<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391</id><updated>2011-07-28T16:06:55.350-05:00</updated><title type='text'>NOT OF THIS WORLD</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>77</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-890359092391098584</id><published>2010-02-11T09:49:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T20:04:49.333-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Best Moments</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I have tried blogging a few times about my dad, but its just been too hard. I first want to say that God is so good to me. I cant explain how difficult its been to see my dad go through this. However, God has shown me things that I wouldn't trade for anything. Its been a really great, wonderful, hard,funny, sad, loving experience. Today I want to share one of my experiences with you all. It was a funny one, I laughed the hardest ever and it was with my dad. It started on Tuesday on of the days dad goes to dialysis. After work I head over to my rents house and as I walk in my mom says, "your dad is in a very bad mood," which is normal for after a day at dialysis. She likes to warn me &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; I get all hurt when hes mean to me. I tell myself its understandable being that he is sick. She also mentions that he has markings on his head and I asked her like what, blood? She says no I'm not sure what it is. Well I call for him and he kinda yells at me, something to the extent what do you want, but not in a nice way. He was in the restroom and was being really really grouchy so I left and decided to go back after hes not annoyed. I called my sister in law who picked him up from dialysis for me and ask her if she noticed anything on his head. She says yes and assured me it wasn't blood. She said what it looked like to her was like what her dad had on his stomach when the doctors wrote on him to cut him open. So I hang up with her and call dialysis and speak to a nurse. I ask her if they wrote on my dads head for some reason because he came home with marks on his head. She was trying not to laugh at me but she did! She replied that no they didn't write on him.  I call my dad on my way back over and ask him the usual questions like, how are you feeling, do you need anything. I ask him about the markings my mom says he has. He says he doesn't know what it is. He fell a few days ago and i asked if he was sure he didn't hit his head. He says no, so now I'm eager to get there. When I arrive I go for his head first and immediately say they are veins, purple veins that I have never noticed. I text Vanessa who is a PA and goes to my church. I'm questioning her and explaining and she says well if they are veins that were not there yesterday than its not normal. I tell her man I have never noticed them. She goes on to say ask him how he feels and just keep a close eye on him. So the next day I go to work worried but I know the nurse goes to see him that day. I get there after work and he says, "Mama ya &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;se&lt;/span&gt; lo &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;que&lt;/span&gt; es en mi &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;cavesa&lt;/span&gt;," he tells me that he let the nurse know i was worried &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; he had purple veins on his head. She examines him and says its ink!!!! I was so sure they were veins. Then he remembers for her but not for me, and goes on to tell her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;ohhh&lt;/span&gt; look I been scratching my head with this pen!! Can you believe that?!!! I'm such an idiot! He does it for her the way he scratches himself and she says yup that's it. He had been writing all over his head with a pen and I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt; out for nothing! But boy did we laugh and laugh about it. I will remember these moments and cherish them forever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-890359092391098584?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/890359092391098584/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=890359092391098584&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/890359092391098584'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/890359092391098584'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2010/02/best-moments.html' title='The Best Moments'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-6435348194646091619</id><published>2009-07-15T13:35:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-15T13:49:16.311-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Forwards</title><content type='html'>Alot of us cant stand dumb forwards and boy do they irritate me sometimes, especially when they have what almost seem as threats at the end. Well I received one today and it is sad if it is true but it really touched my heart so I wanted to share it. It has a really great moral to it and I was not irritated when i received it, instead I was glad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;              &lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt; &lt;strong&gt;While a man was polishing his new car, his 4 yr old son picked up a stone and scratched lines on the side of the car. In anger, the man took the child's hand and hit it many times; not realizing he was using a wrench. At the hospital, the child lost all his fingers due to multiple fractures. When the child saw his father......with painful eyes he asked, 'Dad when will my fingers grow back?' The man was so hurt and speechless; he went back to his car and kicked it a lot of times. Devastated by his own actions......sitting in front of that car he looked at the scratches; the child had written 'LOVE YOU DAD'. The next day that man committed suicide. . . . . . . . . . . . . .&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#663366;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Anger and Love have no limits; choose the latter to have a beautiful, lovely life..... Things are to be used and people are to be loved, But the problem in today's world is that, People are used and things are loved... let's be careful to keep this thought in mind : Things are to be used, but People are to be loved ... Be yourself....This is the only day we HAVE. Have a nice day Best regards Watch your thoughts; they become words. Watch your words; they become actions.. Watch your actions; they become habits. Watch your habits they become character; Watch your character; it becomes your destiny. I'm glad a friend forwarded this to me as a reminder. God bless you; I hope you are having a wonderful day! If you don't pass this on to anybody, nothing bad will happen; if you do, you will have ministered to someone. The Will of God will never take you to where the Grace of God will not PROTECT you....  Stay FAITHFUL and Be GRATEFUL&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-6435348194646091619?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/6435348194646091619/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=6435348194646091619&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6435348194646091619'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6435348194646091619'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2009/07/forwards.html' title='Forwards'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-3788689315986436758</id><published>2009-03-17T10:44:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T15:39:33.087-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Laughing and Crying</title><content type='html'>Some things are just uncontrollable for me. There are two things, one of which you all are well aware of.  For the life of me I am not able to control laughter when someone falls down. I have pretty much always been like this. The earliest memory I have involves my mom. I was sooo attached to her, pretty much till I was all grown up. Always waiting on her to come to bed or to finish cooking and cleaning so she could play with me. The earliest recollection of laughter getting the best of me, would have to be waiting for her, staring out the window as it rained. See as soon as it started raining my mom would make a run for it outside to gather the clothes from the line. Well I have this memory of her running with the laundry in her arms and "tas" as soon as she reached the concrete she fell, butt first. I laughed and laughed for what seemed forever, cuz I remember telling my dad when he came home for lunch and boy did I even make him laugh. So I have this uncontrollable laughter, but I also have this uncontrollable crying.&lt;br /&gt;I can't say that this second one is any better or worse, but its the total opposite. As well I am not able to control it for the life of me. I cry when I see a pregnant girl or a mom with her baby. I cry when I hear a baby's cry. Something happened today and it was like God was telling me you can handle this, I wouldn't put you through it if you couldn't. I was at my desk and this  co-worker of mine comes over to me and tells me that she has something to tell me. She tells me that she is pregnant, and I instantly give her a huge hug, but I start crying. I can't control it, I tried assuring her that I was happy for her which I am, but part of me feels sad too. I sat at my desk talking to God and telling Him that I don't like getting like this, that I feel bad. But not even a half hour later I go to the restroom and my boss is in there. She has to be my closest friend here. Well she tells me, Lucy I have something to tell you. Yup I'm not even kidding she tells me that she is pregnant. I hugged her so tight and told her how happy I was and of course started crying again. I didn't want to come up from the hug, because I didn't want her to see my face. See this might be so uncontrollable for me, buts its me. Maybe some day I will stop laughing at people, and maybe some day I will stop crying at the thought of a baby. The truth is that I hope that day never comes because I love to laugh almost as much as I love to cry.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-3788689315986436758?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/3788689315986436758/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=3788689315986436758&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3788689315986436758'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3788689315986436758'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2009/03/laughing-and-crying.html' title='Laughing and Crying'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4600711238646704158</id><published>2009-01-06T15:26:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T16:41:28.256-06:00</updated><title type='text'>BOO</title><content type='html'>If I was missed, well I'm sorry. I don't really have any sort of great excuse, nor have I been particularly busy. Work is the same, boring as always, but I thank God for blessing me with the ability to work and with a job. I should be starting school next Monday, I'm pretty excited. I really want to finish up already. The truth is that I think my dad kind of still feels obligated to keep an eye out on me. Of course parents will always feel like that, but what I mean is financially. I always pictured myself paying them back one day, IMAGINE that! No really I can imagine it, my dad has always been such a hard worker, so I would love to do something nice for him one day, something really special. You know its true that it takes a lot of money to have children. I can literally hear myself now, always asking for things and 99% of the time him saying yes. All the time he spend taking me here and there for activities I was in, and never being late to pick me up, not once. I was telling him the other day that the building were both of my classes are located is near the bridge. I told him that I was kind of scared being that my classes will end at 10pm. He knows I'm a chicken when it comes to things like that,soooo he offered to come with me and wait. Can you imagine that, me taking my dad to school at my age. I thought he was gonna insist after I said no, but he didn't. Makes me happy though that he would offer, that he still loves me after all my failures. To think that the love he has for me is nothing compared to the love God has for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4600711238646704158?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4600711238646704158/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4600711238646704158&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4600711238646704158'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4600711238646704158'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2009/01/boo.html' title='BOO'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-6067613746843656903</id><published>2008-11-01T00:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-01T01:00:04.635-05:00</updated><title type='text'>No Workie Yet</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQvwZSkgQPI/AAAAAAAAAoI/jl8chtNZSjI/s1600-h/1225517633500-704637.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQvwZSkgQPI/AAAAAAAAAoI/jl8chtNZSjI/s320/1225517633500-704637.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263564906784899314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Okay so my phone has this cool progam called my closet, its suppose to help me get dressed. Also its suppose to help me remember what I have worn already, that&amp;#39;s awesome. So I&amp;#39;m suppose to take pictures of all my clothes one by one. I started to and got bored. Now I have a mess. Ill let you all know how it goes...TBC.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-6067613746843656903?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/6067613746843656903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=6067613746843656903&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6067613746843656903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6067613746843656903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/11/no-workie-yet.html' title='No Workie Yet'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQvwZSkgQPI/AAAAAAAAAoI/jl8chtNZSjI/s72-c/1225517633500-704637.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-2796467032022448113</id><published>2008-10-30T22:48:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-30T22:48:08.125-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Work</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQp_-OfbdBI/AAAAAAAAAoA/t8YSohMWktw/s1600-h/1225397572860-1-788128.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQp_-OfbdBI/AAAAAAAAAoA/t8YSohMWktw/s320/1225397572860-1-788128.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263159821554381842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This is what my desk looks like when I have a busy day at work. I get so swamped that I don&amp;#39;t know what to work on first. But I like it, days go by faster.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-2796467032022448113?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/2796467032022448113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=2796467032022448113&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2796467032022448113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2796467032022448113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/work.html' title='Work'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQp_-OfbdBI/AAAAAAAAAoA/t8YSohMWktw/s72-c/1225397572860-1-788128.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-3492583527089623095</id><published>2008-10-29T22:16:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-29T22:16:45.402-05:00</updated><title type='text'>At Golden Corral</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQknHcwiSKI/AAAAAAAAAn4/4T8QPQu7Hpw/s1600-h/1225333324084-705404.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQknHcwiSKI/AAAAAAAAAn4/4T8QPQu7Hpw/s320/1225333324084-705404.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262780648491468962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Here are the fellas eating. This camera isn&amp;#39;t all that great. Ds picture looked better than mine.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-3492583527089623095?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/3492583527089623095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=3492583527089623095&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3492583527089623095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3492583527089623095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/at-golden-corral.html' title='At Golden Corral'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQknHcwiSKI/AAAAAAAAAn4/4T8QPQu7Hpw/s72-c/1225333324084-705404.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-3246921294829434299</id><published>2008-10-28T09:17:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T09:21:38.468-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Copied</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQcf2czTXII/AAAAAAAAAnw/cc49uJkRXnw/s1600-h/copy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262209709910482050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQcf2czTXII/AAAAAAAAAnw/cc49uJkRXnw/s400/copy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Even found the toilet paper in the fence still.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-3246921294829434299?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/3246921294829434299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=3246921294829434299&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3246921294829434299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3246921294829434299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/copied.html' title='Copied'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQcf2czTXII/AAAAAAAAAnw/cc49uJkRXnw/s72-c/copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-3718296579998187428</id><published>2008-10-27T22:13:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-27T22:13:45.488-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Everyone Should Recognize This</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQaDabz701I/AAAAAAAAAng/HjdPKN1IFv4/s1600-h/1224797367114-725491.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQaDabz701I/AAAAAAAAAng/HjdPKN1IFv4/s320/1224797367114-725491.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5262037704794428242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Here is my favorite section at Henrys. I hope all of you have received on of these at one time or another full of something sweet. I sometimes wish I was a full time baker. I know I&amp;#39;m not the best, but I do enjoy doing it. I catch myself thinking a lot about things as I bake. Its kinda like my alone time. I love feeding people sweetness, sometimes I like to watch as they eat. Well depends on who it is, lol. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-3718296579998187428?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/3718296579998187428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=3718296579998187428&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3718296579998187428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3718296579998187428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/everyone-should-recognize-this.html' title='Everyone Should Recognize This'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQaDabz701I/AAAAAAAAAng/HjdPKN1IFv4/s72-c/1224797367114-725491.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-872875199966489497</id><published>2008-10-26T21:29:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T21:29:30.886-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Broken Foot</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQUni9RDMCI/AAAAAAAAAnY/reoPxiRoNmc/s1600-h/1225049478975-770889.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQUni9RDMCI/AAAAAAAAAnY/reoPxiRoNmc/s320/1225049478975-770889.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261655221167403042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Today we went to Applebees for my nephews birthday. Well, I am ashamed to say that I didn&amp;#39;t know my nephew had a broken foot until he came out from the table. I didn&amp;#39;t want to ask what had happened since I was already getting an earful for not visiting them. I was afraid my brother would let me have it for not knowing. See we have a big family, so I usually hear things more than once. I guess I missed it somehow. I&amp;#39;m a bad aunt.&amp;nbsp; :(&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-872875199966489497?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/872875199966489497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=872875199966489497&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/872875199966489497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/872875199966489497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/broken-foot.html' title='A Broken Foot'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQUni9RDMCI/AAAAAAAAAnY/reoPxiRoNmc/s72-c/1225049478975-770889.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5240127314941512268</id><published>2008-10-25T23:25:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-25T23:25:51.410-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Passed Out</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQPxTwTvYfI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/tdW7J9mLLe0/s1600-h/IMAG0193-751412.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQPxTwTvYfI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/tdW7J9mLLe0/s320/IMAG0193-751412.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5261314111386378738" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;She was talking to me and I back to her, and next thing I know she sleeping. Who knows how long I was talking to myself. I guess I bored her. :(&amp;nbsp; &lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5240127314941512268?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5240127314941512268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5240127314941512268&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5240127314941512268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5240127314941512268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/passed-out.html' title='Passed Out'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQPxTwTvYfI/AAAAAAAAAnQ/tdW7J9mLLe0/s72-c/IMAG0193-751412.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-3199831453225408047</id><published>2008-10-24T23:31:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-24T23:31:21.544-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pecan Pie</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQKhGcsqKiI/AAAAAAAAAnI/vEwdvcxVBTI/s1600-h/1224893269962-781545.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQKhGcsqKiI/AAAAAAAAAnI/vEwdvcxVBTI/s320/1224893269962-781545.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260944446876953122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Well they said it was sooo good and I&amp;#39;m sooo glad. I made D and Juan this for their anniversary. I hope you enjoyed your time together, although not alone, lol. &lt;/p&gt; &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-3199831453225408047?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/3199831453225408047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=3199831453225408047&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3199831453225408047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3199831453225408047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/pecan-pie.html' title='Pecan Pie'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQKhGcsqKiI/AAAAAAAAAnI/vEwdvcxVBTI/s72-c/1224893269962-781545.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-778540645770553484</id><published>2008-10-23T23:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T23:39:19.134-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Dread It</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQFRd0sfi_I/AAAAAAAAAnA/hDOGiq4E7u0/s1600-h/picsay-1224822676124-759136.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQFRd0sfi_I/AAAAAAAAAnA/hDOGiq4E7u0/s320/picsay-1224822676124-759136.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260575412548766706" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Today I was alone at the gym, I took a picture of my least favorite machine. I have the weakest arms ever, I don&amp;#39;t know why. I have just always been that way. Here it is, its called number one. I put the weights on 10 cuz I hate it so much. Wish my arms could take more.&amp;nbsp; :(&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-778540645770553484?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/778540645770553484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=778540645770553484&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/778540645770553484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/778540645770553484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-dread-it.html' title='I Dread It'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SQFRd0sfi_I/AAAAAAAAAnA/hDOGiq4E7u0/s72-c/picsay-1224822676124-759136.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-160061819952027117</id><published>2008-10-22T23:21:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-22T23:21:37.326-05:00</updated><title type='text'>First Google Phone Pic</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SP_70fe8V0I/AAAAAAAAAm4/Cl4_r2k6GFQ/s1600-h/1224721590192-797328.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SP_70fe8V0I/AAAAAAAAAm4/Cl4_r2k6GFQ/s320/1224721590192-797328.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5260199769015080770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So today was church and Adri brought Adriane and they sat next to me. He did great I think, and I&amp;#39;m so glad cuz Adri got to sit and enjoy the service. I on the other hand was being distracted by her talking stomach.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-160061819952027117?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/160061819952027117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=160061819952027117&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/160061819952027117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/160061819952027117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/first-google-phone-pic.html' title='First Google Phone Pic'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SP_70fe8V0I/AAAAAAAAAm4/Cl4_r2k6GFQ/s72-c/1224721590192-797328.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-1178891469813971687</id><published>2008-10-21T15:22:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-21T15:47:31.173-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Sad Day For My Left Foot</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SP46NUsxDtI/AAAAAAAAAmw/sy-jbNepCNs/s1600-h/21.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259705415384501970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SP46NUsxDtI/AAAAAAAAAmw/sy-jbNepCNs/s400/21.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I saw these heels at Journeys and instantly loved them, so of course I bought them. I'm gonna say I have had them for about two years. They are my absolute favorite heels, I like that rugged look that they have. Well, the thing is that I have this thing I do when I wear heels. I like to balance on one foot and spin on the heel. I always do it and nothing ever happens. Well today it broke. I was in Adriane's office and spinning like I usually do as I waited on her to stamp an order. So she starts laughing at me, I was so sad. They were already worn, but Journeys hasn't had anything similar in forever. Someone put glue for me, but I don't think they will ever be the same.  Goodbye my shoe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-1178891469813971687?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/1178891469813971687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=1178891469813971687&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1178891469813971687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1178891469813971687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/sad-day-for-my-left-foot.html' title='A Sad Day For My Left Foot'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SP46NUsxDtI/AAAAAAAAAmw/sy-jbNepCNs/s72-c/21.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-266926220470877004</id><published>2008-10-20T21:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T21:48:40.951-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dodging Trucks  </title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SP1DCUCRQsI/AAAAAAAAAmo/sZRNl1_Zb1A/s1600-h/IMAG0196-720954.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SP1DCUCRQsI/AAAAAAAAAmo/sZRNl1_Zb1A/s320/IMAG0196-720954.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259433646855635650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;So today Im leaving the gym, and almost got killed by this Lacks truck. I know if I had a big car I wouldnt be scared to get squished,  but I am. I don't blame those big trucks, to them we are invisable. One day I'll show them. &lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-266926220470877004?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/266926220470877004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=266926220470877004&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/266926220470877004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/266926220470877004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/dodging-trucks.html' title='Dodging Trucks  '/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SP1DCUCRQsI/AAAAAAAAAmo/sZRNl1_Zb1A/s72-c/IMAG0196-720954.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-7348457857872348337</id><published>2008-10-19T23:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T23:14:54.297-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Kids Table </title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPwFvlYUC8I/AAAAAAAAAmc/oGSLjcbExb0/s1600-h/IMAG0195-794298.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPwFvlYUC8I/AAAAAAAAAmc/oGSLjcbExb0/s320/IMAG0195-794298.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259084779907976130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;I as well had to sit at one growing up, but  I didn't mind it. We even had a kid table at home. It seated three. My dad made it for me, Noel, and Sylvia. It's still there in my parents kitchen. Well today we went to DQ after church. I sat with the kids to be silly. I asked if I could sit with them and they were all, yeah. I also told them lets see who tells me something first. Well guess who, yup it was D. Didn't even get to sit with them for five minutes, lol. &lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-7348457857872348337?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/7348457857872348337/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=7348457857872348337&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7348457857872348337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7348457857872348337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/kids-table.html' title='Kids Table '/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPwFvlYUC8I/AAAAAAAAAmc/oGSLjcbExb0/s72-c/IMAG0195-794298.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4652373380801258962</id><published>2008-10-18T17:43:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-18T17:43:57.346-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Learned </title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPpmrakWvRI/AAAAAAAAAmU/sDrJnE0Oxzo/s1600-h/IMAG0183-737349.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPpmrakWvRI/AAAAAAAAAmU/sDrJnE0Oxzo/s320/IMAG0183-737349.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258628410960690450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;Today I was at my parents and Dad and me were talking about things. It was one of those conversations that I really don't like. I'd say we have had maybe a dozen my whole life.  I love him, I love talking to him, I just hate him hurting for me. I can't lie or hide it, he knows me better than anyone, I thank God for blessing me with him as long as He has. My words to him usually after a conversation like that are, vamos pa fuera. I try to change the mood of the conversation I suppose. So he says,vamos a ensenarte a cambiar una llanta. Im like grrr, shoulda stayed with the conversation,lol. So you see my pic right? The first thing he does is tells me a story about him getting fooled by the fake bolts when he changed a tire first. He was trying to take the bolts off the hubcap and wouldn't give up and broke them.  He explained that  those are for decoraction, and not to ever do that. I was so laughing at him. He said remember to take the hubcap off first. Awe, lol, I couldn't stop laughing. It was a great day with him, I really needed it. So did I get learned? Yes I did, but I don't think I wanna change my own tire, ever.   &lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4652373380801258962?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4652373380801258962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4652373380801258962&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4652373380801258962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4652373380801258962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/getting-learned_18.html' title='Getting Learned '/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPpmrakWvRI/AAAAAAAAAmU/sDrJnE0Oxzo/s72-c/IMAG0183-737349.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-6512472798293729721</id><published>2008-10-17T22:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T23:53:40.675-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Awe So Cute</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPlrxcXgFtI/AAAAAAAAAmA/TACC1PzOQjY/s1600-h/IMAG0166.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPlrxcXgFtI/AAAAAAAAAmA/TACC1PzOQjY/s400/IMAG0166.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258352537104291538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPldD7GUy8I/AAAAAAAAAl4/xWKAXpmoUhM/s1600-h/IMAG0180-739051.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: normal;font-family:Arial;font-size:10pt;"  &gt;Here they are all three of them. Sometimes its just two, but I love when its all three. For some reason its just better, I can't explain it. I guess I like for Juan to have all his boys there with him. Plus I love to see David playing with Johnny, he is so good with him.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-6512472798293729721?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/6512472798293729721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=6512472798293729721&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6512472798293729721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6512472798293729721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/awe-so-cute.html' title='Awe So Cute'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPlrxcXgFtI/AAAAAAAAAmA/TACC1PzOQjY/s72-c/IMAG0166.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4100015150582190554</id><published>2008-10-16T22:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-16T22:03:54.978-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Favorite</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="mobile-photo"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPgAnEp_EoI/AAAAAAAAAlw/ZARk5GsSi0U/s1600-h/IMAG0165-734980.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPgAnEp_EoI/AAAAAAAAAlw/ZARk5GsSi0U/s320/IMAG0165-734980.jpg"  border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257953236219794050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;SPAN style='FONT-SIZE: 10pt; FONT-FAMILY: Arial; FONT-WEIGHT:Normal;'&gt;I usually have coffee and hold out till lunch, but I hate being hungry. So I bought my favorite cereal, and milk of course and took it to work. Only two people have hit me up for some. &lt;/SPAN&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4100015150582190554?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4100015150582190554/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4100015150582190554&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4100015150582190554'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4100015150582190554'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-favorite.html' title='My Favorite'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPgAnEp_EoI/AAAAAAAAAlw/ZARk5GsSi0U/s72-c/IMAG0165-734980.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-1133030773983818440</id><published>2008-10-15T14:20:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T15:03:37.479-05:00</updated><title type='text'>15 Lunch At Rents</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPZC0ES10aI/AAAAAAAAAlo/lFbivYoyins/s1600-h/15.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257463077275029922" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPZC0ES10aI/AAAAAAAAAlo/lFbivYoyins/s400/15.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; It's funny, but sometimes annoying. When more than one of us shows up to my parents house one always gets interrupted to move a vehicle. Here is a pic of me calling out my sister to move the car. Sometimes it gets so hectic and everyone gets all mad that we have to move around the cars. Today I parked in the driveway my dad made for me about nine years ago. I shouldn't have said that aloud I suppose, but I did cry to him that there were to many cars and I didn't like parking in the street. So he made it, that's my new car the black one.  I wanted something big like a Rangerover or Landrover, but nope Dad wouldn't let me. I'm going back to school to finally finish once and for all, so he was giving me a hard time about the gas I will be using. So I showed up to the house first with my lunch, chic-fil-a, mom was making Mexican enchiladas, the ones with that white smelly cheese, and I didn't want that. Next Vikki showed up with Churches, but enough for everyone. Then Sylvia with Pan Dulce and tortillas. So they were teasing that I only brought food for myself. Vikki was saying that I'm not only the baby, but that I think I'm the only child. She said being that I lived there without them for so long I probably started believing I was an only child, lol. I was kinda giggling, but it's true I was with my parents the longest, well it took me the longest to move out.&lt;br /&gt;My dad always defends me, he was saying that I always call first to see what mom made and then I will get something if I don't like it. Plus I already know that my parents prefer home cooked meals. So pffft to your churches chicken Vikki, I bet no one ate it anyway, it was still all there when I left.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-1133030773983818440?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/1133030773983818440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=1133030773983818440&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1133030773983818440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1133030773983818440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/15-lunch-at-rents.html' title='15 Lunch At Rents'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPZC0ES10aI/AAAAAAAAAlo/lFbivYoyins/s72-c/15.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5366585925842093588</id><published>2008-10-14T23:14:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T23:30:23.356-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cheetos or Lays?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPVxRkWoOlI/AAAAAAAAAlg/kfg2x48vmxw/s1600-h/lucy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPVxRkWoOlI/AAAAAAAAAlg/kfg2x48vmxw/s400/lucy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5257232686655224402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She reminded me of myself for a minute. We were getting ready to pay and I tell her to grab some Cheetos for us to share. I know she loves Lays potato chips, but I felt like Cheetos so that's why I specifically said that and plus she eats anything, lol. Well I'm watching her and as I'm thinking she's gonna grab the lays sure enough she grabs them first. But she also grabbed the Cheetos, lol. She didn't even ask, she didn't even look at me while she did it. It just so reminded me of how I am and was. I loved going grocery shopping with my dad and I never asked I just put whatever I wanted in the cart. I knew he would not tell me no, and I suppose Madison learned the same somewhere along the way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5366585925842093588?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5366585925842093588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5366585925842093588&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5366585925842093588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5366585925842093588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/cheetos-or-lays.html' title='Cheetos or Lays?'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPVxRkWoOlI/AAAAAAAAAlg/kfg2x48vmxw/s72-c/lucy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-2775843571750633625</id><published>2008-10-14T00:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-14T00:02:02.161-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Decisions, Decisions</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPQnbS_7wwI/AAAAAAAAAkw/ZM1nxb0cX84/s1600-h/IMAG0152.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPQnbS_7wwI/AAAAAAAAAkw/ZM1nxb0cX84/s400/IMAG0152.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256870014958158594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-2775843571750633625?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/2775843571750633625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=2775843571750633625&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2775843571750633625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2775843571750633625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/decisions-decisions.html' title='Decisions, Decisions'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPQnbS_7wwI/AAAAAAAAAkw/ZM1nxb0cX84/s72-c/IMAG0152.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-3101873643030120673</id><published>2008-10-12T23:18:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-12T23:30:39.338-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Right Next To My Pop Sticks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPLMseE6TiI/AAAAAAAAAko/JrF312vIY_E/s1600-h/lucy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPLMseE6TiI/AAAAAAAAAko/JrF312vIY_E/s320/lucy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256488779454762530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Can you believe this, I went to the ice-cream section to get my pop sticks and what do I see? Yup that's is exactly what you think it is. Now they are mixing the dog food with the people food. I tell my dad, ira nieve pa los perros, and he doesn't believe me. I don't blame him of course because I'm always messing around. So I pull it out to show it to him and he takes it and reads it and puts it in the basket, lol. He said, pa el Buster. Well Buster loved them, all I know is I better not see the canned dog food in the canned good isles next time I go shopping.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-3101873643030120673?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/3101873643030120673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=3101873643030120673&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3101873643030120673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3101873643030120673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/right-next-to-my-pop-sticks.html' title='Right Next To My Pop Sticks'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SPLMseE6TiI/AAAAAAAAAko/JrF312vIY_E/s72-c/lucy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-8454043062457343491</id><published>2008-10-10T14:26:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-10T23:18:11.323-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dando Luz</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO-sgfXPHnI/AAAAAAAAAkY/aNzE5l-lt3U/s1600-h/ten.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255608964339408498" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO-sgfXPHnI/AAAAAAAAAkY/aNzE5l-lt3U/s320/ten.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Today Madison was dropped off at my work and we were gonna have lunch together. I usually take her to the mall on Fridays, but decided to go to Target. So we get a pizza and a drink and she is eating in the cart while I look for something. I call my parents to let them know that I will be dropping her off in about an hour, but my sister in law answers. She tells me that her and Frank are gonna have lunch there, so I head over there. Oh and on the way out Madison dropped her pizza in the parking lot :( She said to buy her another and I said, no we are gonna eat at grandpas. She tells me but I dropped it for holding your hand and not holding the pizza with two hands, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;. She is so cute and smart. Well I pull up and see this, can you see the extension cord running across the street? I tell myself there is my dad powering that house across the street  again. I didn't mean it in a bad,complaining way, I was just saying it to myself.  People are always moving in and out of that house. Well the owners always come fix it up when the renters leave or get kicked out for not paying. I get inside and whats the topic? It's my brother complaining about my dad giving light. He tells him, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;si&lt;/span&gt; papa &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;pero&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;cuando&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;estan&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;usando&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;el&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;serucho&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;gasta&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;mucha&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;luz&lt;/span&gt;. My dad is just laughing, no one can tell my dad his business. After all it is his business, he pays the light. He hears him out of course, but I already know my dad. I'm so proud to have a good dad like him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-8454043062457343491?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/8454043062457343491/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=8454043062457343491&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8454043062457343491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8454043062457343491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/dando-luz.html' title='Dando Luz'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO-sgfXPHnI/AAAAAAAAAkY/aNzE5l-lt3U/s72-c/ten.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-7107610992645522339</id><published>2008-10-09T22:38:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T22:49:35.833-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Store</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO7OnEEjMYI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/kuBF8Z0hrJs/s1600-h/li.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO7OnEEjMYI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/kuBF8Z0hrJs/s320/li.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5255364985690993026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO7OXE25FiI/AAAAAAAAAkI/ikwcMBCQnrQ/s1600-h/li.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;If I could stay in here all day long I think I would and I'll make any excuse to go. It's funny &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; when I get a call and I say I'm at the store, I always get back, oh at target, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;. Today I went twice and I'm sure that I am one of those customers that employees think, man she is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;always&lt;/span&gt; here. Come on who doesn't like Target? Who doesn't prefer it to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Walmart&lt;/span&gt; or Kmart? They got nothing on this store. I even like the clothes here. When I first brought my dad along and bought clothes from here, he was all... no me &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;digas&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;que&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;vas&lt;/span&gt; a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;comprar&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;ropa&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;aqui&lt;/span&gt;. He always likes to pick on me about where I shop, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;grrrr&lt;/span&gt;. Anyway what a great picture, I think I could actually live in here too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-7107610992645522339?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/7107610992645522339/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=7107610992645522339&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7107610992645522339'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7107610992645522339'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-store.html' title='My Store'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO7OnEEjMYI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/kuBF8Z0hrJs/s72-c/li.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-3950732807421447689</id><published>2008-10-08T16:21:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-08T23:49:48.935-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Picture of A Picture</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO0kc8jGzsI/AAAAAAAAAkA/YuM22H51oQY/s1600-h/8TH.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254896419919548098" style="margin: 0px 0px 10px 10px; float: right;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO0kc8jGzsI/AAAAAAAAAkA/YuM22H51oQY/s320/8TH.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I hope this doesn't disqualify me. I was pretty busy at work and hardly left my desk at all. However, I also was really into the second debate against McCain and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Barack&lt;/span&gt;. I missed it and had been wanting to see it so I was watching it, and then I wanted to go back and see the first one, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;. So this lead to my picture of a picture. I wanted to take one of Sam, who had got me with a water gun in the back warehouse, but she &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt; let me. She thought I was gonna go tell on her because I was all mad she got me wet. She was hiding really high up on some shelves and as I passed by, she scared the you know what out of me. So I was really into the debate and didn't take any pictures. It's close to five now and all I have left is the gym before church. And believe me when I say there is nothing interesting in the gym, but a bunch of old ladies. So we will talk politics instead, kidding. I know its a touchy subject for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;alot&lt;/span&gt; of people. My dad doesn't like us discussing it. He says it his privacy on who he is voting for and we shouldn't be talking about it. This kinda stuff really interests me though and my brothers love to discuss everything having to do with anything, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;. So I can't be caught off guard when they start having there own debates.  I pretty much know who I'm voting for but I'm not giving any hints. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-3950732807421447689?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/3950732807421447689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=3950732807421447689&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3950732807421447689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3950732807421447689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/picture-of-picture.html' title='A Picture of A Picture'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SO0kc8jGzsI/AAAAAAAAAkA/YuM22H51oQY/s72-c/8TH.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-2183711989448936376</id><published>2008-10-07T14:22:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-07T16:14:16.856-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Do You See It????</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOu3JWEH0dI/AAAAAAAAAj4/Yemtg3pVGyI/s1600-h/7TH.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254494761427390930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOu3JWEH0dI/AAAAAAAAAj4/Yemtg3pVGyI/s320/7TH.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Well do you, do you know what I am talking about? I'll give you a hint, but hopefully you already looked closely and spotted it. Here is the hint, so I had no lunch date today, and what do I usually do when I don't have one? Go shopping alone or go to my rents house. Well its my infamous tea from Brandon Iron, being left on a shelf while I look around. I was getting a discount for a while because they thought I worked in the mall. Finally I fessed up one day cuz I felt bad. The owner still gives me one and always says you work here right? I always tell him no and you keep asking. I usually set it down on a shelf while I look around. Also if someone is there I always tell them get me a tea, lol. You know come to think of it, I think almost everyone has gotten me one before.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-2183711989448936376?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/2183711989448936376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=2183711989448936376&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2183711989448936376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2183711989448936376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/do-you-see-it.html' title='Do You See It????'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOu3JWEH0dI/AAAAAAAAAj4/Yemtg3pVGyI/s72-c/7TH.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5003468033742971773</id><published>2008-10-06T14:05:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-06T23:06:28.900-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 6 At Work</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOphgpGaBTI/AAAAAAAAAjw/DJ4SECgODiw/s1600-h/birthday.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254119128697537842" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOphgpGaBTI/AAAAAAAAAjw/DJ4SECgODiw/s320/birthday.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOphdsVNxzI/AAAAAAAAAjo/jGhN7QefBqs/s1600-h/birhtday.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254119078025348914" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOphdsVNxzI/AAAAAAAAAjo/jGhN7QefBqs/s320/birhtday.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;This morning I got to work and walked right into this, literally. The first picture is from my cubicle looking out. I wasn't here Friday so I forgot the tradition of decorating the birthday persons work area. I tore it down a bit on accident when I walked into it. See usually I walk in saying good morning but with my head in my phone. Also someone did this to my screen, I'm not sure who but I really liked it. Now I will have a big mess to clean up. There is confetti everywhere I even got some up my nose somehow. I was sneezing like crazy. Well till next year, but I hope I'm not still working here, lol.  Thanks to all of you for taking me out, I really really had so much fun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5003468033742971773?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5003468033742971773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5003468033742971773&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5003468033742971773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5003468033742971773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/day-6-at-work.html' title='Day 6 At Work'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOphgpGaBTI/AAAAAAAAAjw/DJ4SECgODiw/s72-c/birthday.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-8037501643448664829</id><published>2008-10-05T21:42:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T22:02:43.377-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Couch, I Mean The Mill!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOl7PX5FVVI/AAAAAAAAAiU/Mgdjoa1uDhA/s1600-h/lucy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOl7PX5FVVI/AAAAAAAAAiU/Mgdjoa1uDhA/s320/lucy.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253865944346088786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I had no pictures today so after church and lunch today I got home and just took one of the mill. It sits in the living room at home and well there is no furniture in the living room at the moment. My sister just bought the house and they have TVs in their rooms so they don't really use the living room. I however, do use it. I kinda have been slacking off on the jogging. I would usually get on it right after the gym and watch TV while I jogged. Now I sit on it and watch TV, lol. So today at lunch Dee was saying how stuffed she was and I was thinking how I been eating out a lot now. So I thought I better start jogging again and well I told myself I would get on when I got home. I turned the TV on and Never Been Kissed was on. I sat and started watching. It took me a whole ten minutes to tell myself to quit using it as a couch. So I got on and jogged today. I did two miles not what I'm use to but I'll get back up there. Jogging is one of my favorite things to do but I don't know what happened. I really don't :( &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-8037501643448664829?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/8037501643448664829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=8037501643448664829&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8037501643448664829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8037501643448664829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/couch-i-mean-mill.html' title='The Couch, I Mean The Mill!'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOl7PX5FVVI/AAAAAAAAAiU/Mgdjoa1uDhA/s72-c/lucy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-8910377515030927167</id><published>2008-10-04T16:19:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T00:21:56.731-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Mom on Day 4 (My birthday)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOfeXfxHCYI/AAAAAAAAAiM/CNtSkSdDte8/s1600-h/2+%282%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253411985596811650" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOfeXfxHCYI/AAAAAAAAAiM/CNtSkSdDte8/s320/2+%282%29.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOfeEBM3W5I/AAAAAAAAAiE/ntlSkTa0LHA/s1600-h/mail.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253411650974210962" style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; float: left;" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOfeEBM3W5I/AAAAAAAAAiE/ntlSkTa0LHA/s320/mail.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt; You know I have had many birthdays but none like today. This morning as I drove to the gym I really started thinking about my mom. I always love the happy birthdays and many calls, which let me tell you, started coming in as early as 7 a.m. I did have one at midnight but I was up so it didn't bother me, lol. Well at the gym through out my whole workout I was feeling a bit sad at the fact that I have never really told my mom thank you on my birthday.  You know she is the best mom in the world and I'm not just saying that because she is mine. I know there is mothers day for her, but for some reason it really got to me that I have missed out on saying thanks to her on my birthday. Is that weird to you? I'm still on it even as I took the picture I was telling myself hurry and just tell her. So I just told her that I wanted a picture of her and well my brother got in it too. The first pic he tells her that he is gonna kneel because she is so short. Well, I showed it to them and told them that he looked like he was breast feeding. LOL and I said I was gonna use it. So here is my mom, and right after the picture I gave her a big hug and told her how grateful I was for her having me :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-8910377515030927167?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/8910377515030927167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=8910377515030927167&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8910377515030927167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8910377515030927167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-mom-on-day-4-my-birthday.html' title='My Mom on Day 4 (My birthday)'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOfeXfxHCYI/AAAAAAAAAiM/CNtSkSdDte8/s72-c/2+%282%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-1335375281946192610</id><published>2008-10-03T18:45:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T19:23:56.864-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pancho on Day 3</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOavSxK11II/AAAAAAAAAh8/4rTqyGqdxNA/s1600-h/IMAG0107.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253078752345576578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOavSxK11II/AAAAAAAAAh8/4rTqyGqdxNA/s320/IMAG0107.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Today I had lunch with my brother Frank, aka, Pancho. I asked him if I could take a picture and write about him and I explained why. However I didn't ask those people in the background. It just hit me during lunch that I hadn't taken a picture yet. So Frank is the second oldest. He is a teacher and coach at San Benito HS. He is a wonderful brother always respectful and best of all he is saved. He wasn't always respectful and nice. In fact growing up he was the meanest brother I had. He was the type that would steal dads cars in the middle of the night. I remember one time he crashed into a light post drunk, totaled the family wagon. My dad let him stay in jail for a while, or juvie whatever they stick you in when your under age. I remember my mom wanting him to go get him, but my dad was tuff. I always remind Frank of things. He use to make me cry just by looking at me. Can you believe that? Sometimes he gives me that look just to tease and I get this giggle, kinda a nervous giggle, lol. He doesn't mind us talking about how he use to be because he knows that was the old him. I love you Frank! Go Greyhounds! Had to put that in, in case he starts reading our blogs :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-1335375281946192610?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/1335375281946192610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=1335375281946192610&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1335375281946192610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1335375281946192610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/pancho-on-day-3.html' title='Pancho on Day 3'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOavSxK11II/AAAAAAAAAh8/4rTqyGqdxNA/s72-c/IMAG0107.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4805076055790238134</id><published>2008-10-02T23:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-02T23:46:47.028-05:00</updated><title type='text'>El Buster</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOWjtijnSBI/AAAAAAAAAhs/-izT2R6_c-I/s1600-h/IMAG0105.jpg"&gt;&lt;img alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOWjtijnSBI/AAAAAAAAAhs/-izT2R6_c-I/s320/IMAG0105.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;This is Buster the dog I left behind. I've told this story so many times some of you might have already heard it. I really like golden retrievers and had been begging my dad for one for a few years and he would never give in. The first and only time he didn't give in to me crying. So I saved up some money and bought one of my own. Three hundred bucks and I had the dog I always wanted. Well I lost it within a week of having it. I kept it inside and during the day when i was away at school my mom kept an eye on him. Well one day I got home and couldn't find him so I asked my mom where is the dog? She said she lost it, that it followed her outside and she forgot about it. Well this is how Buster came into the family. I was bummed out and it was a few days before my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;birthday&lt;/span&gt;, just like today, and my brother Noel got me this dog that you see above. Only I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt; want it because it was  a mix. I didn't even care to hide it I just flat out said I didn't want it. Well I left Buster behind when I moved out and here he is still alive and kicking. My dad loves him so much and I couldn't take him from him, nor did I want to.&lt;div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'&gt;&lt;a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'&gt;&lt;img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4805076055790238134?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4805076055790238134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4805076055790238134&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4805076055790238134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4805076055790238134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/el-buster.html' title='El Buster'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOWjtijnSBI/AAAAAAAAAhs/-izT2R6_c-I/s72-c/IMAG0105.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-7771932612412521117</id><published>2008-10-01T17:03:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T23:19:33.052-05:00</updated><title type='text'>La Bebita</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOPz0E708eI/AAAAAAAAAhU/-8DcmaWcIqc/s1600-h/lucy.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOPz0E708eI/AAAAAAAAAhU/-8DcmaWcIqc/s320/lucy.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; That's the nickname okay. What it took for me to get these pictures out of my moms house. She always tells me "no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;quidas&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;nada&lt;/span&gt;" so she didn't want to let me borrow them, but I did. Okay so this picture I'm about 9 months sitting on my dads wagon. We always had wagons and suburbans growing up, there were too many of us.  We lived at this place called Little Creek Motel until I was about two. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;That's&lt;/span&gt; the background of our apartment. My dads boss was the owner so we stayed there for free while my dad built or house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOPz0qo0BEI/AAAAAAAAAhc/9mFNMowkhWo/s1600-h/lucyandfam1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOPz0qo0BEI/AAAAAAAAAhc/9mFNMowkhWo/s320/lucyandfam1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here we are at a park, I know my mom told me which but I can't recall. My mom was a stay at home mom and always had us with he. I'm the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;smallest&lt;/span&gt; there the one with the big diaper butt of course on the bottom right. Didn't like pictures then either, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;That's&lt;/span&gt; all of us except my dad. Man my brothers where so cute and I guess my sisters were too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This last picture we are at my baptism, I'm not quite sure who the lady is carrying me. I forgot to ask my mom, sorry. That baptism meant nothing of course :) I can't wait to see all of you all!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                                                                                       &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOPz03ii9dI/AAAAAAAAAhk/MMzwgd0LonM/s1600-h/lucyandfam2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; clear: both; float: left;" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOPz03ii9dI/AAAAAAAAAhk/MMzwgd0LonM/s320/lucyandfam2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"&gt;&lt;img src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" alt="Posted by Picasa" style="border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: -moz-initial; -moz-background-origin: -moz-initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: -moz-initial;" align="middle" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-7771932612412521117?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/7771932612412521117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=7771932612412521117&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7771932612412521117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7771932612412521117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/10/la-bebita.html' title='La Bebita'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SOPz0E708eI/AAAAAAAAAhU/-8DcmaWcIqc/s72-c/lucy.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-2716075903538404878</id><published>2008-09-25T11:07:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-25T11:19:59.657-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Blog Anyone?????</title><content type='html'>So I want to do a Baby Blog Special and was wondering if you all would participate. I was at my moms looking at old pictures and it just gave me an idea. I wish I could see some of  you guys.  I know we would make each other smile and start with our "awwwe how cute".  I can't wait to see all of you guys I'm smiling already. So I hope all of you say yes! If you want to then start collecting your pictures (baby to 5yrs), and we will pick a day for Baby Blogs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-2716075903538404878?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/2716075903538404878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=2716075903538404878&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2716075903538404878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2716075903538404878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/09/baby-blog-anyone.html' title='Baby Blog Anyone?????'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-2345854264977088348</id><published>2008-09-19T08:42:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-09-19T09:49:37.236-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Colder Half Of The Year</title><content type='html'>For some reason winter always makes me so happy and brings back all these great feelings. Ironically I can't stand being cold, but I love winter. I wanna say partly for the clothes but mostly for this..,Winter means more baking and cooking at my parents. Now my mom is always cooking, but for some reason at winter my dad eats more. She'll make tamales, bunelos, capirotada (HU-HUCK) menudo, posole,atole, and I can keep going but I won't. It's funny because they love coffee, but all you hear from my dad at winter is, "asme un chocolate Luz". My mom and I have the same name but my dad calls her "Luz". He nicknamed me too, but no one will ever hear it. Every year my mom tells me the same thing. She tells me to pay extra close attention and get these recipes down for when she's not with me anymore. I tell her I don't want to. My moms kitchen just feels so, I don't know I can't describe it but it's great. They have this big wood table that my dad made that seats eight,they have had it since I can remember. My dad always sits at the head of the table and watches my mom and I cook and bake. He always says to me, " a que chula cochinera", grrrr. Whatever we are making or baking he has a plate ready to have some as it comes out. It has always been just me and my mom, my other sisters never care to join us. Is it selfish of me that I like it that way, just me and my mom?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone sees one another more at winter time at my moms. Those eight chairs actually get filled all over again. My parents love it, they love feeding everyone and having everyone there. Sometimes when we all sit there I try and imagine what my parents feel. How it feels to see us all grown up. If they ever picture us little again and think back to how we had meals together. God is amazing and great and wonderful, how He loves us so much, and how He places us with just the right families, and exactly where He wants us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-2345854264977088348?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/2345854264977088348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=2345854264977088348&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2345854264977088348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2345854264977088348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/09/colder-half-of-year.html' title='The Colder Half Of The Year'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5781009492370482538</id><published>2008-07-03T10:33:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-07-03T12:08:54.054-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Glorious Fourth</title><content type='html'>There is seven of us and it was always great even if I didn't care much for the fireworks. Okay so they kinda freaked me out probably up in till I turned about sixteen or seventeen. I was usually the observer, yelling do this one! Don't make fun, I had four crazy brothers that would do things like throw black cats at each other and point roman candles at one another. I remember things like when a car would pass everyone down the street would pass it on, a cars coming. So that was the warning to stop in case it was a police car. I remember one year my brother Saul's best friend Jaime, threw one right under the police car. We all thought that was it for us. Jaime was such a sneaky kid he would come waste ours and then go home and pop his, dirty rat. I'm reminding my brother about that. Wow, I miss those days a lot, now its the nephews and nieces popping away, but we actually go outside the city limits now, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;. I'm still not crazy about turning them on, I love to watch, but I'll do it for my nieces that are just like me when I was a kid. I hope everyone has a safe holiday, God Bless You! Happy Independence Day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;QUIZ TIME: Some Are So Easy It's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Embarrassing&lt;/span&gt; :)&lt;br /&gt;#1 The first official U.S. flag had:&lt;br /&gt;A. Thirteen stars and thirteen stripes&lt;br /&gt;B. Thirteen stripes and the words "Don't Tread on Me"&lt;br /&gt;C. A British Union Jack in the upper left corner&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#2 Who designed the first official &lt;a href="http://www.factmonster.com/spot/flagdaytimeline1.html"&gt;U.S. flag&lt;/a&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;A. Betsy Ross&lt;br /&gt;B. Benjamin Franklin&lt;br /&gt;C. Francis Hopkins&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#3 The colors of the 13 red and white stripes symbolize:&lt;br /&gt;A. courage and purity&lt;br /&gt;B. England and liberty&lt;br /&gt;C. It is not known what the colors symbolize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#4 The &lt;a href="http://www.factmonster.com/cgi-bin/id/A0194018.html"&gt;Continental Congress&lt;/a&gt; approved the design of the first official &lt;a href="http://www.factmonster.com/spot/flagdaytimeline1.html"&gt;U.S. flag&lt;/a&gt; on:&lt;br /&gt;A. July 4 1776&lt;br /&gt;B. June 14 1777&lt;br /&gt;C. May 29 1790&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#5 &lt;a href="http://www.factmonster.com/cgi-bin/id/A0827487.html"&gt;Francis Scott Key&lt;/a&gt; wrote the words to the &lt;a href="http://www.factmonster.com/cgi-bin/id/%20A0194015.html"&gt;Star-Spangled Banner&lt;/a&gt; after witnessing which of the  following?&lt;br /&gt;A. The burning of &lt;a href="http://www.factmonster.com/cgi-bin/id/A0108620.html"&gt;Washington, DC&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;B. The bombardment of &lt;a href="http://www.factmonster.com/cgi-bin/id/A0819257.html"&gt;Fort &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;McHenry&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C. The inauguration of &lt;a href="http://www.factmonster.com/cgi-bin/id/A0829825.html"&gt;President Lincoln&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#6 Settlers formed early American colonies to escape European religious persecution.&lt;br /&gt;TRUE&lt;br /&gt;FALSE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#7 Criminal laws in the New England colonies were based on scripture.&lt;br /&gt;TRUE&lt;br /&gt;FALSE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;#8 The first Thanksgiving proclamation in 1676 praises God.&lt;br /&gt;TRUE&lt;br /&gt;FALSE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Answer if you want, don't have to though, but it would make me happy :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5781009492370482538?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5781009492370482538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5781009492370482538&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5781009492370482538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5781009492370482538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/07/glorious-fourth.html' title='The Glorious Fourth'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-901654749881367525</id><published>2008-05-25T15:38:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-25T16:34:46.453-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Almost Did IT</title><content type='html'>I have been going through some situations with my niece lately in which perhaps she is starting to see me more like a sister. My brother recently got full custody of her so she is living with us now. I'm not sure if it's her seeing me as a sister or as a friend, but I already had told myself that I needed to set her straight about that. Well last night she had a friend staying the night. I stayed up a while and then let her know I was going to bed. I think it was around midnight that I texts her to quiet down because I could hear them and wasn't able to fall asleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So around 3:45 in the morning I get a text from her telling me to wake up. I thought to myself, "this little girl is so going to get it for playing around." Then another like five minutes later telling me to go outside. Then another right after saying, just tell them that you are my mom. I get up quickly out of bed kind of feeling scared because I have no idea what is wrong. I make my way to the the front door and I thought for a minute maybe I should get my brother. The only reason that I didn't wake him is because I thought of Maddy, see she sleeps with him and I didn't want to wake her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well as I am getting closer to the front door I see lights like from flashlights kinda. I get a little more scared but I think well Amber is out there so I open the front door. I see two police officers and think oh no. I'm rubbing my eyes from how asleep I was and immediately ask where is she? Right away he says, "you are Amber's mother, with a strange look," I think back to her text but say no. I tell him the truth that I am her aunt. I tell him that her dad is asleep inside. Well he starts to tell me that he found them walking and that San Benito has a curfew. I ask where are they, and he points to the police car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See I'm getting so mad inside because its past three in the morning, my brother lives right off highway 77 and two girls walking alone at that time of night. There are two officers but one is doing all the talking. I'm also mad at the fact that I looked half asleep still. So the officer tells me the procedure, since I answered the door I would get a citation and have to go to court even if I am not the mom. He then says look we are going to let this go with a warning and just release them to you. I kept thanking him over and over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get Amber and her friend and I say not a word to her. I go to bed and text her that if she opens that door again she will be so sorry and that I will talk to her in the morning. Well she text me back basically trying to butter me up telling me, oh no I learned my lesson. She also writes please don't tell my dad. I don't answer her anymore, but I can't sleep just thinking of what I will do. It's not that I want to be a cool aunt, honest, it's just that a part of me felt bad for her.&lt;br /&gt;So morning comes and my brother is awake when I get up. He is getting ready for school. Yup, school on a Sunday. He is working on his masters, wants to be a principal. So he sees me wanting to talk to him and starts asking me things like are you okay, whats wrong? So I tell him everything, but still I'm thinking of ways so that it doesn't look like I ratted her out. I thought of Lee, her uncle that lives right behind us who is a cop. Maybe he some how found out and told my brother.&lt;br /&gt;Well my brother says no look this is what we will do. I will tell her that the cops called me this morning. I agreed, but as I sit here typing this I am realizing how it would just be so much better if they had that trust and communication. But what do I know right, I'm not a mother so I have no experience in the field. She has no idea that her dad knows, he is not back from school yet. Shall I say to be continued?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-901654749881367525?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/901654749881367525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=901654749881367525&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/901654749881367525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/901654749881367525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-almost-did-it.html' title='I Almost Did IT'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4905241801792478988</id><published>2008-05-04T21:46:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T22:29:45.591-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Want A Chance To Be Just Like Her</title><content type='html'>It's almost here and as I get older, and she gets older, I want to make that day for her just as special as possible. Now to my mom just us being with her is special enough.My mom loves to talk and loves to feed us. Now when I say that she loves to feed us I can't express or explain it enough. I imagine it as if it warms her heart to watch us eat. I love that about her. Also when I say that she loves to talk, it means that she tells us stories more than once. My brothers and sisters have this thing, when my mom starts to tell a story that they have already heard, they lift the number of fingers that they have heard it. Me on the other hand, I keep them down because I love to hear them. I can go on and on about just how amazing she is, and how I truly believe that the Lord blessed me with the BEST MOM in the whole world. She has never in my life not showed me how much she loves me. I want to cry just thinking about how wonderful she has always been to me. It brakes my heart to think that not everyone out there had a mom like me.&lt;br /&gt;My mom is a stay at home mom and raised seven kids, all within two years apart. I remember things like her carrying me as she hung out clothes to dry, and over the stove as she cooked. She allowed me to do things like use her back as a ride as she mopped the floor with a wet towel. I was around four and think how cruel of me now. We never missed a meal and we never went without clean, ironed clothes. I love her and I only hope that she feels the love of a daughter the way I feel the love of a mother.&lt;br /&gt;This weekend while we were out on visitation I saw the most beautiful pregnant lady that I have ever seen. I wish I could have seen my mom pregnant, I bet she looked just as pretty. This lady was dressed in a white sundress, standing at her door looking just oh so ready to pop. Some ladies from my church were talking to her about the Lord and we were waiting in the van. As I sat there and stared at her so many things came to mind. The one thing that really tugged me was the thought of what it feels like to be a mother. I imagine that it has got to be the most amazing thing in the world. Nine months of having someone in your tummy, feeling excitement,and nervousness, and anxiousness. Then when they arrive just loving and loving on them. I want to be just like her, I want her to see what she made of me, and I want to show her what she taught me. I know I would make her so proud. My mom is not only a great mother but she taught me well. I imagine that I would use her words, one thing I alway remeber her saying is, "Mi corazon sonria en mirar te," boy that gives me a lump. I know that I could love just like her, I know it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4905241801792478988?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4905241801792478988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4905241801792478988&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4905241801792478988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4905241801792478988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-want-chance-to-be-just-like-her.html' title='I Want A Chance To Be Just Like Her'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-8770436838426694182</id><published>2008-04-28T21:04:00.007-05:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T21:40:00.506-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just The Three Of Us</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SBaHR-tCo_I/AAAAAAAAAeE/dbm2QJSdOCY/s1600-h/wallbangers+008.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SBaGjutCo-I/AAAAAAAAAd8/crKJUoKZqnY/s1600-h/wallbangers+003.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SBaGHutCo9I/AAAAAAAAAd0/4xwW5RQrqOA/s1600-h/wallbangers+002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194486687572599762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SBaGHutCo9I/AAAAAAAAAd0/4xwW5RQrqOA/s320/wallbangers+002.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay so I admit that I have been a bad blogger, but to be honest I lost the motivation for some reason, but I'm back baby. Well we will see I guess, don't want to get you all excited for nothing. Every time that I take pictures I tell myself that I have blog material but then just forget about it. That's the slacker in me. So yesterday after church I get to my brothers house "Saul", who I am staying with. He has two daughters, Amber the oldest and Madison the wittle baby, okay so she is five. So I'm hungry and say what's for lunch, but my brother and his wife had eaten already. Monica my sister-in-law tells me to take Maddy and Amber to eat and her and Saul can have some alone time, but in Hu-Huck words. I'm thinking great I get to spend time with my most favorite girls. So Amber right away says WALLBANGERS, yup another one exists guys and she happens to be my niece. Well we leave and it's raining and I so don't like to drive in the rain. We get to Wallbangers and boy was it so so good, maybe I was just so hungry. We had a blast just the three of us. I brake out the camera of course and Maddy starts with her let me take one so she got me and Amber. She did an okay job I guess. After we went to one of my favorites stores, take a guess it's walking distance. We bought Madison a movie and she had a cry baby fit because she wanted two. Two pfffft, I told her keep crying because your only getting one. Madison is the QUEEN of spoiled and it's all my brothers fault. Amber is a lot of help though she saved me some embarrassment with her. I really get embarrassed when kids act up around me, always have. :( So Amber says that she wants to have a Wallbangers night from now on, pfffft as if I liked it that much. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-8770436838426694182?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/8770436838426694182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=8770436838426694182&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8770436838426694182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8770436838426694182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/04/just-three-of-us.html' title='Just The Three Of Us'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/SBaGHutCo9I/AAAAAAAAAd0/4xwW5RQrqOA/s72-c/wallbangers+002.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-8884330586205521969</id><published>2008-02-22T21:39:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-22T22:26:50.130-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What Makes Your Picture?</title><content type='html'>A picture is taken and framed and put up for everyone to see, because you just want to share it with everyone. Well I had this picture once that was given to us. It was never framed, but put in a box. It was the most beautiful picture ever, and the most special ever. It just wasn't a picture to be framed and put up for everyone to see. Almost every night I would get that box out, open it carefully and look at it. I had the thought of framing it once, then thought of how much more special it was in the box. See in the box I would take the special trip to where it was and pull it out. It was something that I looked forward to and loved to do. It just seemed much more special than to frame it and glace at it through out all the day. I don't have that picture with me anymore and today I missed it so badly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe, what makes a picture, is how you look at it. How you can never imagine getting tired of looking at it and how you don't want to forget the feelings you get when you look at it. How it just brings you comfort to have something in which to remember.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-8884330586205521969?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/8884330586205521969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=8884330586205521969&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8884330586205521969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/8884330586205521969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/02/what-makes-picture.html' title='What Makes Your Picture?'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4154132657418147381</id><published>2008-01-31T22:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-02-01T09:12:52.292-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Trente Et Un</title><content type='html'>It's the last day of this great experience that was so fun for me. Everything happens for a reason right? Well I'm so thankful that this happened this month. Blogging really helped me fellowship with all of you all when I needed it most. It was great getting to read about everyones different adventures on a daily basis. Thanks for letting me into your lives and families lives. I really enjoyed all the different stories and different situations that were encountered in your lives. Although this was only a months worth of our many different experiences I feel like I got to know you all a little bit more. Especially you Adri, you are great and funny and so happy all the time, I really enjoyed having you around to read up on. Thanks for sharing your family with us. You have some good looking kids Adri, your so blessed. Juan and D you all are just so awesome. You know when Juan would write about David or Mikey I would go off with my thoughts. Just trying to hear them say the things Juan would blog about. Or I would start wondering if you had heard that story already D. Or if you reading his blog was the first you learning of it and if Juan had heard all of your stories already. John, well what can I say, I don't really know you but your blogs really touched me a lot and left me speechless so many times some even made me cry. For some of us we didn't know one another but got the opportunity to get a feel of each other. Now Robert you always had a great blog. Never a dull moment in one of your blogs. I just want to say thank you so much for the many laughs and keep on going okay. God made a Robert for a reason. Remeber that your never alone, there is only one person that will never let you down and He loves you so much and is waiting on you. Last but surely not the least of them all is Mr DigiSal. Well Sal look what you did, look what came out of all this. Just want to say thank you so much for getting us all into this. You always have the best ideas and most wonderful stories to share. I hope that you know you did a great thing here. You helped in getting us closer and making new friends. I can't wait to see what you have for us next.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4154132657418147381?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4154132657418147381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4154132657418147381&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4154132657418147381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4154132657418147381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/trente-et-un.html' title='Trente Et Un'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4652281866514740939</id><published>2008-01-28T22:15:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-30T22:40:05.185-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Loud or Quiet (take two)</title><content type='html'>It went something like this.............. okay I wrote twice and lost them both. :(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4652281866514740939?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4652281866514740939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4652281866514740939&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4652281866514740939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4652281866514740939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/loud-or-quiet-take-two.html' title='Loud or Quiet (take two)'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-2557842316585531568</id><published>2008-01-28T22:15:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-29T21:51:07.330-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling Blah</title><content type='html'>I'm not feeling so hot today. but the blogging must go on. I have this runny nose and itchy eyes and I so hope that it doesn't get any worse. Do you ever just know that your gonna get sick? I am prone to catching colds. It's like a person with a cold just looks at me and I get it. I knew I was going to get something for sure. See Sunday I went to the Dollar General Store on Stuart place it's closest to my brothers house, but I knew I should have gone else where. Anyway the girl at the register is coughing and rubbing her nose so much. As I am in line all I can think is, how disgusting and that I will definitely be getting sick. Now it was disgusting because she was coughing and not covering up her mouth. So I am thinking of all the items in my hand and how she will touch each and every single one of them. Well of course last night I felt something coming on. I also will mention that I can't stand taking medicine, been like that as far back as I can remember. My poor mom always had a hard time with me. Well I'm sick once again, never fails that I catch the cold.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-2557842316585531568?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/2557842316585531568/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=2557842316585531568&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2557842316585531568'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2557842316585531568'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/feeling-blah.html' title='Feeling Blah'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5127475279326973036</id><published>2008-01-28T22:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T23:38:54.829-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was trying to remember how many best friends I have had and how silly it was. I mean how silly it was how many best friends that I went through. I can remember my first best friend in kinder. Her name was Monica and boy were we inseparable. I remember how we broke up to. It was all my fault, I started to hang out with this other girl and she said we need to be best friends, and to be honest I always disliked the whole best friend thing. Anyhow this girl broke up with Monica for me because I didn't want to. So Monica cried and I was left with this other girl. Ya I'm saying other because she wasn't such a great friend. Monica was great and I was so dumb for ever dumping her. I had a few more unmemorable &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bffs&lt;/span&gt; and then came &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Elky&lt;/span&gt;. She was another great friend and we were inseparable as well. I found her my sophomore year of high school and we stuck till we graduated. Kept in touch a few years after and then that was that. It's just funny how I never like the whole best friend thing but always ended up having one. I had the crazy ones too, were they would get all jealous if I talked to other girls. Talk about crazy huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things are so different now, the more friends the better. Ya I might be saying it because I don't have a best friend anymore. Ah poor Lucy, no not poor Lucy. I have many great friends and of course I talk to some more than others, but I wouldn't label just one as a best friend. Fine so maybe I miss it a little. Then again I have a few close trust worthy friends that I tell almost everything to. That is the point of a best friend right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5127475279326973036?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5127475279326973036/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5127475279326973036&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5127475279326973036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5127475279326973036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/friends.html' title='Friends'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-7229841113305465916</id><published>2008-01-27T21:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-27T22:00:33.013-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Chiflada</title><content type='html'>Yesterday morning I had breakfast with my two brothers and two nieces. We were waiting for a table for about 45 minutes. We finally get a table and order. Well everyone gets lunch being that breakfast was way over. I didn't feel like lunch so I just said that I would eat off of someones plate, so my brothers wouldn't give me a hard time about not ordering.  So my brother Saul is Reading the paper and it is blocking the view of his coffee. Well I decide to mess with his coffee and pour in a few more sugar packets into his cup. His daughter Amber is sitting across from me laughing. We can't wait for him to take a big gulp. He finally does and doesn't react at all. Well then Amber decided to squeeze a lemon into his cup of coffee. For sure he will notice this and we are trying our best to restrain from laughing so much. Saul takes another big gulp and spits it all out on the table and some gets on me grrrr. We were laughing so hard. I thought that he would have been so mad at her, and me for encouraging it.  I had a great time feeding Madison her "chifladas", that's what she calls enchiladas. I really love going out with them, we always laugh so much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-7229841113305465916?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/7229841113305465916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=7229841113305465916&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7229841113305465916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7229841113305465916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/chiflada.html' title='Chiflada'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-6191599883067933401</id><published>2008-01-26T23:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-27T00:00:54.290-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Tomorrow</title><content type='html'>I hear people talk about the future and  I stop listening to them and can't help but think what is wrong with this person, don't they know that we won't be here anymore? It happens a lot and there goes the conversation, I stop listening and start feeling sad. I feel sad because I think of how it can be that they look forward to something that is not promised, which is tomorrow. Different things trigger it, well different conversations. Like today for example, Kim and I went to visit this gym and the guy started talking about the year two thousand eleven. Well I stopped listening and went off on my own little world thinking. I thought of how more than likely this guy was not saved. I'm not saying that we should stop what we are doing because the time is near, that's not what I am saying at all. I just feel like going to as many people before it's too late and telling them about heaven and hell. It's always these subjects that get me to feel like this. The other day this girl at work was talking about her mortgage plan and how in fifteen years her house would be paid off. These are the things that get my mind and heart going and to feeling that I need to hurry and tell as many people as I can about God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there anything that triggers it for you? Without fail every single time when I hear someone talking about years from now I get to that point where you realize what it is that you are doing for Him. We know so we should be telling everyone, don't give up on someone that you have been working on for months or years even. Don't feel like you are annoying them or pressuring them. God is on your side and with Him on your side everything is possible.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-6191599883067933401?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/6191599883067933401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=6191599883067933401&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6191599883067933401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6191599883067933401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/tomorrow.html' title='Tomorrow'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-3230048448326145524</id><published>2008-01-25T22:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-25T22:55:41.179-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Still Checking In</title><content type='html'>I haven't been to my parents for lunch in a while, so I decided to go today. My work is pretty close by and I use to go all the time, but little by little stopped. I started going to Target or the Mall during my lunch which is not good because instead of spending five or ten dollars at lunch, I spend a bit more. I said that I was going to cut down on that and have been doing really good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I get to my parents and they get all happy that I went for lunch. My parents treat me very different than everyone else. Everyone else being my four brothers and two sisters. I don't complain to my brothers and sisters but I think that they notice how sometimes I worry about how my parents can treat me. What I mean is like a baby still. So they say its my fault for always being so spoiled, but I say it's because I have always been so close to them. I call everyday more than once and go over everyday. There is a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;reason&lt;/span&gt; I go over everyday though and that is to give my dad his medicine. So it's not like I stay long all the time, sometimes I go in and out and of course they complain.  This is my dad, "no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;te&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;quedas&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ni&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;por&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;cinco&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;minutos&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;," I just tell him that I can't stay all the time, that I have things to do. It's the same thing if I don't call in the morning like when I'm running late and just forget. When I do finally call like on my lunch, they go on about how they were worried and why hadn't I called. Sometimes I feel obligated to do it and it's a bit frustrating. I love them so much of course and love to spend time with them. I guess I just feel like I have them so use to me checking in all the time. At times I do feel like it's my fault and I feel like maybe I shouldn't call all the time, two three times a day. Although I am &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;beginning&lt;/span&gt; to think that it is me too, wanting to check up on them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-3230048448326145524?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/3230048448326145524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=3230048448326145524&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3230048448326145524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3230048448326145524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/still-checking-in.html' title='Still Checking In'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4117334508977533460</id><published>2008-01-24T22:59:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T23:09:36.237-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Pac-Man</title><content type='html'>So I love Pac-Man and have been wanting one of those arcade machines but I think they are about three thousand dollars. I thought someone was gonna get it for me for Christmas but no I guess it is too much money. Well the closest thing to it is Sal's arcade forums wich I love. It is very addicting though so I try not to get on so much. Tonight I have been playing pac-man because Ro beat my score that I was so proud of because I had beaten digiSal finally. Grrrrrrrr forget this blog Rob just beat Ro's score and I have been trying all night. I'm so mad. The end I'm gonna go beat him right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4117334508977533460?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4117334508977533460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4117334508977533460&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4117334508977533460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4117334508977533460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/pac.html' title='Pac-Man'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5445226511943469699</id><published>2008-01-23T22:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-23T23:10:52.269-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dinner Club</title><content type='html'>I was so looking forward to church tonight, couldn't wait. Work was so hectic and I guess I was looking forward to tonight more than usual. So the message was great and I was so sleepy all day, even falling asleep at my desk. Not once did I doze off at church, how could I with such great preaching. After we were all standing around outside, I was so cold and wanted to get in the car already. Finally decide to go to Pizza Hut, so we all get in our cars and go. Oh, but except Sal he wanted Wallbangers, rudeness. I didn't really feel like pizza but wanted to hang out so I went.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well more rudeness happened. Now keep in mind I never left the table until D went to the restroom, I joined her. We get back and the waiter is bringing the food already and I ask, "what, when did you all order?" Kim said before we got our drinks which was way before D and I went to the ladies room. I didn't notice that they had ordered because they do this thing where they sit the guys far away and the girls sit together. Fine, so they tried sitting together but weren't able to so we sat apart. Anyhow the men ordered and I didn't know that so I was left out. :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I order way after and ate alone practically. D and Kim kept trying to get me to eat their food while I waited, but I just kept saying how I couldn't believe they ordered and forgot about me. Fine and I did steal some of their bread sticks, hello they were eating in front of me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5445226511943469699?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5445226511943469699/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5445226511943469699&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5445226511943469699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5445226511943469699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/dinner-club.html' title='The Dinner Club'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-2115068782399199363</id><published>2008-01-22T23:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T23:58:14.906-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Laughing</title><content type='html'>What would you say is your most favorite emotion to show? Everyone I am sure would say laughing. It's great to laugh, think of how you feel when you are doing it. We love to be around people who make us laugh and it's just a really great emotion to express. I am not much of a comedian but I do have this one brother, boy can he make me laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there is that laughing so hard that your eyes water, and your stomach hurts and you just can't stop for anything in the world. Then there are the giggles. Boy do those giggles always get me into trouble. Today at work our boss was mad about something and he got us all together to I guess blow off steam. Well one look at Adriane and that was the end of me. I could not stop laughing for anything. We kept trying to not look at each other but boy it's like you know that shes there and just the thought of her smile and giggling is it. Man those are the best moments I think. Even if at the time you are trying so hard to quit giggling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I love the giggles most, and I laugh at all the wrong moments sometimes, but boy is it worth it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-2115068782399199363?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/2115068782399199363/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=2115068782399199363&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2115068782399199363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2115068782399199363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/laughing.html' title='Laughing'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-6544940830666700746</id><published>2008-01-20T01:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-20T01:29:59.056-06:00</updated><title type='text'>SO MAD</title><content type='html'>I'm so mad because I completely lost track of time and forgot to blog. I wanted to be different and special and be the only one who didn't mess this up. GRRRRR! Maybe if I would have not slept so much this would not have happened. Oh well, I guess it wasn't meant to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This day has been just a long, lazy, sleepy day. Whoever does this on a regular basis, well all I have say to them is, "Wow how do you do it?" I rather be up and about doing stuff and can't stand just laying around. See nothing good comes of it anyway, my perfect streak was ruined for being a bed head.  :(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-6544940830666700746?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/6544940830666700746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=6544940830666700746&amp;isPopup=true' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6544940830666700746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6544940830666700746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/so-mad.html' title='SO MAD'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-6115381132930418602</id><published>2008-01-18T21:35:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-18T22:28:45.443-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Before I Go</title><content type='html'>Before I go I want to be a part of something so amazing. Something so amazing to where I feel warm and happy and sad all in the same moment. Not because I want to be remembered but just because God has given me so much that I want to give some how before I go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do not know what it is, but I know that God has something planned for me. I know also that it has to do with kids. I really love being around them, and in fact feel badly that I act like one at times and rather hang out and jump on the trampling instead of fellowship with the adults. I have cried so much and prayed so much for a baby, I've had three yes, and God has chosen to keep them and I have found comfort threw Him in all this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just know that I would be so good with them, I know it. Maybe I won't ever have the knowing of having my own child here on earth, but I believe with all my heart that God will give me something close, if not better. This has to have truth to it, I can't explain it but I know the feeling that I get every time I think of it. I smile in and out and keep smiling for moments at a time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-6115381132930418602?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/6115381132930418602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=6115381132930418602&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6115381132930418602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6115381132930418602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/before-i-go.html' title='Before I Go'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-2839369250788343439</id><published>2008-01-17T21:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-17T22:26:18.724-06:00</updated><title type='text'>DIX-SEPT</title><content type='html'>Seventeen days straight and haven't missed a day, ah what a feeling. Although I was a bit nervous that I would miss yesterday, but glad that I didn't have to. I missed church yesterday and sure did miss it. I pretty much stayed in bed and tried to let my body get back to normal. This morning I was feeling good so got out of bed and well was walking around the house getting food and putting my laundry to wash. I am not to good at resting when I'm told to do so. This time it was very different being that I was here alone so had no one to get mad at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I definitely learned my lesson this evening. See I made dinner and baked and came to see what was happening on the blogs. I had told my friend Rosie to come over and have dinner and dessert that I had made so she was on her way over. Well I started feeling the pain in my chest get worse and I know this pain, it is familiar to me because I have had it before after surgery, but just not this badly. This time it was so different, it was horrible I couldn't bare it. So Rosie gets here and finds me crying like a big baby and I know she is feeling so so bad for me. She calls the doctors office and they tell her to take me to the emergency room. Well as I am crying in bed Rosie is kind of getting mad at me because she is well aware of what I have been up to  all day long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She allows me to lay in bed and cry it out for a while, I then ask her to help me sit up. I sit up and tell her that I feel a bit better and don't want to go to the ER. Well thankfully she doesn't make me go and she just sat with me in my room and we talked a bit. She was trying her best to not make me laugh because that caused so much pain as well. To bad for me that she is just naturally funny and can't help it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned the hard way, I will stay in bed all day tomorrow and not get up but to go to the ladies room. The pain was that bad that I won't dare get out of bed for any other reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rosie thanks for being with me and I'm glad it was you who saw me cry and not anyone else. I love you so so much and I hope I can do the same for you one day. Oh, and if you comment please take it easy on me. I said lesson learned!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-2839369250788343439?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/2839369250788343439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=2839369250788343439&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2839369250788343439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/2839369250788343439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/dix-sept.html' title='DIX-SEPT'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-3612058894826275519</id><published>2008-01-16T19:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-16T22:46:51.098-06:00</updated><title type='text'>SEIZE</title><content type='html'>Today went by so fast for me. A day that I have long been dreading and it wasn't bad at all. I was needing this surgery and kept delaying it for different reasons. So I finally had it done today and am glad that it is over with. I would say that I don't like hospitals, but then again who does right? I'm so use to them that I have all the doctors speeches about risks and blah blah blah pretty much down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today was a bit different, I drove myself and was feeling a bit bummed about it. Well I had spoken to D and Kim earlier and they said they would go bye and see me, but as I was driving to the hospital I was regretting not letting my parents go. At that exact moment D called and said she was there waiting already. See I had told D and Kim that they didn't need to go, but I guess I really wanted them too. My friend Rosie was giving me a hard time about all the brothers and sisters that couldn't go with me. I defended them because it was my fault, I really didn't let anyone know. My church family knew and my parents, sis Vikki, and Noel. The thing with my parents is that they are old and worry badly about me. I guess I just didn't want them there feeling bad for me. It was hard stopping my dad from going, I just kept telling him that it would be in and out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it went well, I was home by six. Although I didn't get to talk to the doctor after, and have to wait about two weeks to do so, I heard the nurses talking and saying that the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;endometriosis&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="BACKGROUND-COLOR: #ffff00"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;was burnt off. So hopefully no more pain for me. Oh and I had the best nurse ever her name is Jessie and she was just great. I had to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ask&lt;/span&gt; her how long shes been a nurse and can you believe it's been eleven years. I thought how great that she still has the love for it. So I gave her some brownies before I left. I had baked last night thinking it would be that last, kidding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh the most important thing that I wanted to tell you all about, almost forgot. So I have always grossed out with the gowns that they give you to wear. It's actually one of the things that I think of when I think about surgery time. Well there are new ones that go in the trash after being used woo &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;hoo&lt;/span&gt;. I took a pic &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;hmm&lt;/span&gt; should I share it? It's neat it has holes for a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;vacuum&lt;/span&gt; sort of tube looking thing to blow hot air in. Keeps you oh so warm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Just wanted to say thanks  D and Kim for hanging out with me, love you guys so so much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-3612058894826275519?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/3612058894826275519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=3612058894826275519&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3612058894826275519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/3612058894826275519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/seize.html' title='SEIZE'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-70813214681078429</id><published>2008-01-15T17:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-15T22:31:33.840-06:00</updated><title type='text'>QUINZE</title><content type='html'>I hope that I'm the only one that is original and blogs about the rain. Kidding it's not really about today, just that the rain brought back a memory. I was sitting here at work looking out the window watching the rain. Which if there is one thing I don't like it is the rain, well to be out in it. Well as I sat here I remembered my mom and how she was always running when it rained, to this day actually.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom is a bit old fashioned, but the real old fashioned type of lady. I love her so so much, had to share that. Well see she still hangs laundry out to dry and has had a dryer for the longest time. She also has a washboard that she uses daily. The memory that came to me is when the rain came,mom ran. She ran out of the house to go get the laundry down from the line. Most of the time I would be looking out the window at her. I was never allowed to go help her because she didn't want me to get wet. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hmmm&lt;/span&gt; maybe that is why I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;despise&lt;/span&gt; getting wet so much, it's all her fault. Anyhow,I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;remembered&lt;/span&gt; this particular time that she ran out. I was at the window with my brother Noel and she was running back with her arms full of clothes. I guess she didn't have time to get a basket in the spur of the moment, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;lol&lt;/span&gt;. Well she fell flat on her butt, and me being bad at holding a laugh in,was just there watching and laughing so hard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so bad at laughing, especially when I am getting in trouble. So if I have ever laughed at you and made you feel badly,well sorry.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-70813214681078429?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/70813214681078429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=70813214681078429&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/70813214681078429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/70813214681078429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/quinze.html' title='QUINZE'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-965431967776121319</id><published>2008-01-14T20:33:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T21:17:12.018-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The other Niece</title><content type='html'>Today was a good day, I got to leave work early for an appointment at the doctors and since it's right next door to Madison's daycare I decided to go pick her up. So she has been going to the same daycare since she was months old. This daycare "Jellybeans", is a pretty good daycare I guess. The workers all seem pretty nice which is a good thing. It is a really good thing because Madison can be a bit spoiled at times. It's my brothers fault of course. See my brother Saul has another daughter, but he didn't exactly raise her. He was stationed in Germany when he found out about Amber. Anyhow so they spoil Madison a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I go to pick her up and for some strange reason it seems like she always has an accident when I go for her. So I'm always walking out with a plastic bag of peed clothes, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Grosssssss&lt;/span&gt;! So I tell her we are going to see the grandparents and she gets all happy. It's not because she misses them, but because she is a little pig and loves to eat my moms food. We get there and my mom and dad get all excited. My dad starts to interrogate her about how they are treating her there at the daycare. See my dad has a feeling that they treat her bad because she is so spoiled. He is always saying things like that they don't feed her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; why she gets there all hungry. I tell him that she is just a pig.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well we hung out there for a bit and then I took her home with me. She helped with dinner, talk about slowing me down too. So Saul calls me to tell me that he is going to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Walmart&lt;/span&gt; so for me to keep her for another half hour, so I say fine. Well then his wife "Monica" calls like a second later and tells me to leave in about ten minutes to drop her off. She says that they are going to do "something" and that it won't take long. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;GROSSSSSSS&lt;/span&gt; this will teach her to talk like that to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well here is the funny part, well at least to me it was. So Madison asks me "why did you yell gross Lucy," and I say well I'm glad you asked ha ha ha. I tell her because your mom and dad are making a baby. She says I will close my eyes then when I get home. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Ahh&lt;/span&gt; I laughed forever when she said that. Of course when we get there she tells her mom and she gave me a look like she was so shocked. So I tell her don't give me that look, now you know to never share that type of info with me &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;again&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-965431967776121319?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/965431967776121319/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=965431967776121319&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/965431967776121319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/965431967776121319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/other-niece.html' title='The other Niece'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4857185802873150346</id><published>2008-01-13T21:31:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-13T22:15:45.271-06:00</updated><title type='text'>THIRTEEN</title><content type='html'>It's just needed so badly sometimes and even when it's not it's just wanted. That is the way I feel about Sundays. This morning was a day very much needed for me at least. I woke up and was in great spirits and eager to get to church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently, well actually yesterday I had to change my settings on my blog because of some not so nice messages that have been appearing on my blog. I had chosen to just simply delete them and not respond to them. Well this morning I noticed a couple of new comments that needed to be published or rejected. Well on of them was from this one whom has been publishing as Del Me Sinner. So it was a pretty ugly message, so much so that I was glad I was the only one that read it. Now I don't say that because it had any truth to it, but because it gave me chills that this person talks the way that they  do. This person said that they see me everyday at church and has the same friends as I. Now I don't think that there is much truth to this, only because I know the friends that I have and I know that they wouldn't want to be around such ugliness. I really don't care because you hide your identity and say things that don't make sense. Whether it be to throw me off or for whatever pleasure that you get out of this. Now the only reason that I am now typing this blog and possible wasting my time is because you said something to me, and I hope that you hold truth to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You asked me to admit in front of everyone on my blog that I am a sinner. You said that in doing this you would leave me alone. This is not anything hard for me to do. See the day that I was saved is the day that I accepted that I was a sinner and as long as I am here on earth it will be so. Now this isn't even being done for myself,  but for all of us to be left alone.  So I hope that this will give you the satisfaction that you are wanting. I pray that God will touch your heart in such a way that you will understand why it is not hard for me to do this,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;I admit that I am a rotten filthy sinner.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also admit that by the grace of God I have forgiveness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I ask you to please let us be. I'm sorry for your hurting and anger.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4857185802873150346?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4857185802873150346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4857185802873150346&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4857185802873150346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4857185802873150346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/thirteen.html' title='THIRTEEN'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-1547231539287233138</id><published>2008-01-12T23:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-12T23:59:12.142-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Babysitting</title><content type='html'>Today was great, the whole day was spent at church well with the church. This morning I woke up to get dressed and remembered that I would be babysitting Jaimie my niece. My sister had to work at school, some kind of in service or something. Well I go look in my nieces room and of course she is up watching cartoons. So I tell her that she needs to get dressed so she can come withe me to the church. Her response is that her close is in the closet. Well it hits me that she doesn't get dressed on her own. So she is in the closet with me and I pick out her clothes for her. I just thought that it was so funny how she doesn't care to have a say so in what she will wear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember at her age (seven), I had to pick out my clothes. I wouldn't let my mom do it for me. Well I guess Jaimie is so different than me from when I was her age. She puts the clothes on and I go to do my hair. I started to brush her hair, which I am not too good at doing others hair for some reason so I was getting frustrated. I finish and go to brush my teeth. When I return to her room she is doing her hair over and I ask why. She simply says that she didn't like the clip that I used. Well I have her choose another clip and do her hair exactly the same. Once again I leave the room to hurry and finish with myself. When I go to get her she has undone her hair again. Now I know that this little girl is not liking the way that I am fixing her hair. I guess she didn't want to tell me because she thought that I would get mad or sad or something. I laugh and tell her baby if you didn't like it all you had to do was tell me. She just gave me this cute smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had fun taking care of her and getting her dressed. I don't do that much,actually I think this was a first with her. I look forward to doing it again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-1547231539287233138?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/1547231539287233138/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=1547231539287233138&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1547231539287233138'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1547231539287233138'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/babysitting.html' title='Babysitting'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-7836191442226738099</id><published>2008-01-11T17:55:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-11T22:03:08.196-06:00</updated><title type='text'>ONZE</title><content type='html'>The week is finally over with and I'm so glad. I thought I would have enjoyed being alone at work more, but I actually felt the pressure. The orders just kept coming in and at times I just wanted to cry. So all my days of doing absolutely nothing, well I can say that I made up for them this week. I am actually looking forward to having Judy and George back on Monday. I hope they bring me something other than a key chain. That's what I got last time and Adriane bought be some snow globe thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was so busy today and my day was going by pretty fast. I was having a really good day and then just like that I let something get me down. I thought of just leaving this alone but I felt really sad about the whole thing. I just don't understand how someone who is saved and knows God or has experienced His love, well I don't understand how they could put others down. It's hard to describe what I felt today when I saw that comment on my blog and it wasn't the first one, but this one just touched me somehow. What do you feel to be mean to others? I don't get it at all. What is the point? If you know what love is, I mean truly know what it is to be loved by God why would you show hate or anger?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have always made it a point to try and not hurt others. I have heard it more than once that I don't defend myself. I honestly don't see it like that. I don't even think of it as being the better person. I can't explain it exactly but I'll try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I just feel like I can handle it, I don't need to be ugly back, I don't need to hurt someone and I wouldn't want to. We are all the same, we get hurt, embarrassed and no one likes to get treated unkindly. I wish you could feel what I felt, I wish you didn't find it necessary to be mean. We are all Gods children and it hurts Him when we hurt. With God in your heart how is it possible to talk on someone so unkindly. These are church people who wake up every morning trying to live their best for God. God is the only one who can judge us so just leave it to Him. He is the only one that I want to judge me because He is the only one that knows what I stand for.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-7836191442226738099?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/7836191442226738099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=7836191442226738099&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7836191442226738099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/7836191442226738099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/onze.html' title='ONZE'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-428250886559244137</id><published>2008-01-10T22:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-10T23:29:22.250-06:00</updated><title type='text'>(DIX)</title><content type='html'>Well I was ready to start my blog and started with the title which I usually save for last. The titles have been really easy for me because I have been using numbers. But tonight was going to be different, I actually had a title and all. So I was sitting here in front of the computer as usual with my tea lol, and in walks my sister. Well that did it for me, I lost my material. She started telling me a story which I think was a continuation of last night. I really couldn't say because I wasn't listening. She knows it too, that I don't listen when I'm blogging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I was thinking along the lines of how it's so awesome how God made us. How He gave us all these different emotions and the ability to express them. Sure we don't always share them the way we should but it's just great that we can, if we really wanted to or when we choose to. Why don't we sometimes? I really do kick myself in the butt when a moment has passed that I didn't say what I wanted to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like when Kim sings a song that just gets me so deep. Or when people get knots in their throats while asking for a prayer request. You feel their concern and need, it's just so great to share things like that. Where would we be without Him? What would we have to look forward to? What would we have without the feelings and emotions that He gave us?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-428250886559244137?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/428250886559244137/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=428250886559244137&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/428250886559244137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/428250886559244137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/dix.html' title='(DIX)'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-6151890728970488156</id><published>2008-01-09T21:49:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-09T22:36:23.634-06:00</updated><title type='text'>NEUF</title><content type='html'>Today I said out loud "ah I haven't blogged". I suppose complaining in a way. That's not normal for me because I love to blog.  I am so sleepy tonight, couldn't really sleep last night. I wasn't really pensive about anything. Well fine that's a bit of a lie. I had something on my mind and heart. I have been praying about this everymorning and I get threw the days fine. I have laughs and converse with you all just fine throughout the days. So I wanted to brag on you all a bit if it's okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a family of course that I love so much, but I have my church family that I share so much more with. I just wanted to say thanks for loving me and making me smile when I need it most. I'm so glad that I get to see you all Wednesdays, Saturdays and Sundays. I wish I could see you all more sometimes. I know you all wish you could see me a lot more too. Ha ha kidding. Really though we don't really tell each other how much we mean to one another. So I'm glad that I beat you all to it. I love you guys so much and am so thankful that God put you all in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am not disabling comments so everyone gets a chance to tell me that they love me back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-6151890728970488156?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/6151890728970488156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=6151890728970488156&amp;isPopup=true' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6151890728970488156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6151890728970488156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/neuf.html' title='NEUF'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5465436359429814802</id><published>2008-01-08T17:58:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-08T22:29:58.637-06:00</updated><title type='text'>HUIT</title><content type='html'>I was trying to remember the earliest childhood memory that I could. My friend was telling me she can remember being in pampers and I said impossible. Why can't I remember being in pampers? What am I saying, I'm glad that I can't. So I was thinking hard like really hard lol. I was kind of disappointed because I couldn't really remember anything before I was five. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose everyone has thought about their childhood at one point and though I want to remember things I just can't. I have great memories though which I thank God for. I know not everyone had the best childhood but I'm so grateful that I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I see the kids from church in their skateboards and always playing around and it reminds me of how fun it was to be that age. Today we were playing like a bunch of kids at Sal's house. It was great, I had a lot of fun with Mikey and David. I guess I had fun with the grownups too. It was really great. It was so easy being a kid I really miss those days. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it can be really fun being a grown up too. It's just hard sometimes and I know kids have it hard too. Fine so it goes both ways but I really do think it was more fun as a kid. I guess what I am trying to say is that I really appreciate the childhood that I had. So kids enjoy it and please let me hang out with you as much as possible, kidding lol.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5465436359429814802?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5465436359429814802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5465436359429814802&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5465436359429814802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5465436359429814802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/huit.html' title='HUIT'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5331676247689809683</id><published>2008-01-07T17:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T17:19:42.632-06:00</updated><title type='text'>SEPT</title><content type='html'>It's Monday and I am already ready for Friday again. I was talking to this girl here at work when I got back from lunch and she asked me how I was doing and I said great. She tells me that I always say that I am doing great and that I must have bad days every now and then. I just smiled and told her I try not to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See this girl is always complaining about something that's going on in her life. I feel bad for her and I always tell her that God loves her more than anyone ever will. I told her that my life isn't perfect at all. She said that she never hears me complain, and I told her well maybe not to you. She said something that really got to me. She said that she wishes she was anyone else but herself. I told her that I would be praying for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I came back to my desk and started to think a little. I don't think that I have ever had that thought of wanting to be someone else other than myself. Even now that I get that feeling of failure or disappointment. I know He loves me no matter what. I guess when I start to feel sad about something I always tell myself that God has blessed me so much even when I think some things are not blessings. When I feel like things are not going as I planned, I try and remember that God is in control not me. Everyone has bad days I know this, and I'm not having a bad day at all today, I guess Sam just got me to thinking. Our lives are not perfect and simple and full of excitement all the time, but we have many things to look forward to. I mean I have such great friends and family that it would be impossible for me to even want to be someone other than myself. The most important thing that I have to look forward to is heaven. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not a sad blog, but a blog for you to not be too sad the next time that you are feeling sad. Did that make sense cuz it did to me? Then of course I am the writer so it would make sense to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5331676247689809683?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5331676247689809683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5331676247689809683&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5331676247689809683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5331676247689809683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/sept.html' title='SEPT'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4001804710653540438</id><published>2008-01-06T22:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-06T22:55:35.240-06:00</updated><title type='text'>SIX</title><content type='html'>Wow, so we are almost on a week of faithfully blogging. I say that we should celebrate after the whole month is completed. What should we do though hmmm? Let's have a big ol BBQ yes? Okay I feel like I am talking to myself so I will stop and get on with the real blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is Sunday and one of my most favorite days of the week. I was so late to church today because as I was all dressed and ready to go, my niece Jamie threw up all over me she hasn't been feeling so good and I happened to be hugging her at the exact moment that she decided to throw up. What could I do but go change. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well I make it to church and missed all the singing which is my favorite part of the service. After I guess I kinda ran out but only because my brother Saul had text me to hurry up and go make some sides for a BBQ at his house. And no I wasn't playing with my phone during church, I only noticed because I heard it ring. I had forgotten to turn it off. So I had a really good time at Saul's house and was able to play with Madison, my favorite niece but shhh don't tell anyone. I made rice, potato salad, pico de gallo and a chocolate cake. The chocolate cake was my favorite ha ha. Meg, which is Sauls dog, loved the potato salad, dumb dog was eating all the potatoes that I kept dropping on the floor. Tomorrow will be more interesting I promise. This was kinda like a hurry up and right it blog thing. Hey at least I'm honest right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4001804710653540438?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4001804710653540438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4001804710653540438&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4001804710653540438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4001804710653540438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/six.html' title='SIX'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-1030170409219881149</id><published>2008-01-05T17:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-05T19:10:45.009-06:00</updated><title type='text'>CINQ</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/R4AqbC1kGKI/AAAAAAAAAZI/2OBHA15QGBE/s1600-h/IMG00088.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/R4AqbC1kGKI/AAAAAAAAAZI/2OBHA15QGBE/s320/IMG00088.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152164617818216610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well today was visitation at our church and like always I had a blast. I really enjoy Saturdays and look forward to them. It was a smaller group today but I was glad that I went otherwise it would have been even smaller. Besides some of my most favorite people were there so I was glad at that. I really enjoy talking to people, I can tell you that I don't enjoy the weirdos, but thankfully none of those today. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only had to speak Spanish about three times today. See D doesn't really like her Spanish I guess so when there is a Spanish speaking person I go for it. I kinda like it a lot. I did have this one lady that I spoke to in Spanish and as I walked away thought to myself man you should have talked better. Not better Spanish I mean I felt like I could have tried harder. I don't like when that happens. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So since it was just us we did one side of the street and called it a day. We took about an hour or so. After we cleaned the church we left to eat at Los Asados. I had a great time there with D and her family. Juan wasn't feeling too great and had said that he wasn't going. Well once he heard I was going he changed his mind. Lol it's kind of like an inside joke that I had to throw in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well as we were walking out Juan pointed out this really nice vehicle that was parked right in front. I took a picture because this is the most nicest SS that I have ever seen. I wish I could have one just like it. I have never seen such a nice SS as this one. Ha ha ha sorry Sal we couldn't resist. Yours is alright too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-1030170409219881149?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/1030170409219881149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=1030170409219881149&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1030170409219881149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1030170409219881149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/cinq.html' title='CINQ'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/R4AqbC1kGKI/AAAAAAAAAZI/2OBHA15QGBE/s72-c/IMG00088.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5470099154253927972</id><published>2008-01-04T17:48:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-04T17:53:29.460-06:00</updated><title type='text'>QUATRE</title><content type='html'>It's Friday finally, felt like it took forever and that's because we didn't work Monday or Tuesday. This morning I got a new running partner. I have said before that I am use to my treadmill, (aka the mill) but lately I have been jogging outdoors. Well I'm usually solo out there, but this morning was different, I got a jogging partner. Guess who? It was a dog , lol. This dog I have seen before and had scared me the first time but I figured out that he is friendly. Well he jogged all three laps with me, talk about a faithful, non-complaining partner huh? It was a cute dog otherwise I would have ditched it. When I got to the front door and opened it the dog wanted to come in as well. Perhaps it got the impression that I was it's new owner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work was good today, I was busy busy. Almost everyone left for a show in Las Vegas called CES. This is the second show that they do. They did Sema in November, so I have been alone before. I kind of like it only because I stay busy. I have never been to Las Vegas but it's fine with me, doesn't tempt me. The girls get all excited they love this time of the year. This is what they look forward to I guess. So orders kept coming in and I managed to stay busy all day for a change. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's Friday alright and I feel a bit, well I don't know what I feel, but I feel something. I think it's cuz I was on the phone with the nurse earlier setting up the surgery. I just get bummed out sometimes at the fact that I don't have kids. I would love to have a mini Lucy following me around. Does anyone want to give a kid away? Sorry had to make myself smile some how. I'll be fine though, I know God has a reason for everything. Weird how my blog ended up here. I was caught in a moment I suppose. Dumb nurse why did she have to call me while I was in total blog mode. Kidding she isn't dumb, only cuz she might read this with my luck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5470099154253927972?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5470099154253927972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5470099154253927972&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5470099154253927972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5470099154253927972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/quatre.html' title='QUATRE'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4754021023728864730</id><published>2008-01-03T15:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-03T16:30:31.779-06:00</updated><title type='text'>(Trois)  Bummer Day at Work</title><content type='html'>Fine so it wasn't such a bummer day, it was a little only because of some dumb incident. So everyone knows that I have the easiest, boring job in the world. I was actually suppose to not be working anymore and do school full time but it didn't plan out the way I thought it would. It really is that boring, the highlight of it is chatting and blogging and jaikuing. Well today I'm here and haven't really had much work to enter into the computer. We open at nine and we don't really get any action around here until about eleven or so. The owners come in whenever, but never before ten.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well today one of the bosses walks in saying something like, blah blah blah which means that he is mad about something. It turns out that one of our customers is mad because of a big mistake that was made, which will turn into me in a bit when I'm done with the story. So the owner calls a meeting and everyone is listening, or pretending to and I hear my name. Well here is where the bummer part comes in. So someone made a mistake and we know who it was but Morris my boss says, "Lucy I am going to blame it on you because you are the newest here." I thought to myself I'm not even that new anymore but whatever. I really don't care only that now this buyer will think I am a complete ruiner of orders.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I guess I was just bummed out because he couldn't just say that it was a mistake. He had to go and say that it was the new girl which it wasn't. I hope he reads this so he can have a piece of my mind. Kidding I actually would so not want him to read this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4754021023728864730?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4754021023728864730/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4754021023728864730&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4754021023728864730'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4754021023728864730'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/trois-bummer-day-at-work.html' title='(Trois)  Bummer Day at Work'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5934145777217487957</id><published>2008-01-02T17:37:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-02T17:47:01.604-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Jour Deux De Trente Et Un</title><content type='html'>Today has been a great day so far and it's one of my favorite days of the week too. I thought that I was going to have a rough start of a year but it has been really good. Yes I know it's only the second of the month but I'm being positive. There are just things that have been going on that really can bring even the happiest person down. All I can say is that I am so grateful to have such great friends. I'm especially grateful to the Lord for never leaving me even when I disappoint Him. The weather I love, I think it's the most perfect it has been all year long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I didn't want to get up for my morning jog. I mean jogging is my most favorite thing, but the cold just made me lazy I guess. Plus I'm use to my mill and my music. I was a bit worried because I lost the key to my brothers house and I was home alone. Well guess what I did? Yup, I left the door unlocked while I jogged around the neighborhood. I would look over there every time I passed up the house. Well as I was finishing up the last lap I see my brother pulling up so I try to beat him home because he will so kill me if he knows I left the door unlocked. Well of course he caught me and got after me like a kid, grrrrr. I guess I shouldn't have done that. He still loves me though so no big deal I guess. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I won't say that today was a regular day like any other day because it wasn't and people who say that are just kidding I think. Everyday is always a new day, so something new has to happen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5934145777217487957?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5934145777217487957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5934145777217487957&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5934145777217487957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5934145777217487957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/jour-deux-de-trente-et-un.html' title='Jour Deux De Trente Et Un'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4676425605140141829</id><published>2008-01-01T17:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T17:51:04.783-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Jour Un De Trente Et Un</title><content type='html'>My first blog of the year and I think it was a pretty good day to blog about considering. Well I'll start off with wishing everyone a Happy New Year so Happy New Year to all my blogger and jacko friends. I started off the year waking up late which is not normal at all for me, but I do have to admit it felt a little good. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well today I picked up my good friends D and Kim and went to lunch at the OG. It was something that I had been wanting to do with them but hadn't gotten around to it. I had a really good time with them so I was so glad that I went. After we went to my most favorite place, Starbucks mmmmm. The day went by so fast for me and I know it's because I woke up late. I hope we can have lunch more often guys and thanks for all your kind words. Well until tomorrow then, see ya all!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4676425605140141829?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4676425605140141829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4676425605140141829&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4676425605140141829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4676425605140141829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2008/01/jour-un-de-trente-et-un.html' title='Jour Un De Trente Et Un'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-6954989746288323635</id><published>2007-11-30T14:42:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-11-30T16:21:48.927-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I Was In A Donating Spirit</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/R1CGHTvamQI/AAAAAAAAAXg/-H6fA2hf2c8/s1600-R/IMG00027.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/R1CGHTvamQI/AAAAAAAAAXg/-C0ARE7TCbI/s320/IMG00027.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138754634946091266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to the doctors today and I have been complaining about how they always draw blood and say that they are going to run so more tests. Well today I told myself, no way they will ask for more blood. So I go in and get some results and Dr. Hunter tells me she is going to schedule me for a surgery next week. She goes on to say that she is going to see what she needs before the surgery so that she can have it done. As soon as I heard her say "have it done" I thought no way. Well she sends me to nurse Betsy and I'm waiting patiently and Betsy looks at me and says, "sorry for the wait, but I haven't had to enter so much tests into the system in a while," I kinda giggle but get nervous because I figured out what she meant. Even the phlebotomist was apologizing for the wait, he said he had to figure out how many tubes and what color of tubes he needed. So I took a picture so I could share with you all. I hope no one faints lol.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-6954989746288323635?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/6954989746288323635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=6954989746288323635&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6954989746288323635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6954989746288323635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-was-in-donating-spirit.html' title='I Was In A Donating Spirit'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/R1CGHTvamQI/AAAAAAAAAXg/-C0ARE7TCbI/s72-c/IMG00027.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-1685196396277200436</id><published>2007-11-20T14:16:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-11-20T14:43:14.827-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I Finally Went Up</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/R0NDaG0f9JI/AAAAAAAAAXY/bDSORO0FqkA/s1600-h/IMG00020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/R0NDaG0f9JI/AAAAAAAAAXY/bDSORO0FqkA/s320/IMG00020.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135022115918967954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I have always wanted to go up on top of the railroad tracks, but was always chicken. I remember always passing under it  when I use to rollerblade out here. Well Sunday after church Carlos and I went for a walk at the trail so he asked if I wanted to go up. I was kind of scared but said yes. He said just follow me and said that he use to go up all the time as a kid. Well it was amazing, I loved the view so much. I didn't want to come down, but Carlos said that if a cop saw us we would get in trouble. I'm not scared of any cop just of falling. I mean what can the cop do but tell us to get down right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-1685196396277200436?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/1685196396277200436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=1685196396277200436&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1685196396277200436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/1685196396277200436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-finally-went-up.html' title='I Finally Went Up'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/R0NDaG0f9JI/AAAAAAAAAXY/bDSORO0FqkA/s72-c/IMG00020.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4338914218118113060</id><published>2007-11-02T10:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-02T10:45:05.715-05:00</updated><title type='text'>NO MORE NUMB FINGERS!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/RytFJ6aq8YI/AAAAAAAAAUI/J-fnIIFzrtc/s1600-h/IMG00010.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/RytFJ6aq8YI/AAAAAAAAAUI/J-fnIIFzrtc/s320/IMG00010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5128268637293703554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm always sooo cold at work and decided to bring my mittens. I just need to get use to the typing now. It's not that big of a difference only sometimes I hit two keys instead of one.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4338914218118113060?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4338914218118113060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4338914218118113060&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4338914218118113060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4338914218118113060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2007/11/no-more-numb-fingers_02.html' title='NO MORE NUMB FINGERS!!!'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/RytFJ6aq8YI/AAAAAAAAAUI/J-fnIIFzrtc/s72-c/IMG00010.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5155571845576005589</id><published>2007-10-15T21:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-15T22:45:21.361-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>This morning I woke up at the usual time to go jogging. I always set my alarm for six but don't actually wake up until about six thirty. It's really weird how my mind just knows that's it's six thirty because I don't hit snooze, I just turn the alarm off. Well I guess I feel like I need to jog to not gain anymore wait because it's not like I'm losing any. I guess I eat too much, too much candy, too much M&amp;amp;M's and oreos. So that's not the point, this morning I get up to go jogging and I am usually all alone here in this neighborhood. My brother lives over here on Bass Blvd so I figured that it's pretty safe. There is no one out when I'm jogging except for this little shiatsu that meets me in the same spot almost every morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well this morning was really different. I was feeling so sleepy but got up anyway and headed out the door. I usually walk up to the corner, about ten feet, and get to jogging right away. I try to not jog with my head down, so as soon as I catch myself I lift it up right away. Well as soon as I take off I am staring down the street and it's a way down to the end. I think that I see the shape of someone but since it's Halloween I figured that it's just decorations. As I am getting closer I see the shape of a kid standing on the curb but closer to the street than the curb. I'm anxious to get there so I pick it up a little and sure enough it's a little boy. I'm looking around for someone but I don't see anyone else.  I stop at him and I say hi and he says hi back. He looked about five or so, and I ask him what he is doing out all alone. He said something that made me laugh in a scary situation like this, he said he couldn't sleep. I asked him which house was his and he pointed to it. So I walked over and rang the door bell. Someone finally came to the door and I just said " I found him outside". His dad was freaking out and thanked me and asked me how far down he was. I said not far and started walking away but then turned around really quickly and asked the little boy if that was his dad? He said yes and then I felt dumb for asking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't stop thinking about that little boy today. I  was just so  grateful to God for putting me there this morning even though I was so sleepy and tempted to sleep in. It's weird how we start wondering the "what ifs", it's like we expect the worst. I hope you all aren't thinking I should have called CPS. I mean it could have happened to anyone right? I did think it was weird that he was able to reach the locks. Wonder why people don't put higher locks on the doors anymore. Now it's just the lock on the door knob and one right above it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5155571845576005589?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5155571845576005589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5155571845576005589&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5155571845576005589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5155571845576005589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2007/10/this-morning-i-woke-up-at-usual-time-to.html' title=''/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-4337392014516704148</id><published>2007-10-06T18:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-10-06T19:15:12.757-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Second Best Day Ever</title><content type='html'>When I first got saved, like everyone else, I wanted the people closest to me to know and feel what I did. I was the last of my brothers and sisters to get saved. I am really, really close to my mom and dad, so of course I always wanted to be with them. I guess you can say that I didn't want to stop going to church (catholic) with them. My brother Saul, favorite I might add, came home from the military a saved man. I saw this amazing change in him and within a year or so, three more brothers and two sisters were saved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So finally last but not least, I was saved. A while later my mom got saved, but for some reason I wasn't worried at all about her. However, I did have this great burden about my dad. Now he almost always listens to me and pretty much spoils me. I was use to this so it was very frustrating to me that he wouldn't listen about the most important thing I could say to him. I mean listen as in change, because I could talk to him, but he just wouldn't except Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So time passed and my brother Frank was pretty much the only brother I had left to help me reach my dad. Everyone else slowly started backsliding away from God. I would get bummed out a lot because when I would pray for my dad, I always thanked God for giving me so many brothers and sisters. I just figured that since there are so many of us, one of us was bound to reach my dad. Well, Frank knew how I felt and he would just tell me to never lose faith. One day at Franks house his wife Margie's sister prayed with me. I didn't know Frank told her my desire. She said something to me that gave me the greatest peace. She said that God would not take my dad until he was saved. So from that day on I simply quit worrying about it just like that. I still prayed and I should have known to just leave it in His hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This past Sunday, my dad was finally saved. I say finally because it really felt like forever to me. Frank started bringing his pastor around to family gatherings. My dad really grew to like the pastor. Frank little by little started taking my dad to church with him. I was the first person Frank called to tell. Gods timing is what it all is, and not mine. It's really hard to remember that when you don't leave it in His hands. You keep thinking about it and worrying about it and it's worthless to do that, because it's not up to you at all. How easy it would be if I could just remember that from the get go huh?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-4337392014516704148?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/4337392014516704148/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=4337392014516704148&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4337392014516704148'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/4337392014516704148'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2007/10/second-best-day-ever.html' title='The Second Best Day Ever'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-6995555600461619544</id><published>2007-09-27T11:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-27T12:22:21.955-05:00</updated><title type='text'>WRONG BUT RIGHT</title><content type='html'>Easy right? Maybe not. I'm only suppose to care about what God thinks right, and no one else? Of course He is my number one person to please and He knows my heart. However, lately I find that I am &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;examining&lt;/span&gt; myself more than ever. I'm smart enough to know that when there is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;examining&lt;/span&gt; it's for a reason. In my case it's pretty serious &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;examining&lt;/span&gt; going on. I wanted something for so long and prayed so hard for it. It was something of good to pray for. I understand that it shouldn't be what I want but what God wants. Also that it is Gods timing and not mine, I just couldn't bare to feel like that anymore. Does this make me weak, or even selfish, maybe, but I know that I was changing and I didn't like it. God will not put anything upon you that can't be handled right? I know that He knows my heart. I know that He forgives, but knowingly knowing is different, knowingly doing is different. The choices I make are my own, but I am His. Let Him be the only one to judge me. I know it's hard to not judge, but only I know why I it came to this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-6995555600461619544?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/6995555600461619544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=6995555600461619544&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6995555600461619544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/6995555600461619544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2007/09/wrong-but-right.html' title='WRONG BUT RIGHT'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1211431083226880391.post-5256111349930589934</id><published>2007-09-20T10:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-20T11:24:11.240-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Till The Cows Come Home</title><content type='html'>I really got myself into reading everyones blogs and decided to make one of my own. After all, the only thing I ever hear is blog this and blog that. I did this about a month ago and hadn't written until now. I suppose I had been keeping to myself a lot, but I knew exactly why. It's good to recognize and understand why you are acting the way that you are I think. Well, reading everyones blogs really got my mind off of things, which was good. I would read a lot and never leave comments, until one day someone gave me a good outpouring on this. Well, now I leave comments and think that it's so awesome how we can touch each others lives with a simple comment. I mean why read something that makes your heart ache for someone, and not let them know that you will be praying for them? Why read something that fills you with love and happiness and not tell about how much it touched you? Also, who better to tell than you all right? Fine, so today I introduce myself as a new blogger that looks forward to many happy and sad stories. As for funny, it has to be really good to make me laugh. No but really, happy,sad, or funny,it's all well worth it. God gives us everything for a reason,and I truly believe that they are all blessings. Sometimes it's just hard for us to see them as blessings.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1211431083226880391-5256111349930589934?l=notwlucy.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/feeds/5256111349930589934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1211431083226880391&amp;postID=5256111349930589934&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5256111349930589934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1211431083226880391/posts/default/5256111349930589934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notwlucy.blogspot.com/2007/09/till-cows-come-home.html' title='Till The Cows Come Home'/><author><name>LUCY</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00934296002624909937</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FoIoZnZ3tEc/Sku-HbJrVWI/AAAAAAAAApI/vq_95FAdfT8/S220/1238793198651.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry></feed>
