<?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-5880537327926952594</id><updated>2011-11-27T21:42:58.119-06:00</updated><title type='text'>SKUNK JUICE</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-2358473109140049386</id><published>2010-04-24T10:09:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-24T21:20:00.642-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Jennifer Anniston'd</title><content type='html'>I was at a friend's pool the other day, looking at a magazine that was featuring a story on Jennifer Anniston. He leaned over to see what I was looking at.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Damn, she has a good body. It sure would be nice to look that good."&lt;br /&gt;Him: "Yeah, well there must be something wrong with her because men always leave her."&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Oh yeah? Well, men always leave me too. I'd at least like to have a good body."&lt;br /&gt;Him: "Oh. I see your point."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-2358473109140049386?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/2358473109140049386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/04/jennifer-annistond.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/2358473109140049386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/2358473109140049386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/04/jennifer-annistond.html' title='Jennifer Anniston&apos;d'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-255472383611211659</id><published>2010-03-05T17:39:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-03-05T17:39:41.622-06:00</updated><title type='text'>That's just wrong</title><content type='html'>Is it just me, or is it annoying to anyone else when cable companies play commercials for businesses that don't exist in your town? Hey, thanks for showing a Dave &amp;amp; Buster's commercial, but the closest one is SIX HOURS AWAY!!!! I want to "eat, drink, and play" too!! That's just wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-255472383611211659?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/255472383611211659/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/03/thats-just-wrong.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/255472383611211659'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/255472383611211659'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/03/thats-just-wrong.html' title='That&apos;s just wrong'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-5882519702374810595</id><published>2010-01-24T09:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T09:28:21.047-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ashy, you say?.....</title><content type='html'>Sara and I saw this in WalMart last year and I couldn't pass up taking a picture.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sG4_sy0nm_Q/S1xhbr7n1EI/AAAAAAAAABE/K3Ji7x51XFE/s1600-h/P1010975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" mt="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sG4_sy0nm_Q/S1xhbr7n1EI/AAAAAAAAABE/K3Ji7x51XFE/s320/P1010975.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;So, let me get this straight......Ashy is now a "real" word and not just a UMC-ism? I was baffled and had to get to the root of this word evolution. So, of course,&amp;nbsp; I googled it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to the free online dictionary - ash·y (sh)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; adj. ash·i·er, ash·i·est &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; 1. Of, relating to, or covered with ashes.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;2. Having the color of ashes; pale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I found the urban dictionary definition (complete with the word used in a sentence, so as not to cause confusion)&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;- ashy: When&amp;nbsp;a negro's skin so dry it looks like they a white folk who been workin' in a coal mine.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;Ex. Damn, Sheila skin be ashy.....she need some cocoa butter to moisten up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.........And I quote. Thanks, WalMart and google.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-5882519702374810595?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/5882519702374810595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/01/ashy-you-say.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/5882519702374810595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/5882519702374810595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/01/ashy-you-say.html' title='Ashy, you say?.....'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sG4_sy0nm_Q/S1xhbr7n1EI/AAAAAAAAABE/K3Ji7x51XFE/s72-c/P1010975.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-4072692404886036417</id><published>2010-01-23T09:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-23T09:06:36.934-06:00</updated><title type='text'>God's Property</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;Seen in a Cracker Barrel parking lot......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sG4_sy0nm_Q/S1sO8Lgqy6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/iPPvy0HkWts/s1600-h/P1020082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" mt="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sG4_sy0nm_Q/S1sO8Lgqy6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/iPPvy0HkWts/s320/P1020082.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;And then I zoomed out......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sG4_sy0nm_Q/S1sQUyfhWJI/AAAAAAAAAA8/av8IVZ3Tab8/s1600-h/P1020081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" mt="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sG4_sy0nm_Q/S1sQUyfhWJI/AAAAAAAAAA8/av8IVZ3Tab8/s320/P1020081.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;'Nuf said.&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/5880537327926952594-4072692404886036417?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/4072692404886036417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/01/gods-property.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/4072692404886036417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/4072692404886036417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/01/gods-property.html' title='God&apos;s Property'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sG4_sy0nm_Q/S1sO8Lgqy6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/iPPvy0HkWts/s72-c/P1020082.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-3457320492019406092</id><published>2010-01-20T09:33:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T09:33:26.695-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Anti-Green (the new Black)</title><content type='html'>Let me just start by clarifying.......I am no hippie, tree hugging, granola crunching, Go-Green Nazi (not that there's anything wrong with that if you're reading this and are). HOWEVER, I like to think that I do keep Mother Earth in the back of my mind. Okay, scratch that. I'm terrible at the whole recycle thing (that sounds way worse when typed), but I have started this.......Several months ago, I bought some recycling grocery bags at Sams and I bring those when I go grocery shopping so as not to use the plastic ones. They are rather large, but I have four and don't mind loading them down to keep from using the ones at the grocery store. I have also, in the past year, asked checkout people not to bag up small items that I can carry, just telling them "I don't need a bag for this". I figure these things are the LEAST I can do considering the fact that I drive a Jeep Cherokee. Anyhow, lest we judge.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What has amazed me is the "backlash" that I have received from people working at the stores while trying these simple recycling tools (to the point of looking at me like I am doing something WRONG. ????). A few scenarios:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. When I've asked not to bag small items that I can carry, I've had a few people just say "okay", then throw the bags in the trash under the counter. DOH!!! Nice. Throw away that perfectly unused plastic bag because it can't be REUSED with the next customer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. The other day at Brookshires I told the lady, "I have my own bags". She says okay and hands them to the bagger guy. As he's bagging he says, "Whoa, these are big". I nod and smile (because what else can you say when John Madden states the obvious. Yes, they are quite big). And as he helps me wheel my cart to my car, he feels the need to add (as he grunts/laughs under his breath)...."Musta takin a LOT of bags to make this one." As if saying, "Stupid lady. You could've just used a bunch of plastic bags instead of using this big one". I promptly replied, "Well, I've reused these bags 50 or 60 times, so I'm PRETTY SURE it's been worth it". Ass (I didn't say this out loud)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the last........(my personal favorite)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. We were in Grayton Beach, FL last August on family vacation. One afternoon, my brother and I stepped out to pick up a few things for the house (chips, dip, beer, non caffeinated soft drinks for the pregnant sister....you know, the essentials). Anyway, we get up to the counter at the Totes-em and pay the clerk. Now keep in mind, he and I carried the items up to the counter. We did not require a buggy or even one of those carry-basket-things to get them to the counter. So anyway, we pay the lady and she grabs a plastic bag to start bagging up the items. I said, "Oh, don't worry about it. We don't need a bag. We'll just carry them". The fact that she then looked at me like I had three heads and was speaking Greek, I felt the need to further exlain. "Oh, you know. It's my little contribution to helping Mother Earth". She looks at me in disgust (disgust you say??? Why, yes) and says........"Oh yeah, way to save all those PLASTIC trees." (like I was the idiot) And she didn't stop with that. She repeats this statment, in varying forms, maybe three more times. I was in such complete shock that I just walked out of the store, eyes wide, shaking my head. Yes ME, Queen of No Filter, said nothing back. I was so shocked in the store that I hadn't really realized/heard that she had repeated it three or four times until we got outside and my brother told me. What I wanted to do was go back in the store and say, "NO! NOT SAVING 'PLASTIC TREES' YOU IG-NANT MORON. TRYING TO KEEP FROM USING THOSE PLASTIC BAGS THAT......I don't know......END UP IN THE DUMP AND NEVER BREAK DOWN!!!!". But I didn't.....Because that woman was old and she looked "road hard". And she looked like she might have been in a few fights (and I haven't). AND she looked like she had been working in that Totes-em in Grayton Beach for a while and probably knew people who could kick my ass (in case she couldn't leave her register and do it herself).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-3457320492019406092?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/3457320492019406092/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/01/anti-green-new-black.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/3457320492019406092'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/3457320492019406092'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2010/01/anti-green-new-black.html' title='Anti-Green (the new Black)'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-8435694990545296305</id><published>2009-10-11T18:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T20:37:09.222-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Who's pregnant?</title><content type='html'>We were in Oxford this weekend visiting my mom and enjoying the football festivities. There was a quilt show that my mom was involved with, so when Sara and I got into town we went to pick my mom up there. Some of her quilting friends were there and I think mom enjoyed showing off her (beautiful) daughters. We were introduced to one of her friends and she turns to me and says "So, how is the Rookie doing?" (as she reached for my stomach). Will I go to hell if I forcefully swatted an old lady's hand away? I quickly informed her that the Rookie was "over there", and pointed to my 8 MONTHS PREGNANT, BASKETBALL-CLEARLY-IN-THE-BELLY, SISTER!!!!!&amp;nbsp;I mean, I know I've gained some sympathy weight, but 8 months' of baby worth? Sheesh, these old lady's kill me! If they're not informing me that I'm not married (yes, I know this) or that I should be in school if not married (cause you can either be in school or married), then they're calling me 8-month-prego fat to my face? Can a girl get a break? Just askin'.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-8435694990545296305?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/8435694990545296305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/10/whos-pregnant.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/8435694990545296305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/8435694990545296305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/10/whos-pregnant.html' title='Who&apos;s pregnant?'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-1567273799490453382</id><published>2009-09-16T20:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T20:47:55.100-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Space Between</title><content type='html'>I am wondering if this is just me or does anyone else do this? When I pull up to a red light and there cars in line in front of me, I leave enough space so that if I am carjacked I have room to maneuver. Anyone? The sad thing is I do it subconsciously. Is it just that I've lived in Jackson too long?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-1567273799490453382?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/1567273799490453382/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/space-between.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/1567273799490453382'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/1567273799490453382'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/space-between.html' title='The Space Between'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-835211377242602271</id><published>2009-09-09T21:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T21:14:51.440-05:00</updated><title type='text'>P.S. I love you......right now</title><content type='html'>I was watching P.S. I Love You tonight (yes Nik, I finally broke down and actually put the movie in the DVD player). There was this quote, and I literally laughed out loud!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man: "That's why you're not married. Women act like men and then they complain men don't want them."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woman: "Oh, is that why? Cause I thought it was something different. I thought it was because I thought I deserved the best. And he's out there...... he's just with all the wrong women....And let me be clear. After centuries of men looking at my tits instead of my eyes, and pinching my ass instead of shaking my hand....I now have the divine right to stare at a man's backside with vulgar, cheap appreciation if I want to!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just thought I'd share that with my favorite people. (and by "my favorite people", I mean the people who read my blog) I thought it was funny, but then again, I'm a single woman.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-835211377242602271?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/835211377242602271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/ps-i-love-youright-now.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/835211377242602271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/835211377242602271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/ps-i-love-youright-now.html' title='P.S. I love you......right now'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-7727509834012151872</id><published>2009-09-09T18:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T22:09:38.667-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Double Standard</title><content type='html'>I know, ya'll think I'm gonna talk about the whole "why are guys that sleep with a bunch of girls 'playas', but girls......" da da da, you know the story. No. Not going there. I'm going to throw you a curve ball! (I went out on a date with a minor league umpire a couple of weeks ago. Sorry.) Don't you think it's funny (and by "funny", I mean not in the least funny. Not even a half smile. Like, if funny was a 100 on a scale of 1-100, this would be a -10. Sorry. Tangent) Anyway, don't you think it's "funny" (now that we've defined this) that it's "cute" when a guy expresses his feelings, but "crazy" when a girl does? Okay, what gives? I mean, guys WONDER why a girl gets the wrong impression when he's told her for months how he "needs someone strong like her to ground him". I'm just saying....Nope, not bitter at all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-7727509834012151872?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/7727509834012151872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/double-standard.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/7727509834012151872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/7727509834012151872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/double-standard.html' title='Double Standard'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-8865605254861311335</id><published>2009-09-07T16:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T16:42:51.763-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Life DVR</title><content type='html'>I have DVR (aka TiVo). I feel like I may have owned this wonderful tool a little too long. Today, I was sitting on the couch watching TV. I happened to look out the window as a car drove by. I only caught the tail end of it, but thought I recognized it. I came about "this close" (picture my thumb and pointer finger ~1/2 mm apart) to pushing rewind on the DVR control so I could see the car again. Is this bad? I must get out more!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-8865605254861311335?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/8865605254861311335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/life-dvr.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/8865605254861311335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/8865605254861311335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/life-dvr.html' title='Life DVR'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-7346028384814331332</id><published>2009-09-05T10:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T10:51:14.860-05:00</updated><title type='text'>To be scared, or not to be scared? That is the question</title><content type='html'>This is the text I got yesterday from the guy who cuts my yard: "Cut u 2morrow". Should I be worried? He's here now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-7346028384814331332?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/7346028384814331332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/to-be-scared-or-not-to-be-scared-that.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/7346028384814331332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/7346028384814331332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/09/to-be-scared-or-not-to-be-scared-that.html' title='To be scared, or not to be scared? That is the question'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-5369300534687973805</id><published>2009-08-28T08:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-28T08:57:14.032-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thinking about you....</title><content type='html'>You know how supposedly when your ears burn, someone is thinking about you? Well, I've been working nights this past week. It seems like every morning when I get out of the shower and relax on the couch, my ears are burning! I get excited until I realize it's probably just some ugly, overweight guy........or my mom (not that I wouldn't want her thinking about me, just not burning ears-worthy).......or my dogs......I suck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-5369300534687973805?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/5369300534687973805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/08/thinking-about-you.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/5369300534687973805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/5369300534687973805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/08/thinking-about-you.html' title='Thinking about you....'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-6279099213795702143</id><published>2009-08-25T13:33:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-26T08:30:19.690-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Hag</title><content type='html'>So I was on facebook doing those stupid quizzes. Well, one thing led to another and I hate to admit this, but I decided to try "What are the initials of the person you will marry?". Is it bad that when I clicked to take it, a message came up that said "connection problem - let windows diagnose the problem". Even Windows knows.....sad, really.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-6279099213795702143?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/6279099213795702143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/08/old-hag.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/6279099213795702143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/6279099213795702143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/08/old-hag.html' title='Old Hag'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-2362443261411339184</id><published>2009-08-16T21:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T21:16:32.201-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Reality</title><content type='html'>My friends who know me are aware that I love reality shows. And I'm not talking "Real World", "The Bachelor", "Survivor", etc. (the "good" stuff). I'm talking, SHIT reality. You all know what I'm talking about. "I Love of Money", "I Love New York", "Flavor of Love", and "A Shot at Love with Tila Tequila" (sadly, I could name many more). I realize that I seem too smart to watch this kind of crap, but I'm telling you.....it's captivating!!!!! Okay, I'll admit. It's more like a train wreck, but you know what I'm saying. I think I have met my match, though. Tonight was the debut of "My Antonio" on VH1. Seriously, I have seen some shit reality, but guys.......THIS IS HORRIBLE! I mean, so horrible I couldn't even finish it! (And I've seen some bad reality. Trust me.) My advice, don't waste brain cells. Reality has just met it's match.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-2362443261411339184?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/2362443261411339184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/08/reality.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/2362443261411339184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/2362443261411339184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/08/reality.html' title='Reality'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5880537327926952594.post-8980450114778269760</id><published>2009-08-02T23:48:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T08:44:42.419-05:00</updated><title type='text'>32 and Single</title><content type='html'>So, I'm single. I was talking to some fellow co-workers and stating that I couldn't have a blog because I don't have a family (ie children) to blog about. Nikki told me I should create one since some of her favorites are by her single friends, so HERE I AM.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reading the book, "The Last Single Woman in America" recently. Appropriate? I thought so. I'll be honest, though. The book? Not so great. If any of you have taken any psych rotations the word I would use to describe this book would be "word salad" [Word Salad (verbal salad): Word Salad describes a very jumbled manner of speaking in which words are put together even though they don't form meaningful sentences. For example, a sentence such as "market dog blue asphalt" -- these words all have meaning but not when put together in this fashion. Schozophrenics often display this type of speech.] Thank you, AlleyDog website, for the definition. Although this book was difficult to follow, I am a very stubborn girl. I had to finish. I cannot start something and not see it through. I am glad I did, though. I tell you what.....I got to page 282 out of 290 pages and there was this quote regarding the description of what "love" means to this author. I mean, JACKPOT! So, here goes......My new favorite quote:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But maybe you have to be a little crazy. Maybe two people have to be a little crazy at the same time. Maybe that's what it takes to transform fantasy into reality. Maybe that's how you find yourself old, gray, and walking down the street holding hands with someone whose life is so completely intertwined with yours that they feel like one and the same. And maybe then you go home, help each other out of your diapers, laugh your heads off, have hot geriatric sex, and top off the night by silently praying to God that the clown lying beside you doesn't screw up your funeral. I don't know. I haven't made it that far yet.&lt;br /&gt;But driving home, I started to think that trying to define being 'in love' was like trying to pick up a loose blob of mercury. I was having a really hard time getting a handle on it and wondering if it was even possible to come up with a universal definition. Ultimately, I just decided that being in love is like skunk juice. People try to describe its smell, but there's no way to accurately describe it. Then one day you're out in the world, you smell something funky, and you think, 'Hey, this is it -- skunk juice!'"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait for my skunk juice! More later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5880537327926952594-8980450114778269760?l=lindsayclairain.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/feeds/8980450114778269760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/08/32-and-single.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/8980450114778269760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5880537327926952594/posts/default/8980450114778269760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://lindsayclairain.blogspot.com/2009/08/32-and-single.html' title='32 and Single'/><author><name>Skunk Juice</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17088321024413581794</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
