<?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-4650985219576072358</id><updated>2011-11-17T07:29:43.777-08:00</updated><category term='Just because'/><category term='QOTD'/><title type='text'>Operator of my very own crazy train</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>18</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-3982761497622354558</id><published>2009-11-29T12:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-29T22:13:55.950-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='QOTD'/><title type='text'>QOTD</title><content type='html'>Question of the Day:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You ever have a feeling you're being watched?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bonus question:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You ever wanna do something just to give that person watching something extra special to &lt;a href="http://www.mobileimage.com/images/CalvinMoon.jpg"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;see?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-3982761497622354558?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3982761497622354558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3982761497622354558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/11/qotd.html' title='QOTD'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-6722358617480956329</id><published>2009-11-23T09:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-23T11:52:31.862-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I wanna be a rock star</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SwrhUAwQGtI/AAAAAAAAAE8/6Vj-zsRETPs/s1600/13549_1254887861289_1502350137_675719_6206376_n.jpg"&gt;What a weekend.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/Swrf_MhzcRI/AAAAAAAAAEs/3kvt3zDF4Pw/s1600/Me+and+Tara.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 188px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/Swrf_MhzcRI/AAAAAAAAAEs/3kvt3zDF4Pw/s200/Me+and+Tara.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407380579399463186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend and I went to go see a local band this weekend, the Dirty Americans. A talented band and an over all great group of guys, they rocked the house at the Blind &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Pid&lt;/span&gt; in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Following in the footsteps of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Aerosmith&lt;/span&gt;, Guns n Roses, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Lynyrd&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Skynyrd&lt;/span&gt; and Van &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Halen&lt;/span&gt;, amongst countless others, Dirty Americans have developed a strong and growing local following. A true blue rock-n-roll band, they seem to be helping in bringing back one of musics almost forgotten genres. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Jammin&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;originals&lt;/span&gt; and a better-than-the-classic cover of Alice Cooper's '18' made for a remarkable show.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The stage presence of these guys is undeniable. Lead singer Myron &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Kozuch&lt;/span&gt; was all over the stage, giving the show his best while passing out free &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;cd's&lt;/span&gt; and getting up on the equipment to high five every audience member he could reach. Even using my shoulders to balance at one point in time, but I didn't mind. (wink) As Freedom Piper plays his guitar, you can tell the man loves what he does and rocks his heart out. Jeremiah &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Pilbeam&lt;/span&gt; on drums stands out with his talent and charisma while&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SwrkY1LVbMI/AAAAAAAAAFc/Gmdb9ztCc1M/s1600/13549_1254888021293_1502350137_675723_4612462_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SwrkY1LVbMI/AAAAAAAAAFc/Gmdb9ztCc1M/s200/13549_1254888021293_1502350137_675723_4612462_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407385417854315714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Patrick &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Bever&lt;/span&gt; on bass ties it all together with his rhythm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SwrfYdgoJ8I/AAAAAAAAAEk/VHPKuabtD0s/s1600/13549_1254887221273_1502350137_675704_4547308_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 157px; height: 206px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SwrfYdgoJ8I/AAAAAAAAAEk/VHPKuabtD0s/s200/13549_1254887221273_1502350137_675704_4547308_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407379913943033794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/Swrim4Zz3GI/AAAAAAAAAFU/NpITpQ-gCvw/s1600/13549_1254887861289_1502350137_675719_6206376_n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/Swrim4Zz3GI/AAAAAAAAAFU/NpITpQ-gCvw/s200/13549_1254887861289_1502350137_675719_6206376_n.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5407383460215250018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After their set, they came off the stage to hang out and posed happily for pics with my friend and I. Like I said, a great group of guys. Seeing them perform, it's obvious they are on their way to becoming huge. I encourage everyone to go out and support your local bands/singers. You never know, you could have bragging rights saying 'I saw them back when', like I do!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please feel free to leave me a Rock Star story, I'd love to hear about it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-6722358617480956329?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/6722358617480956329'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/6722358617480956329'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/11/what-weekend.html' title='I wanna be a rock star'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/Swrf_MhzcRI/AAAAAAAAAEs/3kvt3zDF4Pw/s72-c/Me+and+Tara.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-1749978802887452665</id><published>2009-11-04T23:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T00:50:08.767-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Occupational Therapy</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I think &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bar tending&lt;/span&gt; was the perfect job for me.&lt;br /&gt;Where else could somebody like me work and be able to be myself? I have a bit of a mouth on me. Sarcasm isn't just a noun, it's a way of life. I like to think of it as finding the humor in every day happenings. Really though, I'm just a straight up smart ass sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Bar tending&lt;/span&gt; let me run rampant when it came to saying what was on my mind. It's always said that there are two things you don't bring up in conversation at the bar: religion and politics. Ya think people always listened to old rule? Hell no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was never usually able to share my own views on the subjects, I was too busy telling people to shut the hell up when tempers flared while talking about their own beliefs. I got to say though, things to customers that normal occupations don't allow you to. It was especially fun when I got to kick somebody out. It was the size of bar where there was usually only one person &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;bar tending&lt;/span&gt;. I was bartender, waitress and sometimes bouncer.  So what I said, went. If I said enough, you got no more. If I said get out, you left. If I said shut up your annoying me, you were quiet. In theory anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I worked in the type of bar that Toby Keith sang about in his song "I love this bar". There really was every type of person you could imagine that walked in the door to hang out. It was a good lesson in sociology. I would be willing to bet I got a better education on that subject there, than I could at any college that I couldn't afford.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had the factory workers. From the small plant operations to the Ford worker guys. Business owners, Union reps, cooks, waitresses,  lawyers, hookers,  car dealership owners, even the occasional homeless. The bar had it all and oh the stories I could tell about them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of all those people, there wasn't anyone who I didn't unleash the sarcasm on when it was called for. Yes, even the owner of the bar. My boss. He made it so easy I couldn't resist. Like the time he was going on and on about something he was selling (an ATV, I think) but the buyer was resisting the price. He said the guy told him, "its so small it's not even worth it".  So of course I had to ask "Wow, do you hear that very often?" He didn't like it very much but he got over it. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Heh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people may ask, if I was such a smart ass I couldn't have made very much, could I? I did pretty good. I wasn't going to be rich by far because of it being small and in this town where I am, but the people seemed to appreciate a break from the norm. I don't follow the 'customer is always right' rule and I think there is always a bit of honesty along with the sarcasm. I have been known to be polite on occasion, but hey, everyone has an off day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, I would have to say I only remember one time where a customer to offense to something I said in jest. I don't even remember what it was that I said. I only remember that the guy looked like a kicked puppy dog and he left shortly after. Ah well, can't win em all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;bar tend&lt;/span&gt; anymore, and I miss it. If anything, it was a great way to socialize with all the walks of life and get paid for it. There were some downs to go with the ups but it was a great ride. So as I head to my job interview on Monday, a job where I will have to mind my P's and Q's, I will drive past the old place and tip my hat.  Fondly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;remembering&lt;/span&gt; the days when I worked at a place where being &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;un&lt;/span&gt; p.c was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;acceptable&lt;/span&gt;, where I could be myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-1749978802887452665?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/1749978802887452665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/1749978802887452665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/11/occupational-therapy.html' title='Occupational Therapy'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-3291650785471926496</id><published>2009-10-27T03:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T03:37:02.130-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Meaningful Monday</title><content type='html'>MAMA BEAR&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SubNLdrrQQI/AAAAAAAAAEU/THS_uKttPVk/s1600-h/Roaring+Bear.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SubNLdrrQQI/AAAAAAAAAEU/THS_uKttPVk/s400/Roaring+Bear.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397226800280191234" 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/4650985219576072358-3291650785471926496?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3291650785471926496'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3291650785471926496'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/meaningful-monday_27.html' title='Meaningful Monday'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SubNLdrrQQI/AAAAAAAAAEU/THS_uKttPVk/s72-c/Roaring+Bear.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-9051473567182678363</id><published>2009-10-25T07:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-25T19:58:16.802-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Quirky Michigan Sports</title><content type='html'>Switching it up a bit....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With Football season in full swing and the Michigan/Ohio State game less than a month away,  I felt the need to wear my colors and stand behind my home teams. Living so close to the Michigan/Ohio border, we get a mix of maize and blue intermingling with scarlet and grey. While shopping at the local Target yesterday, a guy was walking down the isle with his loud Ohio State jacket on.  A Target employee walking past said to him "nice jacket". The guy looked at the employee with a guarded expression and asked him "seriously?". He must have thought it was meant to be a joke being he was in Michigan territory, a small price you pay during this time of year here. However the kid said "Oh yeah, I went to Ohio State my freshman year." They started to go into where and when they both attended...blah, blah,blah. I couldn't resist. I wasn't disrespectful, mind you. This is Michigan though and I felt the need to remind them of that fact.&lt;br /&gt;As I was passing by I called out "Go Blue!", and kept right on walking cause you never know what you will face with an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;opposing&lt;/span&gt; teams fanatic! Much to my chagrin, they took it in stride, laughing and saying "boo &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hoo&lt;/span&gt;". It could have been much worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rivalry is believed to have begun with the 1835-1834 &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toledo_War"&gt;Toledo&lt;/a&gt; war. It was a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;boundary&lt;/span&gt; dispute between the state of Ohio and the territory of Michigan, ending with Michigan surrendering the desired land of Toledo in exchange for it's statehood and the Upper &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Peninsula&lt;/span&gt;.  Turned out to be a pretty good deal, but I guess both sides never really kissed and made up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SuRqmaaDIBI/AAAAAAAAAD8/sekRyQCykd8/s1600-h/Michigan_Football_2.jpeg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 128px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SuRqmaaDIBI/AAAAAAAAAD8/sekRyQCykd8/s200/Michigan_Football_2.jpeg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396555461652848658" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Detroit is also known as "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Hockeytown&lt;/span&gt;". Duh. Recently I have been hearing a lot of ribs about Al the octopus. Some people have a problem with tradition and good luck charms I guess. I couldn't tell you how many times I have heard "what's up with the octopus?" or much worse.&lt;br /&gt;Briefly, back in 1952, it took 8 playoff wins to claim the cup. Two brothers who owned a store in the Eastern Market downtown Detroit first tossed an octopus onto the ice, an octopus having 8 arms, symbolizing the wins needed for the cup. The wings swept up the victories all the way to the cup and the next two of three championships. A &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legend_of_the_Octopus"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;traditio&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legend_of_the_Octopus"&gt;n&lt;/a&gt; and mascot was born.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SuRnHKIHWQI/AAAAAAAAAD0/VHAqYasXMVE/s1600-h/bring_it_horizontal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SuRnHKIHWQI/AAAAAAAAAD0/VHAqYasXMVE/s200/bring_it_horizontal.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396551626171832578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, The Lions are not the most stellar team in the NFL, however, you do have them to thank for the Thanksgiving Day football games you'll be watching in between your extra helpings. This November will be the 70&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; edition of the Thanksgiving Day football tradition. It was the Lions first owner in 1934 who started the whole turkey day idea and the team has had a game on that day ever since. We don't need to go into the stats though, it's all about the tradition!&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SuRrHnCMC3I/AAAAAAAAAEE/puiPBZaHYUs/s1600-h/detroit-lions2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 169px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SuRrHnCMC3I/AAAAAAAAAEE/puiPBZaHYUs/s200/detroit-lions2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396556031978113906" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh...Anyhow, these are my home teams and I'm behind them, win or lose.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-9051473567182678363?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/9051473567182678363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/9051473567182678363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/quirky-michigan-sports.html' title='Quirky Michigan Sports'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SuRqmaaDIBI/AAAAAAAAAD8/sekRyQCykd8/s72-c/Michigan_Football_2.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-5089837764507105790</id><published>2009-10-23T22:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T23:40:58.282-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Songbird</title><content type='html'>So the song is finished.  Originally she had asked for a "women kicking ass" kinda song...her words, not mine :) However, when ever I tried to write, the only thing I could think of was our daughters. How she had talked about her little girl and of course how I felt about mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What came from those thoughts was a story of what it is like to be a woman raising a woman. Now, the both of us have sons too. Sons that as far as we are concerned, hung the moon. Being a mom though, you just don't have that same perspective as your boy. When my girls grow up, I will know intimately what it's like to face what they are going to face.  The challenges and struggles that happen out in the world and inside your heart. I grab and kiss their baby faces right now as much as I can because I know, all too soon, that time is going to come where I won't be able to do that without something getting thrown at me or worse....hearing an ewww, gross mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept thinking of how we would like our daughters to see us and just how they effect our lives, the decisions we make. That when we raise a girl to be a woman we come full circle. Almost as if we are raising ourselves, providing for them what we were lacking in our own childhood. Here are a few verses:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I want her to be tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;Is what I have to be today&lt;br /&gt;The choices I make right now&lt;br /&gt;Will help show her the way&lt;br /&gt;With one foot in front of the other&lt;br /&gt;Nothing can keep you down forever&lt;br /&gt;Your life is yours to make&lt;br /&gt;The world is there to take&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when life can seem impossible&lt;br /&gt;With no simple way to make it through&lt;br /&gt;I ask myself just one question&lt;br /&gt;What would I want my daughter to do&lt;br /&gt;Shown the way because of my love for you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In time as we talk woman to woman&lt;br /&gt;And your own little one has come along&lt;br /&gt;I'll let you know what to ask yourself&lt;br /&gt;For in that answer you can't go wrong&lt;br /&gt;With innocent eyes watching you'll be strong&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend said she liked it. Okay she gushed about how she loved, but she's a good friend. That's what they're suppose to do!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We'll see what happens.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-5089837764507105790?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/5089837764507105790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/5089837764507105790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/songbird.html' title='Songbird'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-9216038382557328310</id><published>2009-10-21T20:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T21:59:53.764-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Support System</title><content type='html'>This past weekend I went to go see my friend, the one who asked me to write her a song, sing in a local talent show. She did a wonderful job. Naturally. Despite the music not being on cue and her mic going out half way through the performance, she rocked. To watch her, you couldn't see anything but a cool as a cucumber performer. Girlfriend actually did better vocally after the mic went out.  She pushed her voice out and continued on with the show. She was a true inspiration.  A lesson in class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can tell you honestly I would have stomped off the stage crying and cursing the fates for my rotten luck had that happened to me. I guess that's why I'm better off behind the scenes writing, and that's where I'll stay thank you very much.  I'm a person who is ever suspicious, just waiting for something to go wrong. So when something finally does go wrong it's like I put my hands on my hips and yell "see" really loud. I can't help it. Like Popeye said...."I ams what I ams".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Juvenile behavior aside, I am lucky enough to have friends that show me a better way. Like Girlfriend and her classy disposition. Then there's Cali Girl. This lady is a truly enlightened being. You gotta question, she's got an answer.  You gotta problem. She's gotta solution. One of the most intelligent persons I've ever met in my life.  Why she ever became friends with this clueless, lost soul, I'll never know, but I am glad she did. Last but not least there's Plucky. The only other girl I've known who can be just as goofy as I can be. If not more so. That's saying a lot too! It's nice to have someone you can be downright foolish with and not feel self conscience about it in the least. However, for as nutty as we can be, we have been know on occasion to have adult conversations. Talks that have actually been productive in lighting a path on this journey that is life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been throwing some pretty crazy stuff at these ladies lately but they haven't so much as batted a pretty eyelash at me. No matter what I have ever confided in them, they looked at me like I had just told them the sky is blue. Their expressions almost saying....And?  They're my support. My friends. My family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like the Beatles sang, I get by with a little help from my friends. In my case, more than just a little.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-9216038382557328310?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/9216038382557328310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/9216038382557328310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/support-system.html' title='Support System'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-4733233877023579137</id><published>2009-10-16T21:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T22:43:27.125-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Something wicked that way goes</title><content type='html'>There are many scary things&lt;br /&gt;around this time of year&lt;br /&gt;Intimidating and strange beings&lt;br /&gt;that try to make you fear&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jumping out from behind&lt;br /&gt;you better watch your back&lt;br /&gt;The spooky ones don't mind&lt;br /&gt;carrying out a sneak attack&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the moment is right&lt;br /&gt;they'll make their move&lt;br /&gt;expecting you to run in fright&lt;br /&gt;but there's something to prove&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Putting on a disguise&lt;br /&gt;it's all in great fun&lt;br /&gt;Trying for the surprise&lt;br /&gt;careful, your not the only one&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some may know of the trick&lt;br /&gt;and be one step ahead&lt;br /&gt;Turning the tables quick&lt;br /&gt;having you on the run instead&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-4733233877023579137?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/4733233877023579137'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/4733233877023579137'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/something-wicked-that-way-goes.html' title='Something wicked that way goes'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-286415311088234897</id><published>2009-10-15T16:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T17:30:27.968-07:00</updated><title type='text'>and the beat goes on</title><content type='html'>One of my oldest friends firmly placed her foot in my behind today. She gave little nudges and suggestions before, but this afternoon there was no mistake in what her intentions were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple weeks ago girlfriend tried out for and got accepted into a local talent show. A big get for her, but nobody was really surprised, she can sing. Sing very well in fact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can remember us back when we were in junior high, walking from her house to her singing lessons. She sang like an angel even then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today when she very enthusiastically brought up me writing some songs for her, well... color me inspired. Can I do it? I have no idea. I surely am going to try though. Girlfriend did show an interest in "women kicking ass kinda songs".  I think I may have a few tricks up my sleeve on that subject....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-286415311088234897?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/286415311088234897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/286415311088234897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/and-beat-goes-on.html' title='and the beat goes on'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-900311379354711923</id><published>2009-10-12T13:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T13:43:59.348-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Meaningful Monday</title><content type='html'>With all of the turmoil going on these days, I decided to make a day all about pictures of objects (not people)  that have a special meaning to me. I may say what that meaning is, I may not. I'll  sometimes ask for an opinion or elaboration on the object, but most likely I will not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first Meaningful Monday pic:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://img.meijer.com/assets/product_images/styles/xlarge/1001029_051500241356_A_400.jpg"&gt;*click here* &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No 'splainin needed ; )&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-900311379354711923?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/900311379354711923'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/900311379354711923'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/meaningful-monday.html' title='Meaningful Monday'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-8491828801219198900</id><published>2009-10-09T10:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T14:53:56.592-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The little things</title><content type='html'>As the saying goes, its the little things in life that matter the most. When things start to get too thick, it's easy to lose sight of this. In times of high stress I tend to turn inward. Shutting everything and everybody out. When your a mother this is where things tend to get sticky. Where do you find the balance between taking care of yourself and taking care of your children? They tend to be all consuming when it comes to your time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be the first to admit that lately I've been lacking in the "mother of the year" category. My patience is worn, temper is quick and moods are all over the place. It doesn't make for a very consistent environment, and that can be disastrous when going through a divorce with children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've found that every now and then, I need a reminder that it's the little things that count.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other night I was trying to get my two girls to sleep but my 18 month old was having non of it. I had her on one side of me acting like a monkey that just downed a Red Bull and my 4 year old on the other side of me being quiet for a change. After I got the baby to finally settle down, all was peaceful again but I was still agitated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then my older daughter reached over and lightly put her hand on my arm. I said "I love you baby". She responded by saying "I love you. I love you and daddy both".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh to be put in your place by a 4 year old. It's something that everybody should experience at least once in their lifetime. When she did this, it said many things to me all at the same time.  Foremost is that she knows her world is changing and the two most important people in her life don't like each other very much right now. Next, she wanted me to know of her love for the both of us and she was giving me comfort with her little hand. Then the realization came that I have to snap out of it. This is bigger than me, bigger than him. The fate of these three angels could forever be changed if we don't do this right. I say we, but I can only control my own actions during this ordeal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her touch and those few words were the kick in the pants that I needed to readjust my perspective and put my focus back where it belongs. Not on all that is wrong, but all that is right. It really, truly is the little things in life that matter the most.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-8491828801219198900?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/8491828801219198900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/8491828801219198900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/little-things.html' title='The little things'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-6516803268926579081</id><published>2009-10-05T19:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T23:08:23.977-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost and Found</title><content type='html'>Sarcasm was my super power&lt;br /&gt;It had come to me so naturally&lt;br /&gt;There to help soften the blow&lt;br /&gt;whenever a laugh was in need&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately the humor has faded&lt;br /&gt;turning to resignation instead&lt;br /&gt;I can't find anything funny in&lt;br /&gt;continuously being defeated&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing after another comes&lt;br /&gt;to knock me down a peg or two&lt;br /&gt;It's hard to see the lighter side&lt;br /&gt;with such a sober point of view&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can I find it possible to laugh&lt;br /&gt;in the face of such adversity&lt;br /&gt;I'm still headstrong after all&lt;br /&gt;wanting to stick it to the enemy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So when something comes along&lt;br /&gt;to jump up and bite you in the rear&lt;br /&gt;Take things one day at a time&lt;br /&gt;whether it's with a smile or sneer   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when it gets too difficult,&lt;br /&gt;the comical remaining unseen&lt;br /&gt;Smile for the fun of it so people&lt;br /&gt;will think that your up to something&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-6516803268926579081?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/6516803268926579081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/6516803268926579081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/lost-and-found.html' title='Lost and Found'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-4027411628703559246</id><published>2009-10-04T07:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T07:29:03.995-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The gift</title><content type='html'>Ok Universe. I am listening. You have my full, undivided attention. It may have taken a while, but you have it now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe it was no mere coincidence that when I was done writing my last post, I got a knock on my door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have an old school approach to this blogging thing. I like to write, so I commit my thoughts to paper before I pound it out on the keyboard. So not long after I wrote about a woman's worth, I went to answer the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was my friendly neighborhood mailman with a certified letter for yours truly. The kind of certified mail that requires not one but two signatures on two different pieces of paper.  I have been served. My divorce papers have come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being we still live in the same house, you would have thought he could have mentioned something about filing. Maybe in passing? Nope, nothing. For financial reasons we have been staying in the same house, not for too much longer though,  and talked about doing the actual paperwork for the divorce when we were a little more financially stable after the move. This arrangement makes for some tense moments but we still have three children we are raising together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reading over my freedom, I mean divorce papers, I come to the signature part. I see his familiar chicken scratch and then I see where he dated it. The 22nd of September. The day after my birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After all this is said and done and an agreement has been reached with the children, I will be thanking him for my birthday gift. It was exactly what I wanted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What follows is something that was inspired by the quote in my previous post. Short and sweet, to the point. Kind of like the divorce papers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unhappy alone or unhappy with someone&lt;br /&gt;doesn't really apply to me anymore&lt;br /&gt;I've been handed my walking papers&lt;br /&gt;watch me dance, not walk out the door&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-4027411628703559246?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/4027411628703559246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/4027411628703559246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/gift.html' title='The gift'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-3179641645634922413</id><published>2009-10-03T14:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T21:02:03.338-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Womans Worth</title><content type='html'>At an event this past Summer, a momentary exchange caught my attention and struck a chord.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A beautiful woman, I mean gorgeous, had her child at a big dance recital. I was there for the same reason, out daughters attend the same dance studio, different classes. I've never spoken with her, just noticed her in passing the way we all notice what we find attractive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a big crowd attending this recital, it was a special one at our local county fair. If you've never had a daughter in a class that puts on recitals let me tell you, it's not for the weak. All the costume changes, the little girl drama, the inevitable "something" going wrong...eh, I need a drink just thinking about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman was there with her little girl, her very young son, and a guy I had never seen before.&lt;br /&gt;What I witnessed was a brief conversation between her and this guy. By brief, I mean less than 45 seconds, but it was enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently this guy is the father of her children, and he didn't take too kindly to being stuck alone with the baby while she was rushing around trying to get their daughter on stage and if she was lucky, maybe get to see her little girl in all her public glory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What made me notice in the first place was his attitude. He gets up from the benches where he sat in the audience , quickly pushing the stroller. The woman notices him and stops watching the girls from the side of the stage and follows him. That's another thing with having your child in a dance recital, the mom's don't get to sit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy walks to a point just past me when she catches up. She asked him what was wrong and his response, with attitude, was that he wasn't going to just sit in the audience all by himself. I guess the baby he was pushing was a non entity to him. As they walked off I heard her explaining to him, very calmly, all that she had to do with their daughter. Whenever I saw him around that day, you could clearly tell he was annoyed to be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing I thought when I heard him talk to her like that was, this guy felt put out by having to be a parent. The next thing I thought was, what was this beautiful woman doing with that scrawny, unattractive guy who obviously didn't appreciate her?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I know that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and what I witnessed was a very small exchange between a couple.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, with this guy's attitude and being I had never seen him at practice or any other recital, I think my first impression was true and this parenting thing is just not for him.  What she sees in him, I don't know. Like I said, he is a small, selfish man who is not very attractive. She could literally be in magazines, is a good mom, and a nice person. I really wanted to go up to her and ask "you're beautiful, what are you doing with that guy"?  I didn't think it would go over too well so I said nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It got me thinking about women and what we see when we look in the mirror. Do the majority of us know what we are worth? Why do women allow themselves to settle when it comes to love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can tell you, when I got married I believed I loved him, but what made me choose him was that he was a good worker and he didn't drink. Those were the only things I thought I needed to make my relationship last forever. Look where I'm at now, what would have happened if I didn't settle? I have my children, that alone made it worth it, but I deserve better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Us woman settle because we start to believe what we are told. We buy what others selling because all of the advertisements say we should.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So few of us are told as little girls that second best (or 3rd, 4th) is not good enough. That just    because there are some fun moments, Mr. Right he is not. Like the lovely Marilyn Monroe once said  "I'd rather be unhappy and alone, than unhappy with someone." You need to be with the one who leaves no doubt in your mind.  The one who makes you feel so damn good,  your momma cries out. Yeah, I went there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're with an unappreciative guy that caught a girl that he doesn't deserve, It should only be a matter of time before you ask yourself what everybody else does and leave him behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If a guy says he would like some "time"and "space",  give it to him. He may be surprised though when the vacancy is filled in his absence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If, like I was, you are with someone who wishes to control your every thought, a better way of life begins with just one step. Take it and watch the restraints fall away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span id="ecxrole_document" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);font-family:Arial;font-size:85%;"  &gt;All little  girls grow up wanting&lt;br /&gt;someone to treat them special&lt;br /&gt;wishing to be  cherished&lt;br /&gt;like throwing pennies in a well&lt;br /&gt;Its not a fairytale&lt;br /&gt;but a  lie that is told&lt;br /&gt;Prince Charming never comes&lt;br /&gt;only cold reality grabs  hold&lt;br /&gt;To my beautiful little girls&lt;br /&gt;that old farce I will never  say&lt;br /&gt;Depend only on yourself, for&lt;br /&gt;there's no one to take you away&lt;br /&gt;No  longer do I believe&lt;br /&gt;in tales that have misled&lt;br /&gt;I may not be  cherished&lt;br /&gt;but I will be respected &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-3179641645634922413?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3179641645634922413'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3179641645634922413'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/womans-worth.html' title='A Womans Worth'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-3974530812393427660</id><published>2009-10-01T16:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T16:43:39.465-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Just because'/><title type='text'>Just because</title><content type='html'>From the Associated Press:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PASADENA, Texas - Authorities say a Houston-area woman who was burned up at her former common-law husband fried their pet goldfish and ate some of them.&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;&lt;span id="byLine"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Pasadena police say it's a civil matter and no charges will be filed. The seven goldfish were purchased together by the couple during happier times.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;&lt;span id="byLine"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Police spokesman Vance Mitchell says the man reported on Saturday that the woman took the goldfish from his apartment.&lt;/p&gt;Mitchell says the two argued earlier about some jewelry the man had given her but took back. She wanted the jewelry returned.&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;&lt;span id="byLine"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Officers who were dispatched to the woman's home arrived to find four fried goldfish on a plate. The woman said she already ate the other three.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="textBodyBlack"&gt;.....my kinda girl ; )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-3974530812393427660?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3974530812393427660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3974530812393427660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/just-because.html' title='Just because'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-7081334873353211302</id><published>2009-10-01T06:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T14:12:32.210-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Enemy Within</title><content type='html'>When is it I can stop being&lt;br /&gt;my very own worst enemy&lt;br /&gt;it's war I declare on myself&lt;br /&gt;when I only want to be free&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you defend when the&lt;br /&gt;attacker comes from within&lt;br /&gt;run for cover or turn and fight&lt;br /&gt;no matter which you can't win&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Calling out the assailant&lt;br /&gt;I yell and point my finger&lt;br /&gt;but only mocking rage from&lt;br /&gt;the one who's in the mirror&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be up against the one who&lt;br /&gt;does the most damage of all&lt;br /&gt;nobodies to blame but yourself&lt;br /&gt;when you cause your own fall&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Longing to call a truce since&lt;br /&gt;all the things I want to be&lt;br /&gt;look so damn impossible when&lt;br /&gt;I'm my own worst enemy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-7081334873353211302?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/7081334873353211302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/7081334873353211302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/10/enemy-within.html' title='The Enemy Within'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-190522806311230515</id><published>2009-09-28T13:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T07:56:33.204-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't take it personal</title><content type='html'>I mentioned before about the mistakes of others in the past influencing my present day. At the heart of the issue, I am a product of the union between two alcoholics. Two alcoholics who were married on April Fools Day no less. I kid not people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This, however, is not about the both of them. Only my Mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have struggled for quite some time on the issue of whether alcoholism is a true "disease". Having grown up with it in my face every single day, it was hard for me not to say "you choose to do this to yourself and to me" and that "you could control it if you really wanted to".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't until recently I began to think that maybe it is a disease. Looking back on my childhood with adult eyes, I can clearly see that my mom couldn't help herself. I saw her try, time and again, to quit drinking or try and modify her behavior, only to fail miserably each time for some reason.  I was asked not long ago by someone close to me if she still loved my dad.  What I believe now is that she is still hurt by what went down between the two of them. That instead of dealing with the pain back then, she drowned it in alcohol, allowing it to fester and grow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off and on for five years now, I had been cutting my mom out of my life. No contact at all for up to a year sometimes. Then at other times very limited interaction. She was starting to do to my kids what she did to me growing up. The broken promises, drunken behavior, all the drama that comes along with it. When this is your daily life, you become desensitized. What seems normal to you, would horrify others. I had to stop the contact because only over my dead body were my children going to be as familiar with that way of life as I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then came my impending divorce, and then came the news that she was sick. There are lots of big words to describe what she is going through but simply put, she is suffering seizures that will ultimately cause a fatal stroke. The doctor said it will happen within three years. Not a possibility, it will happen. The years of substance abuse have finally caught up with her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even after hearing that, I could not pick up the phone and call her. I had know since I was very young , for a fact, she would kill herself with the abuse. So the news came as no surprise. All of the hurt from the past also stood in the way. Only after I was feeling more alone than ever, with nothing to my name, did I finally call. Even then it was with the intention of asking for whatever help she could offer me. Sounds selfish, I know, but I was asking not only for myself but for the sake of my children as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What happened when we met was completely unexpected. I was able to talk and be open and honest.  I was also able to be heard. That had never happened before.  Forever the caretaker, I have always thought of others feelings before mine, never wanting to offend or hurt, no matter what the cost to myself. A true symptom  of children of alcoholics. I don't know if it was the divorce breaking down barriers, or if it was the diminishing time I know we have together, whatever it was it opened up a line of communication that was healing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could say it was the happy ending that all of us neglected kids wish for, but it wasn't. Even in my darkest hour of need, she still couldn't help herself. The selfish alcoholic personality came shining through no matter how hard she tried. She takes great offense to any talk about my childhood not being good. In her opinion, I was spoiled and things weren't that bad. She truly believes this because she thinks she did the best she could have done while raising me, and she very well may have.  Her best only going so far though. There are moments of clarity, when memories are to heavy to be denied, and she concedes that bad choices were made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whether it's a disease or not, alcoholism is a driving, destructive force that leaves many victims in its wake. I have finally realized that mom is just not able to love me the way I need her too because of this, not out of malice, and that's okay. It sucks, but it's okay.  I am now able to say to the hurt child that resides in me that it's not your fault. I was never the cause or cure to the disease. I was/am, a victim of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have accepted what I cannot change and have found forgiveness to be very liberating. When memories come back, I see them in a new light. I don't take it personal anymore that I didn't have the idyllic childhood,  it made me who I am today, and that is something I can be proud of. The hurt child is finally growing up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The forgotten girl&lt;br /&gt;when left to her own devices&lt;br /&gt;Became the forgotten woman&lt;br /&gt;lost in life's choices&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-190522806311230515?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/190522806311230515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/190522806311230515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/09/dont-take-it-personal.html' title='Don&apos;t take it personal'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4650985219576072358.post-3944462370762380472</id><published>2009-09-27T07:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-27T08:20:58.028-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Season of Change</title><content type='html'>One person can experience many changes throughout their lifetime. Some of them are subtle. Some are earth shattering, soul shaking and mind bending. One thing that I have learned this past summer is that one change in your life can get the ball rolling for many more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going through a long time in coming divorce has set in motion a change of not only who I am, but how I look at the world around me. Closing that chapter in my life has allowed me to open the door, or rather, open my eyes to all the possibilities that surround me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Divorce sucks. Plain and simple. Especially when children are involved. It's never easy, but when something isn't right for you, it's a painful journey you must take. For me it won't be easy, but it will be better. This experience has forced (yes, forced) me to be self reflective, taking a long hard look at who and what I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before, asking for help never came easily for me. In fact, I'd rather have done many other things, like eat glass, than ask for help. Now however, I ring the alarm and ask with no-shame-in-my-game for assistance. To my surprise I actually get what I ask for from many.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before, I had an "ostrich with it's head in the sand" approach when it came to problems. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Choosing&lt;/span&gt; not to deal with anything or letting others make the decisions for me. Now that I've put  my big girl panties on and have claimed my life as my own, I face issues head on. Ready to deal with what ever comes my way. No matter how much I don't like it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Going back further, this experience has made me take a look at how I became who I am today. Examining the childhood that formed the woman writing this. How the mistakes of others had a lasting emotional effect, carrying into present day decisions. More on that some other time though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I re-introduce myself as a changed woman. Mother of three. Aspiring writer. Soon to be divorcee. Operator of my very own crazy train.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Buried for some time&lt;br /&gt;under &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;another's&lt;/span&gt; will&lt;br /&gt;slowly    wilting away&lt;br /&gt;forever to be quiet until&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Called upon in    desperation&lt;br /&gt;after the final slight&lt;br /&gt;Breaking out of the silence&lt;br /&gt;at    last ready for a fight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like an old friend's return&lt;br /&gt;met with an open    heart&lt;br /&gt;old habits re established&lt;br /&gt;as if never were apart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Always    there for me&lt;br /&gt;all I had to do was ask&lt;br /&gt;She steps into the lead&lt;br /&gt;her mind    set on the task&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She never takes blame&lt;br /&gt;for what others lack&lt;br /&gt;Move    on out of the way&lt;br /&gt;because the Bitch is back&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4650985219576072358-3944462370762380472?l=shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3944462370762380472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4650985219576072358/posts/default/3944462370762380472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shesgoneoffthetracks.blogspot.com/2009/09/season-of-change.html' title='A Season of Change'/><author><name>Who's that girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16284764484790791567</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_rkF9QXoZSl8/SxsrsOlU4rI/AAAAAAAAAFk/sM_a-8Zyy4I/S220/13549_1254886981267_1502350137_675699_114036.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
