<br />
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5. Let her wear <i>your</i> pants because she once again came overdressed for the occasion. <br />
6. Ride with her up a mountain covered in wildflowers, and stop to rest in the shade when she starts to feel nauseated.<br />
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7. Whip out some healthy snacks while you wait for her to recover.<br />
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8. Amuse her by posing for pictures of the breathtaking view.<br />
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9. Tell her you love her hair when it's all sweaty and sticking up in all directions. <br />
10. Give her the old bike when at the top of the mountain she pops the tire on your brand new one (and don't complain for one second as you have to walk the bike all the way down the mountain). <br />
11. Build her a fire to keep her warm while you make grilled salmon with garlic and butter, asparagus, tortellini, more portabellas, grilled corn on the cob, <i>and </i>a grilled onion (yes, all for one meal).<br />
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12.Take her to a natural hot spring surrounded by evergreens and soak in the warmth while watching the stars.<br />
13. Give her your wool socks to keep her feet warm after you get out of the pool.<br />
14. Make her hot chocolate and popcorn over the camp stove.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4VGY7lTyPyOjuZFcXC5yG2Bd8vzHbLnQ4gKCtMrBx-vNLMyqyymjIhBH3avMkU0gvaGZ1GGwFsX42kYIssOQS5B-7kMspRo4-uKAc065FqoHbJVpGxqo5nB8njZvHvVyk3n-I9k79Ub6D/s1600/IMG_1319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4VGY7lTyPyOjuZFcXC5yG2Bd8vzHbLnQ4gKCtMrBx-vNLMyqyymjIhBH3avMkU0gvaGZ1GGwFsX42kYIssOQS5B-7kMspRo4-uKAc065FqoHbJVpGxqo5nB8njZvHvVyk3n-I9k79Ub6D/s320/IMG_1319.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
15. Keep her nice and toasty with only the warmest of blankets.<br />
16. Clean up the whole mess because she has to make it back to catch her flight.<br />
17. Leave just in time to make in back to work in the morning. <br />
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<div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-25377745209528155432011-08-11T15:35:00.000-07:002011-08-11T23:45:25.247-07:00On a more embarrassing note...So...a couple months ago, I was relaxing at home, enjoying my day off, listening to music, when I came across this song. I thought I had discovered it....only to find out it's actually pretty famous, ah well. Anyway, in my boredom I decided to make a music video for Max...and as you will be able to tell...it didn't turn out how I planned. I want to do SO much more explaining, but I'll just let you experience it for yourself. Now, before you push play, just know that this is extremely embarrassing. The ONLY reason I am posting this on my blog is because the file is too big to e-mail, text, or get to Max in any other way...and it has taken me two months to finally figure out I could do it this way. Just be warned, these movies are for a mature audience only. Viewer discretion is advised. Enjoy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzGhuNEBWusMGguoapIYTgu6kXf_xHNh-ch1kqKMNNy1RaNZsnBRxxVrHYiYkm_GJTGKGvb60nSN1plDCBDpQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwU366B3qazzHG_wfzlCk0nCY0HIfwr_8n22aXjNvhtcq5RgDcr5cMZXxsYR_HEgs8AT_8JReOBIpzxqQgZpQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyXNk0QbXROnvKdzlovvXZyovVT3uIvbRiL3TWMuaNSd3d9HXSDtpYorYfDbOFYZVWrwhZqaxEzaG8xuBH4-Q' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
<input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><br />
<div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><br />
<div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-80672509822075324192011-08-09T16:34:00.000-07:002011-08-09T16:34:58.560-07:00Endless SummerI escaped to Texas for a couple reasons, the main one being; it doesn't get cold-ever. Now, there are a couple days in the "winter" that get <i>chilly, </i>but never <i>cold</i>. I'm talking Idaho cold; snow up to the windows, frostbit fingertips, nose hair freezing, take your breath away, cold. Well, after spending about a year in Texas, I have actually come to miss (yes, miss) the cold. <i>Most </i>of the time I enjoy the heat, but on days like today when it's over 100 degrees and I can't make it to my car without sweat soaking through my shirt, my make-up starts to slide off my face, my hair frizzes out (no matter how much anti-frizz product I use), my bare feet get blistered from the smoldering cement on my attempt to check the mail without footwear, and the freckles on my face and arms start to darken within minutes of being outside, I start to long for autumn.<br />
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I want to sip hot cider and cuddle up under a fleece blanket with a good book. I want to wear fluffy socks. I want to go running in the rain, instead of on a treadmill. I want to get in my car and just slightly crack the windows for fresh air, instead of blasting the air conditioning like my life depended on it. I want to wear the awesome trooper boots I bought, instead of flip-flops.<br />
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The grass is always greener on the other side, right? I just wish the grass was <i>greener. </i>In the meantime I'll just make good use of the summer...but I still wish I could wear my boots...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq703JTC11Zb4GM5gO2QIgor7S7uiHBXVYD8d7jQv2YCiCcRPLoIA7oG6OHYILei8n6c-THMJ6SOd_0iP3ks8jBDqVNxbUP3vPGJO3XZM5NBEZxF3p8k_odcMLzyRKeWdpaGrGKScPbHd0/s1600/IMG_0908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq703JTC11Zb4GM5gO2QIgor7S7uiHBXVYD8d7jQv2YCiCcRPLoIA7oG6OHYILei8n6c-THMJ6SOd_0iP3ks8jBDqVNxbUP3vPGJO3XZM5NBEZxF3p8k_odcMLzyRKeWdpaGrGKScPbHd0/s320/IMG_0908.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><br />
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<div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-20743480408613405132011-07-26T22:38:00.000-07:002011-07-26T22:40:24.523-07:00Bangs!There are a few things in this world that make me nervous (cats, the ocean, my first grade teacher, teenage girls, <leo_highlight id="leoHighlights_Underline_0" leohighlights_keywords="giant" leohighlights_underline="true" leohighlights_url_bottom="http%3A//shortcuts.thebrowserhighlighter.com/leonardo/plugin/highlights/3_2/tbh_highlightsBottom.jsp?keywords%3Dgiant%26domain%3Dwww.blogger.com" leohighlights_url_top="http%3A//shortcuts.thebrowserhighlighter.com/leonardo/plugin/highlights/3_2/tbh_highlightsTop.jsp?keywords%3Dgiant%26domain%3Dwww.blogger.com" onclick="leoHighlightsHandleClick('leoHighlights_Underline_0')" onmouseout="leoHighlightsHandleMouseOut('leoHighlights_Underline_0')" onmouseover="leoHighlightsHandleMouseOver('leoHighlights_Underline_0')" style="-moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(255, 255, 150); cursor: pointer; display: inline;">giant</leo_highlight> cows-particularly those that jump out at you when you’re on a peaceful bike-ride along the river, <leo_highlight id="leoHighlights_Underline_1" leohighlights_keywords="jurassic%20park" leohighlights_underline="true" leohighlights_url_bottom="http%3A//shortcuts.thebrowserhighlighter.com/leonardo/plugin/highlights/3_2/tbh_highlightsBottom.jsp?keywords%3Djurassic%2520park%26domain%3Dwww.blogger.com" leohighlights_url_top="http%3A//shortcuts.thebrowserhighlighter.com/leonardo/plugin/highlights/3_2/tbh_highlightsTop.jsp?keywords%3Djurassic%2520park%26domain%3Dwww.blogger.com" onclick="leoHighlightsHandleClick('leoHighlights_Underline_1')" onmouseout="leoHighlightsHandleMouseOut('leoHighlights_Underline_1')" onmouseover="leoHighlightsHandleMouseOver('leoHighlights_Underline_1')" style="-moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(255, 255, 150); cursor: pointer; display: inline;">Jurassic Park</leo_highlight> …and the list goes on). However, I have found that sometimes my greatest joys have been in overcoming my nerves and, if not embracing them, at least confronting them. I live with a cat. I ride my bike when I’m home in Idaho despite the fact that a monstrous creature may suddenly pop out at me any second. I watched <leo_highlight id="leoHighlights_Underline_2" leohighlights_keywords="jurassic%20park" leohighlights_underline="true" leohighlights_url_bottom="http%3A//shortcuts.thebrowserhighlighter.com/leonardo/plugin/highlights/3_2/tbh_highlightsBottom.jsp?keywords%3Djurassic%2520park%26domain%3Dwww.blogger.com" leohighlights_url_top="http%3A//shortcuts.thebrowserhighlighter.com/leonardo/plugin/highlights/3_2/tbh_highlightsTop.jsp?keywords%3Djurassic%2520park%26domain%3Dwww.blogger.com" onclick="leoHighlightsHandleClick('leoHighlights_Underline_2')" onmouseout="leoHighlightsHandleMouseOut('leoHighlights_Underline_2')" onmouseover="leoHighlightsHandleMouseOver('leoHighlights_Underline_2')" style="-moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; border-bottom: 2px solid rgb(255, 255, 150); cursor: pointer; display: inline;">Jurassic Park</leo_highlight> for the first time in years the other day and although I almost peed my pants, I made it through the whole thing. As for my first grade teacher, she’ll always make me nervous…<br />
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Anyway, one of the things that tops my list of fear-producers are bangs. I don’t know why they make me so nervous. After all, my hair grows particularly fast, and if I hated them, they could be hidden for a few weeks while they turned into “side-swept bangs”, the safe alternative to going “all the way”. So, after trying all week to get Max to cut them (he didn’t think he qualified), I decided I would have to do it myself (I wasn’t about to pay $20.00 for someone to cut a straight line). So, for better or worse…bangs. <br />
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At least for the next few weeks…<br />
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</script> </span>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-90734521125881462632011-07-07T21:11:00.000-07:002011-07-07T21:11:05.302-07:00Meow Meow, the Schizophrenic FelineAll little girls love kittens…and I was no exception. We once had a stray cat leave a surprise litter of 3 tiny kittens under our back porch when I was about 5 years old. I couldn’t have been happier about it. I played with them every day from sun-up to sun-down, cried my little heart out when the runt didn’t make it, and threw a fit when my mother made us give them away. But-a long time has passed since 5-year-old-Christie, and the place in my heart for felines has been filled with other things. Don’t get me wrong, I <i>wish</i> I liked them. Oh, how I wish I liked them! I just don’t. I can’t. I won’t! <br />
<br />
My roommate, on the other hand, has successfully carried her child-like love for cats into adulthood. It has been somewhat of a running joke throughout college how much she loved them. We bought her stuffed mechanical cats for her birthday (which she so cordially named after me), sent her cat-singing you-tube videos to brighten her day, and even managed to obtain some AMAZING cat-covered tights to shield her legs from the Rexburg cold. But-apparently it wasn’t enough. One day…a couple months ago…it was no longer <i>just</i> a joke.<br />
<br />
Her co-worker, who had a cat (or two) to spare, graciously gave Julie the thing that would quickly take my place as her favorite living, breathing mammal in the apartment. The morning I woke up to meowing at my bedroom door I knew life as I knew it was over. I tried so hard over the next few weeks to accept that there was a cat roaming around our little apartment 24 hours a day…but there are just some things I will never get used to. I will never get used to the subtle cat smell in the air. I will never get used to the fact that she poops in our closet. I will never get used to the fact that no-matter how hard I have tried to train her not to go in my room (and even when I swear my doors are shut), she ends up in my closet, trying on my shoes. I will never get used to being interrupted in everything I do, by someone that wants to play along. <br />
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I will never get used to her watching me pee…that’s just weird. I will never get used to the fact that she picks at our couch, carpet, and our adorable wicker chair, fraying the edges. And I will certainly never get used to her trying to sneak a drink out of my cup, every single time I turn my back.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8hLbkXVHCQtlzrNvZ54GHu2-imKlnMoQqEBqv0ssMCfsOpjTvAvTCaRNuaL5Q-1_sz7IeegFtVzhDR1OrDfNHoMxd7X6BwLE2hZ_SuNANgeHm0gJpdf8UWEnUqcPRzqHyQiCOO8opZpO/s1600/cut+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG8hLbkXVHCQtlzrNvZ54GHu2-imKlnMoQqEBqv0ssMCfsOpjTvAvTCaRNuaL5Q-1_sz7IeegFtVzhDR1OrDfNHoMxd7X6BwLE2hZ_SuNANgeHm0gJpdf8UWEnUqcPRzqHyQiCOO8opZpO/s320/cut+cat.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br />
I even have nightmares about her...like a couple nights ago when I dreamt that she was angry at me and came to ransack my whole bedroom and tore everything apart…woke up in a cold sweat after that one.<br />
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Last night though, I came to the realization that if I am forced to co-exist with a 4-legged creature, I better try to make the best of it. The one thing I find somewhat amusing about her is that she acts like no other cat I have ever come in contact with (not that there has been many…). But, even better, is the fact that we have diagnosed her with a mental illness. Not just ANY mental illness though…one of the greatest….Schizophrenia (possibly from the great big conk on the head she sustained about a week after being in Ju Ju’s care). Now, over the past 10 months that I have spent in the ER, I have come in contact with my fair share of Schizophrenics….and believe me…she exhibits all the characteristics. First of all, she acts inappropriately for her species (I swear she thinks she’s a dog the way she lays on her back and begs to have her belly rubbed)<br />
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Secondly, and most amusingly, is the way she spazzes out at absolutely nothing, and bolts straight into Julie’s room as if her life depended on it, hangs out for a second, and then comes back out like nothing ever happened (that’s her paranoia acting out…as it often does in Schizophrenics).<br />
Lastly, she just LOOKS schizophrenic. <br />
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Ha ha, okay okay, so Julie helped out a little on this one, but regardless…<br />
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Despite my obvious, and often vocal dislike of Meow Meow (oh ya, her name is “meow-meow”), I put up with her and her crazy tactics because of the obvious (and quite sickening) love that Julie has for her. <br />
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So…welcome to apt 628, Meow Meow. <br />
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Just don’t pop my fragile, air-filled mattress or I will be the one spazzing out on your little feline tushy...Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-12861051809544997642011-06-10T13:11:00.000-07:002011-06-10T13:11:19.401-07:00Alamo Metro ChorusI mean to do a lot of things. I mean to run 4 miles every morning before work. I mean to wash my sheets once a month. I mean to drink 2 liters of water a day. I mean to finally get a Texas drivers license. I mean to buy a scentsy. I mean to learn the piano. I mean to go to Ireland. I mean to write my mother. I mean to keep a journal. I mean to wash the bird poop off my car. I mean to blog twice a week…and so on…but-I have finally started to do some of the things I’ve been meaning to do…first on the list; join a choir (and no, ward choir does not count).<br />
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I have been looking online for choirs to join, but with my crazy, ever-changing and evening-crashing work schedule, a choir that I could squeeze in was hard to come by. I have one day consecutively off a week…and although that day SHOULD be Sunday, it’s Thursday. After much searching of the world-wide web, I found a choir that just so happened to meet every Thursday. And it just so happened to be an all-women chorus. And it just so happened to be a barbershop chorus. AND, it just so happened to be full of women 3 times my age. I couldn’t have been more excited. <br />
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I have been going now for the past few weeks and I have loved every second of it. I love that I got hugs from several women the first week I was there, and more-so the second and third. I love that they try to set me up with their grandsons. I love that I am forced to sing so hard my voice is raw by the end of the three hours. I love that I have to practice. I love that there is an 85 year old in the choir who is a master ping-pong champ. I love that they all go out for margaritas afterward. I love that they do dancing warm-ups (that I still cannot figure out how to do). I love that they have a good news minute at the end of practice…just like relief society. I love that they joke about broken hips and doctors appointments. I love that it’s all acapella. But most of all, I love that I get to wear things like this when we perform…<br />
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<div align="center">Aged to perfection.</div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-55905334624119533232011-06-10T12:53:00.000-07:002011-06-10T12:53:06.315-07:00Sexy Chefs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiz47tCzMJXDT4eS6COEE_x3Jf_QvQTXeChF4GYL1kbJx4nv-7LF_Ch2wVmPiBFB3D0SepZlW8zpcuUuPMFxce4wrSdiga4i6WyPs3wNCPjch7bFsOW38WwL65GJMvYXBtb4CocJfTB5WI/s1600/IMG_0483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiz47tCzMJXDT4eS6COEE_x3Jf_QvQTXeChF4GYL1kbJx4nv-7LF_Ch2wVmPiBFB3D0SepZlW8zpcuUuPMFxce4wrSdiga4i6WyPs3wNCPjch7bFsOW38WwL65GJMvYXBtb4CocJfTB5WI/s320/IMG_0483.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">Who said cooking had to be limited to cooking...?</div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><br />
<div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-63619080311794159552011-05-17T21:51:00.001-07:002011-05-17T22:17:28.710-07:00Things women should never have to do.Raising a family with nine girls put a lot of stress on my dad. Not only did he have to go on countless daddy-daughter dates, keep his mouth shut when we were PMSing (often at the same time), learn to step through the living room without demolishing our barbie house which had taken over, make flower head wreaths (out of weeds of course), compliment our new outfits or hair-do's, or, heaven forbid, participate in girl talk, BUT, he had to do all the things that women should never have to do. You know, things like un-clogging the toilet, changing the tires, killing the spiders, building the shelves, barbecuing the hamburgers...manly things. Unfortunately, although my dad is still a handy-man, he has become a lot less handy...especially since I moved 3,000 miles away. So, I get stuck with having to do stuff like this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHo2Cd8QrlH94UKWYWmEEQD2tLUM7Tnk1QqGLvETDAvBD8g-G92jgsmZ-_U-PaxoiR8dLqEWnUbBpDVHWFJHR7KzrgPVC15Q_OYxI-AqFR0JSvP3NAqrK_emSMABSeztn9jIajPx80FKLq/s1600/ick.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHo2Cd8QrlH94UKWYWmEEQD2tLUM7Tnk1QqGLvETDAvBD8g-G92jgsmZ-_U-PaxoiR8dLqEWnUbBpDVHWFJHR7KzrgPVC15Q_OYxI-AqFR0JSvP3NAqrK_emSMABSeztn9jIajPx80FKLq/s320/ick.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>I need a husband. <br />
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<div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-31707661386515943462011-04-22T23:50:00.000-07:002011-04-23T00:04:17.460-07:00i love food.So...I was looking through my pictures the other day and noticed a startling thing...90% of them were either of me stuffing my face, or something that I was about to stuff my face <i>with. </i>I knew before coming down to Texas that I would be in one of the fattest states in the country, but that didn't stop me. In fact, it was a bit appealing. After all, I <i>love</i> food. I love making it, I love sharing it, I love going out for it, I love learning about it, I love experimenting with it, I just started trying to <i>grow</i> it, but most of all I love eating it....and eating it...and eating it. Here's a little sampler for you of what has filled my tummy just within the last couple months...and we are not even going to mention the food I ate in Mexico! (that will have to come later)...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx06MVy4O7oio8sq9_jZvbreXjcGwv365ScOOp2hwTUQSZ3R0Kc3BPjC8jefedb14VJPio4gnJb7JTeQsHP2ces1XrwZjjUpyI-prY1xEifmKj4DfFRUWrCyh4tE0U5MdwQvTgGATA5Okd/s1600/100_3653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx06MVy4O7oio8sq9_jZvbreXjcGwv365ScOOp2hwTUQSZ3R0Kc3BPjC8jefedb14VJPio4gnJb7JTeQsHP2ces1XrwZjjUpyI-prY1xEifmKj4DfFRUWrCyh4tE0U5MdwQvTgGATA5Okd/s320/100_3653.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Rudy's BBQ</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIQUh5VMrYpS_gJ-pDvK9b-ID15dLwXRd35vzvGZFev1VQLi6kuifh1TlTcXvd969yxJPrxLvTbpdMQbdLFNCC-KDqQ0TyYJDZ1sF6M3P_rMGtfTOg_TLJH4fLllBXzHQpcPEarz0VlgR/s1600/100_3778.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJIQUh5VMrYpS_gJ-pDvK9b-ID15dLwXRd35vzvGZFev1VQLi6kuifh1TlTcXvd969yxJPrxLvTbpdMQbdLFNCC-KDqQ0TyYJDZ1sF6M3P_rMGtfTOg_TLJH4fLllBXzHQpcPEarz0VlgR/s320/100_3778.JPG" width="241" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">my personal chef, and pre-tempura-ed veggies...SO good!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj58XuN2kSQgEkygHJK_E42P2pPQ203q9UuIUDZWW9Wptiyu34H0j6fkqzKGGLCU-WH9mAjLbSzpTkbdVvyuVPbtz0shKWh_24mMT95-S4fuub6TOjTqi4WxJVSberIQnS3tobucyvQtYRa/s1600/100_3893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj58XuN2kSQgEkygHJK_E42P2pPQ203q9UuIUDZWW9Wptiyu34H0j6fkqzKGGLCU-WH9mAjLbSzpTkbdVvyuVPbtz0shKWh_24mMT95-S4fuub6TOjTqi4WxJVSberIQnS3tobucyvQtYRa/s320/100_3893.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">the cove; great atmosphere, great food, great company.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUoVPJxlcwjC0adCbno62O8BfOkRXID84TYbJiNVVBV2OAFfthAaT1u0VqLYasycOGQsR1OYWvGewFmpm0x1dh0ThC0lLZ7AK-cuz4AJfEMTmdf7VbWVD6vOkyEpG9tY2XpnxIsrWowG9/s1600/IMAG0617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNwPMwBA7J5DdX7-fUwVb30-Bytgvp6Y2l0ae6zS8DGu1XreY6_a5HzahGwkAwRe80Dp6TUKTY1ZRpucmG9KTuJCnszGAsSWkDnZu1_rpqzpyG7XTPL_wtA5bdl1dRgQw6o9t5JHhAJk08/s1600/100_3929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4C3wRGL3Aaup90tOv7g6ckKdu1J02FCAdrBv5jCBrMatte8zVxVBFJh9TQTLpULX7c5qUMiD3-dPkt-oyvneWGy137E3xckaXOcA-PA_TNDUzp-PRWj6nTlC3mXNTMCsqEDUj3WRSyEB/s1600/IMAG0641.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4C3wRGL3Aaup90tOv7g6ckKdu1J02FCAdrBv5jCBrMatte8zVxVBFJh9TQTLpULX7c5qUMiD3-dPkt-oyvneWGy137E3xckaXOcA-PA_TNDUzp-PRWj6nTlC3mXNTMCsqEDUj3WRSyEB/s320/IMAG0641.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">by far most amazing ribs ever...made, once again, by my personal chef. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyKcY22YTysS0_7h5T5mTC-9IN_q3Eev8S7pJqsFi0UItefguiBqSHY58zZA0dRK8Z1_lVzmyT3p40Eln9NIob7IyLYY6FN3CkjwN8-ZgemiO3C7YaDXj6OzvpjomqLSuNZAk7CzCaHme5/s1600/IMG_0068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbKaRAYldrW6pGjAifvptfH8X25K0K8M4fdF3147YDgFHp_Frk6Oy46iqxs-offgXF9lQTTRIhF8nUT2ZE-bo_BUbuCGtng6wwxFlJAEPt8ctALIB0T97Ru7Zpm0wePlFOSrgWmUe9XLY/s1600/100_3896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXbKaRAYldrW6pGjAifvptfH8X25K0K8M4fdF3147YDgFHp_Frk6Oy46iqxs-offgXF9lQTTRIhF8nUT2ZE-bo_BUbuCGtng6wwxFlJAEPt8ctALIB0T97Ru7Zpm0wePlFOSrgWmUe9XLY/s320/100_3896.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">strawberry ice-cream at the strawberry festival!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp92EI3S_ULltwbzhanexk7TqRkfn35xIOmH4mYsjCXuAYYh1R9KxNH_L2Q8gpyHpE_8e59NYulgEtH_QxjOsi-w18n7FbT-64IFrhz7xQiSonp0Z1VsOW346t-5FgKjVw3UkBpFo8PfF9/s1600/IMG_0078.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp92EI3S_ULltwbzhanexk7TqRkfn35xIOmH4mYsjCXuAYYh1R9KxNH_L2Q8gpyHpE_8e59NYulgEtH_QxjOsi-w18n7FbT-64IFrhz7xQiSonp0Z1VsOW346t-5FgKjVw3UkBpFo8PfF9/s320/IMG_0078.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">reason number three why I love Canada: wonderbras...I mean bars.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwzIj9_00GbwWMviwybuZ-76tCd4odIAPyF4ojUDm3WjWxsxVUhrWFkg2p-YRBHmS7iY6T7VKqv0R6g9fBZ-6whu8hqlwPhaG1fMhMxPnPHW-TGRNbs0efYPvWFn3QHse3A941d0jM8U7/s1600/IMG_0236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwzIj9_00GbwWMviwybuZ-76tCd4odIAPyF4ojUDm3WjWxsxVUhrWFkg2p-YRBHmS7iY6T7VKqv0R6g9fBZ-6whu8hqlwPhaG1fMhMxPnPHW-TGRNbs0efYPvWFn3QHse3A941d0jM8U7/s320/IMG_0236.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Moroccan Bites and Julie's amazing dessert/dinner.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3LTHr7f6EFTCczhgjt_G90BsyU1XOOkUR-c2xvsHED-UcdAehioc8iVymGSDdAUzQb8Rz00yzz1Drsl3ZyQMN4Z8jPyxoFXncdHnxjH1kYz9wEJDbl4b545nYKbA-lAB0n5Yrlnq0_9A/s1600/IMG_0209.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy3LTHr7f6EFTCczhgjt_G90BsyU1XOOkUR-c2xvsHED-UcdAehioc8iVymGSDdAUzQb8Rz00yzz1Drsl3ZyQMN4Z8jPyxoFXncdHnxjH1kYz9wEJDbl4b545nYKbA-lAB0n5Yrlnq0_9A/s320/IMG_0209.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Fresh veggie salad from the garden...with the gardener himself. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwau9O458YD1gZ_UVmMT4ug6BVwzm1gIgpH1NnVNbHisPZXsbCta5AFbtGNbwzXjFOfaALcR5HwljxSNMXCaLDK3pLNJfNzJEkMyoc2XuerkZzHkPDUQJwD2BDqi6h1QGuV9ai8b-T-euI/s1600/IMGP0008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwau9O458YD1gZ_UVmMT4ug6BVwzm1gIgpH1NnVNbHisPZXsbCta5AFbtGNbwzXjFOfaALcR5HwljxSNMXCaLDK3pLNJfNzJEkMyoc2XuerkZzHkPDUQJwD2BDqi6h1QGuV9ai8b-T-euI/s320/IMGP0008.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">turkey legs at the rodeo!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUC3XqpuCBe6vILszo-2ETQXNOoSIObKg0beaeuFTl-U6wLuXnVMrd3IUPiwqN-YarhOVMXDuMUwBjnJzyonsVHaZRBfIDgi2JZuvE6yEWpfmIXX3MODE8iHRlU0sXB_KvFHzZvsgUplz/s1600/IMGP0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQUC3XqpuCBe6vILszo-2ETQXNOoSIObKg0beaeuFTl-U6wLuXnVMrd3IUPiwqN-YarhOVMXDuMUwBjnJzyonsVHaZRBfIDgi2JZuvE6yEWpfmIXX3MODE8iHRlU0sXB_KvFHzZvsgUplz/s320/IMGP0013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">funnel cake...with EVERYTHING on it. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrdnXR02zYn5u94f7NECj1gnimAhaUkAhujwVQl-mBWh8EljDLvC3mYFRPxJBZ9mMnX-V8EYpLv36zaRFD6nCepq6wJFMPWtsmKaGvyKKYPXJGxFtdulhhKxYBeaIhnVZz3tZC6854Naf/s1600/IMGP0074.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidrdnXR02zYn5u94f7NECj1gnimAhaUkAhujwVQl-mBWh8EljDLvC3mYFRPxJBZ9mMnX-V8EYpLv36zaRFD6nCepq6wJFMPWtsmKaGvyKKYPXJGxFtdulhhKxYBeaIhnVZz3tZC6854Naf/s320/IMGP0074.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">spurs dog...no wiener of waterton...but we're a little to far south for that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMd1nBBr3N5RIfj6m7senhYM_jBkknGmr-x1W2YlBGwvkFFzeIrzrLTfCy7RfRB7cDao074Jk3FGZiVzXSWsgKz8gOp3fwpQsbA24hD-YSignDOI4zJv8RKOZnSV5DbrrbglaXtDg6FwW5/s1600/IMGP0102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMd1nBBr3N5RIfj6m7senhYM_jBkknGmr-x1W2YlBGwvkFFzeIrzrLTfCy7RfRB7cDao074Jk3FGZiVzXSWsgKz8gOp3fwpQsbA24hD-YSignDOI4zJv8RKOZnSV5DbrrbglaXtDg6FwW5/s320/IMGP0102.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">thanksgiving pumpkin pie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfuJ5TH-TokMnCb-aAcqFp-6GNMqLHRTDsQ2wOoDdqInC5zlvoWBPGu0ZOeJTQtImMjLc7ruudVu3qglWRnjcCg-7gcLqtLz8xWlBHFrsQSSy3c_O0tBA2gp2sNx08jcDC_FOz1Ir1g-p/s1600/IMGP0143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGlWar0oQeFe5OtSkcFlX_3qlrYxjygoT7fh6bQWy6C-s-kbGTf7OnP9UaqI-2ymmqvLQKPt5SD8awInycaq__Z_p1r4XEnOET6Ot-YkUtx1Ng1NZngZunfliaOfY4mDOz60BWjRaO-xh/s1600/IMGP0265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlKCxGB4g8T16u3cPd0d1NlXWYZACSlPqCCrNJtwPrqFAJRAmbf1HkoPxqCAEH59w6wmSP-EKseLpVyTsaKEYibyOgHT_LmhTClSTqMenTw_v50cuUCJRLBFcFME55tPX_E3m7tC9M1ej/s1600/IMGP0415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQUdqhy3zUX5YDtKHfPoz1XC2En2h1LS1BiRxdMJlgAtsNCEa4-w0bGwjyOYFOxO-rJRhNJpsYoNhG_Cjzm_l6DYed2kj6VXyOkBSvCFBDNj_wFjzFKvZvKwZzcWqg4DEmikBiRfEF325/s1600/IMGP0034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQUdqhy3zUX5YDtKHfPoz1XC2En2h1LS1BiRxdMJlgAtsNCEa4-w0bGwjyOYFOxO-rJRhNJpsYoNhG_Cjzm_l6DYed2kj6VXyOkBSvCFBDNj_wFjzFKvZvKwZzcWqg4DEmikBiRfEF325/s320/IMGP0034.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">apple feast at inks lake at sunset</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-XvJYWVr-CfjY0Ev42-Rv6IiCz_BPHBR6Pm6aSUX9Memslq6VCInNxJUff_p3yPW2OUIjIj8e3f_hDRszgw1ezO7SCbhXRhqgPpdyuXTmQ5rH6V_iYLPPgg4tl5-JIBYPUtIMfw8MQ4kK/s1600/100_3951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-XvJYWVr-CfjY0Ev42-Rv6IiCz_BPHBR6Pm6aSUX9Memslq6VCInNxJUff_p3yPW2OUIjIj8e3f_hDRszgw1ezO7SCbhXRhqgPpdyuXTmQ5rH6V_iYLPPgg4tl5-JIBYPUtIMfw8MQ4kK/s320/100_3951.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Pineapple upside-down cake...an Alton Brown masterpiece.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmGsgR-akOpOmoNzQUvuyzVBdH2g6eycsY2ah06AsE1pVQj11EWNMDjINxwjhsDUhdjkk2OPBX4CIn50URjR2lasORYnXFtQ4XSferz-syIGUhamROhH2p8uCgoR1djAxHt09otRuL8Ql0/s1600/IMG_0292.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmGsgR-akOpOmoNzQUvuyzVBdH2g6eycsY2ah06AsE1pVQj11EWNMDjINxwjhsDUhdjkk2OPBX4CIn50URjR2lasORYnXFtQ4XSferz-syIGUhamROhH2p8uCgoR1djAxHt09otRuL8Ql0/s320/IMG_0292.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Mount St. Dillon</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESSGdAUT43pYXMDEOMFBJ_cb2YdPfoAjViShTvcxpdCMeKVd4OeDolWPw70nBuDIKyT4PY9ORbtLTjl93wklle0nlcSPSNpoz9C1MJKRvEMLJUkO1FbIRMaFb-oLlI5hZJD0LwwRilXbB/s1600/IMGP0365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgESSGdAUT43pYXMDEOMFBJ_cb2YdPfoAjViShTvcxpdCMeKVd4OeDolWPw70nBuDIKyT4PY9ORbtLTjl93wklle0nlcSPSNpoz9C1MJKRvEMLJUkO1FbIRMaFb-oLlI5hZJD0LwwRilXbB/s320/IMGP0365.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Julie's gumbo!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzp0Wz98YIJ6I_lf5EY0Usc3qPuvn3pwHurTMZWEydUFIcHf0I3mRnevKpKpLl0SLMYgkVgFKcO5NkiiBsXPTjO2Bp2LQ_NJuUQK8HCNqUlvK7jEvjg5-VgGFqRPmyzL9GpFs9vtFButq/s1600/IMGP0404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzp0Wz98YIJ6I_lf5EY0Usc3qPuvn3pwHurTMZWEydUFIcHf0I3mRnevKpKpLl0SLMYgkVgFKcO5NkiiBsXPTjO2Bp2LQ_NJuUQK8HCNqUlvK7jEvjg5-VgGFqRPmyzL9GpFs9vtFButq/s320/IMGP0404.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Our favorite mobile taco restaurant. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrSI462pizqcz9wcXLRzvUk8qIsIiNcrMyBDUxPSwjVf4S_BUSLBw0k32R8vMJ4ndYIk3GS8YBs-2OtIrEa-A_z3HjKAt3n0_4iPsUO0IIFCbHzZ9KRngl7TmTNdYOo0DFQkLDGArK3P5/s1600/green6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmrSI462pizqcz9wcXLRzvUk8qIsIiNcrMyBDUxPSwjVf4S_BUSLBw0k32R8vMJ4ndYIk3GS8YBs-2OtIrEa-A_z3HjKAt3n0_4iPsUO0IIFCbHzZ9KRngl7TmTNdYOo0DFQkLDGArK3P5/s320/green6.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Green: most incredible vegetarian cuisine in San Antone.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3jpa8vvC520-X3VYQPnu88S95LS0zJxhzKEBF3YSPqWciTFVxaniFZ6fDgUzjF7Ro10jTspWIGR5E0CZCY1fFSPK0x3x8F42X0YsecmxG7QiDPJux3bcvtkkaRSCMeVirTuoGb2CWHH4/s1600/rivertree+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ3jpa8vvC520-X3VYQPnu88S95LS0zJxhzKEBF3YSPqWciTFVxaniFZ6fDgUzjF7Ro10jTspWIGR5E0CZCY1fFSPK0x3x8F42X0YsecmxG7QiDPJux3bcvtkkaRSCMeVirTuoGb2CWHH4/s320/rivertree+me.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">river tree bistro</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLbVYE133Hh1DTc-QY-8-VwyE5_ToVCkynJfFabbwdKa2jNqnP5SiLIh0KDMxKfgON-SGRHAyG1R8uQgxBXyP92DfQscX0RAMqBHEKT7eC4e0DHtv9PItEDmhc4BVXTvnVUCWUC_7ZQIg/s1600/IMG_0257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpLbVYE133Hh1DTc-QY-8-VwyE5_ToVCkynJfFabbwdKa2jNqnP5SiLIh0KDMxKfgON-SGRHAyG1R8uQgxBXyP92DfQscX0RAMqBHEKT7eC4e0DHtv9PItEDmhc4BVXTvnVUCWUC_7ZQIg/s320/IMG_0257.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-79921978173791939892011-04-17T20:17:00.000-07:002011-04-17T20:17:45.178-07:00HammocksOne of the first things I found out about Max when we started dating was that he slept in a hammock; not occasionally, not whenever he wanted to nap in the cool afternoon shade, but ALL the time. He had removed his bed from his bedroom and replaced it with a hammock where he would sleep that whole semester. Although I thought it was a bit on the insane side, ideas like these have always drawn me to him. I just never thought I would succumb to them…<br />
<br />
It was two in the morning (once again, past my hour of reckoning), and we were deep in the heart of Mexico. Now, when I say deep, I mean deep. We had come upon El Tajin, the ancient ruins we were planning on exploring, but they didn’t open until the morning so we had some night to kill. Max decided it would be a brilliant idea to drive out into the middle of nowhere and set up the hammock for the night. So we drove…and drove….and drove...down countless winding roads through nothing but fields and forests until we came upon the perfect spot. In the middle of what turned out to be a cornfield (I realized in the morning), he tied up the hammock to some avocado trees and we spent the rest of the night in a hammock in the Mexican wilderness. <br />
<br />
I was amazed that:<br />
1. We weren’t eaten by Mexican wildcats. In fact, the only contact we had with any life at all was the next morning when a man drove his car all the way down to where we were, got out, barfed in the cornfield, and then got back in his car, turned around, and left. Hm…whatever.<br />
2. It never got cold. We stayed warm with just Max’s amazing Mexican blanket purchased on a previous trip down..and a little cuddling of course. <br />
3. We were not arrested and incarcerated in a Mexican prison. We had NO idea whose field we were in but were pretty sure if someone came to kick us out, we could just act like we didn’t speak Spanish. Well…Max would act, I would be sincerely clueless. <br />
4. Hammocks are surprisingly comfortable.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIB_H4wLJbmRki7fZsjlQZ6gjI4X9vwqTYmwcUM3rUGmcis-j6wqmsc2LMBUhjww4P_j3sBV8YlJ9e899XOKDbvryEdzYl_lolHQtKOcOTfUKwDRovV35XubUy-S20-CoqH8Jcv-3Hd7p0/s1600/IMGP0137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIB_H4wLJbmRki7fZsjlQZ6gjI4X9vwqTYmwcUM3rUGmcis-j6wqmsc2LMBUhjww4P_j3sBV8YlJ9e899XOKDbvryEdzYl_lolHQtKOcOTfUKwDRovV35XubUy-S20-CoqH8Jcv-3Hd7p0/s320/IMGP0137.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Max, after a wonderful nights sleep.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwKwE71sz0j8uI67UO8OlHcDPFlP1UZ_qZG-noDtwQLs1FL3qxlcCYdD-zDlgCaW6RK_IzXZQQ1aVuXX3jkdO-FARialOAT7pmM3eOXk5vlT-TuVqShOOjpb49Q4haabAf1uHf6qiehdL/s1600/IMGP0139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijwKwE71sz0j8uI67UO8OlHcDPFlP1UZ_qZG-noDtwQLs1FL3qxlcCYdD-zDlgCaW6RK_IzXZQQ1aVuXX3jkdO-FARialOAT7pmM3eOXk5vlT-TuVqShOOjpb49Q4haabAf1uHf6qiehdL/s320/IMGP0139.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The corn/whatever field we called home for the night.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGoW_EsPogeXNmzqfIcAfvw7WYUprvYbNjQQp2dYlJhe1yiUE6e67qATZOecHww78UIdlD-5NWApGEbLioFoTj3KFcR1etz1Z0EvMlOLpDNpXMZJtfBxnWi6XaZo0Xj15FcF4Hm_f-Z_x/s1600/IMGP0141.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYGoW_EsPogeXNmzqfIcAfvw7WYUprvYbNjQQp2dYlJhe1yiUE6e67qATZOecHww78UIdlD-5NWApGEbLioFoTj3KFcR1etz1Z0EvMlOLpDNpXMZJtfBxnWi6XaZo0Xj15FcF4Hm_f-Z_x/s320/IMGP0141.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The long windy road that took us there. </div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-27209798093449515032011-03-20T11:10:00.000-07:002011-03-20T11:11:14.364-07:00Toda la Recha (whatever that means)It's time to make a confession. No, not THAT kind of confession. And I'm only allowed to make this confession so soon because the people I am keeping this from (hopefully) will not have access to this posting...at least not until it's been long enough not to matter anyway.<br />
<br />
<br />
Max has been in town (no, that's not the confession). But whenever Max is in town we tend to do some pretty spontaneous things...most of which will have to come in later blogs because I have church in an hour. Anyway, I got home from work late one night (around midnight) after an awful day of feeling like the worst nurse on the planet, and after venting to Max for an hour or so with him being completely understanding and helping me change my perspective as he often does, he had a brilliant suggestion; "let's go to Mexico!" After exhausting my excuses (like 1. My dad would kill me if I didn't get killed by the banditos first 2. There is a chance I may ACTUALLY be killed by banditos 3. I have to work. 4. Max's $425 ride may or may not be able to make it to the grocery store, let alone Mexico. Oh, and 5. It's one in the morning!). The last argument is probably the one that made it happen since I tend to make completely irrational decisions late at night. <br />
<br />
And thus...Mexico.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC_TQIxYt5-m8uonJWop_qbSaYtHG64RfNA1q4l9kVSNW0MKMkiZJ6ZxHALBAY8sGNuAVYzdzZw6Hads49XEnsH5J3JwsuV0YqGJU3rso1HBk6vmDqeRxkGYVZYlWTwjFWHRHQ9N4xgNDo/s1600/IMGP0265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" r6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC_TQIxYt5-m8uonJWop_qbSaYtHG64RfNA1q4l9kVSNW0MKMkiZJ6ZxHALBAY8sGNuAVYzdzZw6Hads49XEnsH5J3JwsuV0YqGJU3rso1HBk6vmDqeRxkGYVZYlWTwjFWHRHQ9N4xgNDo/s320/IMGP0265.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-25346458918050343062011-01-26T21:00:00.000-08:002011-01-27T17:41:31.584-08:001,000 Awesome ThingsOne of my top 3 favorite websites of all time is Ted.com. I absolutely love learning about the new and innovative ideas of this forever-changing world. If you don't know what it is-PLEASE check it out. <br />
<br />
The other night I was feeling particularly stressed out after work and sat down to my computer to watch a Ted or two. I came across a talk by a man who apparently has the "best blog in the world". Hm...I'll be the judge of that. After listening to him talk for 20 minutes about his life story and his passion for blogging I had to check it out. And...after spending over and hour on http://1000awesomethings.com/, I came to realize everyone was absolutely right. Best blog in the world. It's about the simple things that make life great; the oddities of humanity, the tender mercies we experience every day, and the people that make it all worth it. <br />
<br />
Now, I don't want to say I had the same idea a LONG time ago...but...I had the same idea a long time ago. I have been meaning, for some number of years now, to keep a record of all the tender mercies I experience throughout the day. Unfortunately, like so many other important-but-not-pertinent things in my life...it got pushed aside. So, I will just give you just a glimpse of some of the awesome things I have noticed just within the past few weeks.<br />
<br />
1. When you remember you had cookies in the oven just at the peak of "done-ness". <br />
I love to cook. Sure it takes time, and patience, and sometimes a little sweat, but there's nothing like taking the first bite of a delicious meal prepared by your own hand. And even better when you have someone to share it with. However, there is nothing more frustrating than turning your hard-labored food into ashes...just because you refuse to use a timer. So...when everything goes your way and the food comes out perfect, heave a sigh of relief and bite into some awesomeness. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEazWrE1UQzS8Bx6cJAUGAcBa6Pzg33G_bbDyGC2Fh81xmVuz2b9BIlGs6FuBQN2oFglXeq1vl_nrq_PwowDVDCHu9zMKauFu7yQjPK2KpexH3fXln6ic-3RYKMLxW__pELwacAtGWhrR8/s1600/100_3660.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEazWrE1UQzS8Bx6cJAUGAcBa6Pzg33G_bbDyGC2Fh81xmVuz2b9BIlGs6FuBQN2oFglXeq1vl_nrq_PwowDVDCHu9zMKauFu7yQjPK2KpexH3fXln6ic-3RYKMLxW__pELwacAtGWhrR8/s320/100_3660.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div></div><div></div><br />
(oh-so-delicious pumpkin cookies)<br />
<br />
2. Waking up from a nap and your hair looks better than when you laid down. <br />
<br />
3. Songs that don't make any sense. <br />
Songs have a strange capability of bringing us to a place we thought was long forgotten. Their meaning seems to speak directly to our soul and put words to our deepest thoughts. However, what about the songs that don't make any sense at all? Like "Wildcat" by Ratatat. It doesn't make any sense. It holds no stark meaning, but is all about the here and now. And that is what makes it so awesome. <br />
<br />
4. When your roommate unloads the dishwasher. <br />
Nobody likes to do that.<br />
<br />
5. Suddenly noticing everybody's veins. <br />
It happens to all nurses at some point or another. It happened to me when I was standing in the line at the post office. The man in front of me had the most beautiful veins I had ever seen and as I starred, I couldn't help but think of how glorious it would be to start a 16 gauge IV catheter into his juicy river of flowing blood.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYo6kEEn18Jg_EV_cBQsAaBZGrgLhCGpyf_xZ0V2OBBufA6vovXrdKAnSWNYV82I0V5wsUOHF2D0y8wDqCUHPUAcelhiEYfbEFi6QTaSQNB8WbF2EoOK39olvgnddjIvVFU1g40AJbJi5D/s1600/100_3863.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYo6kEEn18Jg_EV_cBQsAaBZGrgLhCGpyf_xZ0V2OBBufA6vovXrdKAnSWNYV82I0V5wsUOHF2D0y8wDqCUHPUAcelhiEYfbEFi6QTaSQNB8WbF2EoOK39olvgnddjIvVFU1g40AJbJi5D/s320/100_3863.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> (This is a pic of a tapestry from an art exhibit I went to downtown the other day. I think he was suppossed to be a Greek god of sorts...but all I could think about was starting 5,000 IV's in his perfect arm)<br />
<br />
6. No-name bands. <br />
40 fans (most heavily intoxicated and covered in tattoos and piercings), all jammed into a tiny, smokey room on the second level of a 100 year old home. Awesome? You bet. Because amidst all the chaos there are four incredibly talented musicians playing songs they spent months to write, to a group of young adults who paid absolutely nothing to come see them. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHzFLxm3Dfq0rfg1EUKv6ARV5H1K2wOLM1jk2zQW1MXRkBcVJcl_a6wai2N05EejqYen03SNm2mWqu9wawmaulMfzDvH199aB1o-H124z4puKh8au8bqSrp27HPq-aCGWRuTBOy3gE1-d/s1600/100_3872.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggHzFLxm3Dfq0rfg1EUKv6ARV5H1K2wOLM1jk2zQW1MXRkBcVJcl_a6wai2N05EejqYen03SNm2mWqu9wawmaulMfzDvH199aB1o-H124z4puKh8au8bqSrp27HPq-aCGWRuTBOy3gE1-d/s320/100_3872.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
7. Boys<br />
I know what you're thinking. But I'm talking about the boys who help you do things you would otherwise have to pay a bunch of money to get done. It might be a little steriotypical, but boys are just better at these kind of things. Things like yardwork, basic fix-ups around the house, and mechanics...lots and lots of mechanics. Oh, and pushing things. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxVMieReqBsPIbrpF-8NkKM0oaCjzwwNs8KaFEZ5B-XqJwnm3n0CqFjlZPzDNat-2a3B76r4ozDj3TBEe8NiRuN0L5oSpCVIyTuRbTJfUPQNNqBEAoCRgJ0OeTsdW5rzE94Ra9efZO6fL/s1600/100_3860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdxVMieReqBsPIbrpF-8NkKM0oaCjzwwNs8KaFEZ5B-XqJwnm3n0CqFjlZPzDNat-2a3B76r4ozDj3TBEe8NiRuN0L5oSpCVIyTuRbTJfUPQNNqBEAoCRgJ0OeTsdW5rzE94Ra9efZO6fL/s320/100_3860.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> (The two wonderful boys who helped me push the Green Machine before it got towed)<br />
8<span style="font-family: inherit;">. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span>Feeling obligated to go to something and dreading it…only to find out it has been cancelled!</span><br />
<br />
9. Playing dress-up. <br />
Yes, even big girls like to play dress-up. And you really can't help it after (somewhat) guiltlessly watching a whole season of American's Next Top Model in a weekend.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPP6Z481PqscYLDcuQ6YI7EKVNbz7d_RqBWCc6q3W5N7CKTloE_pjmbzsyDtlTlRiTDWvDbs6PA7gve5xMbxUcKZLnF05nYWQRRGmZfDEBEa4NWbG23c7Tv4wbFjGQIaxOedYh64woS65/s1600/100_3841+-+Copy+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDPP6Z481PqscYLDcuQ6YI7EKVNbz7d_RqBWCc6q3W5N7CKTloE_pjmbzsyDtlTlRiTDWvDbs6PA7gve5xMbxUcKZLnF05nYWQRRGmZfDEBEa4NWbG23c7Tv4wbFjGQIaxOedYh64woS65/s320/100_3841+-+Copy+-+Copy.JPG" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(How I wish I could share the <i>amazing</i> pics of my partner in crime and not be killed...now THAT would be awesome!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-48139612052741467992011-01-12T09:54:00.000-08:002011-01-13T16:11:27.648-08:00I can do hard things.I've done it. I've finally graduated from orientation in the ER. It's been a long and stressful journey (and is by no means over), but you will no longer see red on my nametag!<br />
<br />
I pray every morning that I won't do anything stupid and ESPECIALLY that I won't kill any of my patients, and then I go to work. As things start to get rough throughout the day, I just stop for a second and say to myself, "I can do hard things"...sometimes having to repeat it <i>several</i> times.<br />
<br />
So...priority one chest pain with glucose through the roof, a couple broken femurs, combative, WBC of 25,000, possible TB with a GI bleed AND a sore throat?? Bring it on. I can do hard things. <br />
<input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><br />
<div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-7859007241666785222010-12-29T22:05:00.000-08:002010-12-29T22:07:06.288-08:00My boyfriend is a hitchhiker.Midnight. Middle of the week. I'm home alone, fast asleep in my bed. My phone rings...finally waking me up after the 15th call from a number I do not recognize. I silence it, not fully aware of what's going on. Then the doorbell rings...several times. I'm startled awake and my heart starts pounding as I try to put two-and-two together. I want to curl up under the covers and ignore it...but curiosity gets the better of me. So, armed with absolutely nothing, I creep down the stairs and slowly open the front door. No one. Wait. My eyes adjust slightly to the night and I see a dark shadow standing in the middle of the street holding a cardboard sign. Common sense would say I run back into the house, lock the door, and call the cops. However, common sense doesn't work the way it should after midnight. I take a couple steps forward only to see...MAX?!? <br />
<br />
Yes. My boyfriend, whom I was certain was thousands of miles away, had hitchhiked all the way to San Antonio to surprise me. He mentioned hitchhiking before, but I never thought he was serious about it. Besides, I'm pretty sure it's illegal. Regardless...it was the BEST surprise I could have hoped for. He spent the next few weeks here and we had many more adventures together (of which is a completely different story). However, when the time came for him to leave for Mexico, I refused to let him hitchhike. I wanted him back alive. So...he bought a car...maybe not so much to please me as much as he wanted to teach himself to be a mechanic...which is bound to happen when you pay $425.00 for a vehicle. And mechanic he did become. <br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExPXAGuMpGI2aZHo_ddWoPxewF77RMurzbZqpaCevEjBwc3O-UDBbePKI5vK_AZ4At_nvf1XhpnnBormUPer2CejVxp17f6JsEdB0fe8vyhV-BfAWFHpMNCD0fEBywvwlKrn_VTDX-FzY/s1600/100_3789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjExPXAGuMpGI2aZHo_ddWoPxewF77RMurzbZqpaCevEjBwc3O-UDBbePKI5vK_AZ4At_nvf1XhpnnBormUPer2CejVxp17f6JsEdB0fe8vyhV-BfAWFHpMNCD0fEBywvwlKrn_VTDX-FzY/s320/100_3789.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">After making in to Mexico and back...with only some minor repairs...we took the green machine up to Dallas. We made it! ...but not without a little help from AAA...and a few hours in the Auto Zone parking lot where Max fixed the car...</div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOAKl0C4t_PGsDPpl21cfexJaDDjgM4PgJOhS510ppE9NsIQzQKVcDwaEeVUin1N_h8Img0zeWSt3PzsYkGox5QWB6q860chCYCOnil8mwO42b7KuysIZZXRkudbQuG9ivM16eccznZGrM/s1600/100_3799.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOAKl0C4t_PGsDPpl21cfexJaDDjgM4PgJOhS510ppE9NsIQzQKVcDwaEeVUin1N_h8Img0zeWSt3PzsYkGox5QWB6q860chCYCOnil8mwO42b7KuysIZZXRkudbQuG9ivM16eccznZGrM/s320/100_3799.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
And I did what any helpful, worried girlfriend would do: ate truffles. <br />
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I don't know what I should be more uneasy about...the fact that my boyfriend is a hitchhiker...or the fact that he's now driving around in a car that he calls "the 4-2-5 ride".Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-2823212704934669892010-12-13T18:13:00.000-08:002010-12-13T18:13:42.655-08:00Airport<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wish I could say it was the crazy Christmas rush at the airport. OR the 2 hour drive from Council to Boise on slick, snowy, foggy roads. OR the huge line at security. Unfortunately none of that would be true. The truth is this: I read the wrong line. The flight I THOUGHT I was two hours early for was long gone by the time I got to Boise. So...50 dollars and 6 hours later...I will spend this day...the WHOLE day, in the airport. Thank heavens for free wi-fi. I will take this opportunity for a much-needed blog update. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">(</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh and is it so bad that I hope the flight I was SUPPOSED to be on crashes so that I don’t feel so bad about missing it? Ha okay that’s awful. I would never wish that. I’m actually secretly excited to see if I can keep myself entertained all day long with nothing to do! But I DO wish I didn’t have to be at the hospital at 7 tomorrow morning…this is going to be a very short night.) </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Well…I just spent the last 6 days in Council, and it was FABULOUS. A little cold, yes, but I can handle anything for a week. I couldn’t get enough time off closer to Christmas, so I came home a couple weeks early to celebrate my birthday and Christmas. We did all the things I love:</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Chinese food. (Although my stomache rarely agrees)<span style="mso-no-proof: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMHJtiMwwTwDgt8ULA2nQklVFlzK2iTHWB0BfgOHQ4mL0JkqXXsJMshQZMQhrs0t-0bYoIIJ13bwrrZCql1wZj6FWNbMZO6jjMSHtVR_UhV-LKE6y8sGauTm9QzT6lWU6bHT3wUo3T95R/s1600/100_3738.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJMHJtiMwwTwDgt8ULA2nQklVFlzK2iTHWB0BfgOHQ4mL0JkqXXsJMshQZMQhrs0t-0bYoIIJ13bwrrZCql1wZj6FWNbMZO6jjMSHtVR_UhV-LKE6y8sGauTm9QzT6lWU6bHT3wUo3T95R/s320/100_3738.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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</div><div align="left">Gingerbread houses and hot cocoa.</div><div align="left"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And of course...snow. Lot's of snow.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(Wi-fi too slow to upload snow pic...guess it's time to quit.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Salt Lake now...next stop, Austin. Now how to get from Austin to San Antonio...?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-63400766920591439522010-11-05T19:09:00.000-07:002010-11-05T19:09:24.987-07:00Life in the ERWell...if you haven't guessed by the 2 month lack of postings...I got a job! And OH what a job it is. I have been working for Southwest General Hospital for about a month and half now and I love it! ...most of the time. I decided, while trying to weigh my options, to start in the department that scared me the most. After all, what better place to learn than in the middle of all the action...in the ER?!?<br />
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There have certainly been times I question my reasoning, but so far I haven't killed anybody, and have managed to not be yelled at too much by my patients OR the doctors. However, I continue to keep my fingers crossed every day. <br />
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A few things I love about the ER.<br />
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1. No bed baths. Don't get me wrong...I like a good bed bath just as much as the next person, but I am happy to say I no longer give them.<br />
2. If your patient is obnoxious...no worries...they will be gone in an hour anyway. I mean out of the ER of course, not dead. <br />
3. Every day is like a reality T.V. show...or a Spanish soap opera...I'm not sure which yet.<br />
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A few things I hate about the ER.<br />
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1. Emergencies that are NOT emergencies. I'm sorry that you have pink eye, but come back when there is a three inch nail protruding from your pink eye. ha okay that is a little harsh...but you get the point. <br />
2. Messing with pre-diagnosed patients is risky business. I will be amazed if I don't end up with shingles before Christmas. <br />
3. I'm convinced my co-workers think I have no personality. In all reality, I'm just trying to stay above water and don't have time for trivial things like conversation...or humor.<br />
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Okay, there may be SOME truth to all of that...but the real truth is that the ER is great. I go home every day feeling like I accomplished something meaningful. I work with some AMAZING people who are so talented and I hope every day to become more and more like them.<br />
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Meanwhile, I have been enjoying life in Texas. I LOVE that it is still 80+ degrees and it's November!! I love my roommate Holly who sits and talks with me in the hallway late at night when we both have to get up super early. I love that there are traffic signs that say "Don't mess with Texas". I love that I can get freshly made tortillas at the grocery store every day. I love that it seems to be someone's birthday every weekend. I love that there is a jazz radio station I can listen to in my car, and live jazz on the Riverwalk every night of the week. I love it...and so much more, but it's time for bed. Yes, I'm going to bed at 9:30 on a Friday night...but somebody's got to save lives on the weekend, right? <br />
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<input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-12072697729700065322010-09-19T22:21:00.000-07:002010-09-19T22:21:08.229-07:00Week TwoIt's on to week two here in San Antonio!! ...and I am still unemployed. Don't get me wrong...it is not necessarily regrettable. I have made <i>a lot</i> of progress and feel like I will be employed in the very near future. And-I have met some amazing people (my favorite being the missionary couple over-seeing the employment center that I have gotten to know very well. They are my best friends and I must not have made too bad of an impression on them either considering they tried to hook me up with their son...ha). But. For now, I am going to enjoy my last days of freedom. So, what does one do in a new and somewhat strange city? SIGHT-SEE! I know, this is what tourists are supposed to do...but as a new resident, I feel like I should see all there is to see...so I can at least show people around when I finally convince them to come visit me. First stop: the Alamo-number one tourist destination in Texas.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi10m0Zb5TRb3A0ynkI80AIJB7V3csqIqA1awk1xBZ2XYopkRuE0wNhbX8vL_2Qvq-Ihi4qkhtkQ1Le4Ac9cXgDb18zfN8M0IEs7GGXfabTgCYIFkBoUWTWwrNcfdmDRF3diOsKlITBO2D/s1600/100_3561.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi10m0Zb5TRb3A0ynkI80AIJB7V3csqIqA1awk1xBZ2XYopkRuE0wNhbX8vL_2Qvq-Ihi4qkhtkQ1Le4Ac9cXgDb18zfN8M0IEs7GGXfabTgCYIFkBoUWTWwrNcfdmDRF3diOsKlITBO2D/s320/100_3561.JPG" /></a></div><br />
The last time I was here, I was 16. Now I am 22 and SO much more mature and actually interested in things like...history. I thought it would be a lot more exciting this time. And...it wasn't. Don't let the cheesy smile fool you. I mean, there IS some amazing history at this site...but I think once is good enough. However, I did meet this guy in the gift shop...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRwzmx9AQWoxrpBNElO3sz3JSB-E_2mLIVAgszpRaEFyziOBDzSB1FZyHOb9WdC4vVMWX0dhFIabIqZUmKUIiX3IKDRy7ujlLdnSRtI11e4hTsd9gN1vzF9YG1I0Cpb2J_V21r7Nsow3l/s1600/NateQuarry.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKRwzmx9AQWoxrpBNElO3sz3JSB-E_2mLIVAgszpRaEFyziOBDzSB1FZyHOb9WdC4vVMWX0dhFIabIqZUmKUIiX3IKDRy7ujlLdnSRtI11e4hTsd9gN1vzF9YG1I0Cpb2J_V21r7Nsow3l/s320/NateQuarry.png" /></a></div><br />
Apparently he is a famous UFC fighter (Nate "the Rock" Quarry or something like that)...but since I unfortunately don't <i>follow</i> UFC, I had no idea who he was...ah well. <br />
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I was then directed to check out the other missions in San Antonio, and these are definitely worth seeing. There is some amazing history at these as well, and bonus-NO TOURISTS. Just beautiful (and somewhat eerie) chapels.<br />
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After parking in what I believe was a private parking lot right by the church, I got out and explored the grounds. It was <i>gorgeous</i>. All of these missions are set a few miles apart and all were home/refuge/sanctuary to hundreds of people around the same time as the Alamo (1836 I think). Each is set up as a fortress with cannons and other weapons ready for war. <br />
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This is my face...looking through a cannon hole. ha ha <br />
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Oh, and <i>this</i> is the amazing tree whose trunk was literally swimming in and out of the ground.<br />
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(Julie-this pose is for you...thumbs up to the duckies)<br />
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The absolute coolest things I have seen so far in San Antonio though are these. Now, I don't know exactly what they are or what they are doing out there in this random field. But they are MASSIVE. And extremely curious...with only this little sign to explain...<br />
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You would think someone who could make these...um...women...would be able to make a better sign. Regardless...I googled the guys name and it turns out they were made by Tom Otterness...a famous artist out of New York. I stopped reading right there. I like not knowing why on earth these creatures exist. <br />
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<input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-13933441898271593612010-09-11T09:55:00.000-07:002010-09-11T09:55:50.692-07:00Don't Mess With TexasI finally did it. I moved myself to Texas. And when I say "I moved myself", that's exactly what I mean. After trying to convince several people to road trip it down with me (to no avail because apparently school and work come first), I trudged the 27 some hours to my new home.<br />
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The trip started in Council, Idaho--had a brief break in Utah where I saw family, old roommates, friends from BYU-I who had decided to try out Provo, and Leigh and Jon-to give them the wieners and syrup from Max (Oh and where I got my oil changed only to have my car smell funny and make weird noises, then to bring it back where they realized they had forgot to put the oil cap back on and hot oil was spewing out all over my engine...that's good. They thanked me heavily for being so observant and bringing it back in, saving me-and them-much trouble).<br />
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Now, normally, I am perfectly content just listening to music, or my own thoughts, during car trips. But 27 hours?? My thoughts would go crazy after 10. So, I decided to make my time useful by listening to highly motivating, somewhat random books on CD. I was going to be THE most determined person in Texas when I arrived.<br />
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The first book I listened to...<br />
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Highly motivating. All about life's lessons seen through the eyes of a dying man. What a way to start a road trip...depressed, but SO ready to start living.<br />
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Book number two...<br />
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Okay so this one doesn't make much sense, I know. 1. I do not have a husband. 2. Dr. Laura, really??<br />
However, she makes me laugh with her incredibly blunt opinions and I have heard this was a good book and got a little curious. There were several things I learned from this one. First, apparently it is abuse to say your husband looks better without facial hair...hm. Second, that man is a very simple creature, "who needs only direct communication, respect, appreciation, food, and good loving". And third, that if he gets all these things, you-and he-will be happy.<br />
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By the time this book was over-I had made it the Albuquerque where I planned on getting a hotel room and spending the night. However, it was only 6pm so I decided instead to find a grocery store and get some fresh fruits and veggies because the thought of fast food made me sick to my stomach after all the Canadian chocolate that was so readily available and shamelessly eaten up to this point. However, after driving around downtown Albuquerque for almost an hour, and finding NOTHING, I decided people in New Mexico must not eat food...not real food anyway. I did see the college campus during my wanderings and it was actually really cool. Maybe I'll go there someday. Well, after consulting with a nice gas jockey, I decided to continue my trip to Roswell, and see if THEY believed in grocery stores. So, three hours later, I arrived in Roswell, New Mexico-home of the most alien sightings...and the most insane tourists searching for little green men. I was a little worried at first, but then I realized they were all so welcoming...<br />
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And SO cute.<br />
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And I found a grocery store!! But. I bought raspberries that were a little on the moldy side and they made me sick for the rest of the trip. Also, because I could not bring myself to pay 100 dollars for a hotel room where I would only sleep a few hours...I slept in my car. It was incredibly uncomfortable-but totally worth it. Who sleeps in their car in an alien town?? Don't tell my mom.<br />
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In the morning, it was off the San Antonio, and I was so thankful that the night was over and I hadn't been abducted. The next book was by Zig Ziglar, whom I have come to absolutely love. SO entertaining.<br />
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This is another of those, "does this really apply...?" But it totally did! After all, we are all salesmen (or women), in some way or another, right? He definitely kept me from falling asleep on this leg.<br />
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The last book was a little less exciting, but oh-so-interesting.<br />
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I recommend this one to...well, anyone. It reiterates the fact that what you think is what you do and what you do is who you are. I totally agreed with everything this man wrote...now I just have to apply it.<br />
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Well, this book was just coming to a close when I finally reached San Antonio where it started POURING rain as I started to unpack my things from my car into my adorable new house where I met my awesome new roommate, Holly.<br />
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So, all motivated (and still slightly ill from the raspberries), I started my Texan journey...now I just need to find a job. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5888429892711022578.post-49804063214010036082010-09-03T21:48:00.000-07:002010-09-04T10:07:10.770-07:00Wieners!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxVUKsz4nr-JJAThbALugBirrh31d5bc5DTUnd3LGukRnVaER2-j0ZhM4I7lP2LoGcOFk7WKKgKgAnhjhBCIETCGSFWLun47bCcajAgUqSalwLtJBvaKIxurUNK9P8F9dbLBMgc4XrRF-Y/s1600/hot-dog+stand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>What is youth for if not to have crazy foreign adventures in far away countries like...Canada? Okay, so maybe it's not so foreign...or very far away, but it definitely holds crazy adventures for all who dare enter its borders. That is if they let you stay (thank you to the border guard who so kindly did NOT deport me...Max grilled him a delicious smokie). Now, about this hot-dog shop. You may be tempted to picture Max up in the mountains selling hot-dogs out of something that looks like this...<br />
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But don't be fooled...it is MUCH classier than that. In fact...it looks a lot like this:<br />
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Ha ha okay, okay...maybe more like this:<br />
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Now, life as a "hot-dog babe" (as Max calls it), is not as glamorous as you would think. I mean, it's a good time, don't get me wrong, but one can only handle so many weenie jokes from drunks at 2 in the morning without starting to second-guess what you're still doing awake...either that or you find yourself laughing at them which should make you even more worried. Although the hours are long and you tend to smell a bit like sausages at the end of the day, there are some awesome things that go on in a hot-dog restaurant when no one is around. One being....S'MORES! and not just any s'mores, but s'mores made out of MASSIVE marshmallows stuffed with Canadian chocolate between two delicious dutch ginger cookies (I forget the name...). All made by an incredibly handsome....wiener.<br />
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Ha. Okay, so he only wore it to amuse me after much pestering...but it was totally worth it! <br />
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Also, what better place to own a hot-dog shop than in the center of a gorgeous Canadian national park? Jon and Leigh (Max's business partner and his adorable wife), gave us the day off and we spent it hiking. This was not just any hike though. Max had to test my mountaineering abilities by taking me to the top of Galway. It was a little embarassing...for him of course. He must have been 20 feet behind me the whole time and was relentless in yelling at me to slow down. I basically carried him through the shale and up the cliffs just before the peak. I was so proud of him when he finally made it to the top! <br />
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This is him (obviously still breathing super hard from the strenuous hike). Oh, and don't mind my hair...it was windy. He insisted on ruining all my pictures with silly faces and the only one that <i>would </i>have turned out...he's missing an eye...<br />
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Yep...this is more like it... <br />
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Here we are enjoying our buns and veggies before we headed back down. (Oh, and Julie...I want you to note the color of his eyes...but don't get any funny ideas. We all know your secret...that's what happens when you share it as your "something exciting about yourself" at the beginning of the semester. Next time stick with the salivating at the sight of human flesh)<br />
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Before the big hike, though, we took a little "walk" up a mountain to a lake with Max's best friend Kristopher, the amazingly talented photographer. But even with that kind of talent, you can't do much with a model who insists on choking his girlfriend. <br />
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I had much better models...<br />
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Alright...it's getting late, but there are a few more things I <i>love</i> about Waterton. One-being grilled corn on the cob. Max says everything is better in Canada, and although that may or may not be true, it IS true that is was probably some of the best corn I have ever tasted.<br />
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Oh and you cannot forget the TIGER ICE CREAM!! Tiger ice cream is orange flavored ice cream with strips of black licorice and it is arguably THE best ice cream ever invented...BUT you can only get it in Canada! I begged Max every day to buy me some and it wasn't until I had been there an entire week before he finally relented (he seemed to think if I got it, I wouldn't have any reason to stay in Canada...ha)<br />
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I shared with him of course...because it was more romantic to share than have our own...we felt the same way about hot-dogs. Well, one of us did. The other had to be forced against his will to pose for such a photo:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_xCbjkmTLWK181klDV6BsMU1x5i0gbU7QqIsTijP6jEhkx28IvTD1YWJ20MP-vMzolSBRn2_dXuPkYBuGFzU6llCLKKgr1gwIkP-Ez5WIJNo_JFYwEi69zdmrVcSvHghMN1NCJvHhmbF/s1600/100_3503.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl_xCbjkmTLWK181klDV6BsMU1x5i0gbU7QqIsTijP6jEhkx28IvTD1YWJ20MP-vMzolSBRn2_dXuPkYBuGFzU6llCLKKgr1gwIkP-Ez5WIJNo_JFYwEi69zdmrVcSvHghMN1NCJvHhmbF/s320/100_3503.JPG" /></a></div><br />
And that is how I spent my last two weeks. Adventrous? Maybe. Exciting? Possibly. Would I do it again? In a heartbeat.<br />
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</div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><br />
<div id="refHTML"></div><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><!--Session data--><input id="jsProxy" onclick="if(typeof(jsCall)=='function'){jsCall();}else{setTimeout('jsCall()',500);}" type="hidden" /><div id="refHTML"></div>Christie Ruth Linfordhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13539126037877813083noreply@blogger.com3