<?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-2349796595620339921</id><updated>2012-02-08T15:05:40.410-05:00</updated><category term='Childhood'/><category term='Nature'/><category term='Head vs. Heart'/><category term='TV'/><category term='Working'/><category term='Burning Question'/><category term='Little Sayings'/><category term='Words of wisdom'/><category term='Relationships'/><category term='Summer Anthems'/><category term='Compromise'/><category term='Family'/><category term='Friendship'/><category term='Growing Up'/><category term='Around The House'/><category term='Moms'/><category term='Surprises'/><category term='Inspiration'/><category term='Post a story'/><category term='Gender differences'/><category term='Idle Time'/><category term='Patience'/><category term='Romance'/><category term='Helping Others'/><category term='New Beginnings'/><category term='Happy 100'/><category term='Dads'/><category term='People Watching'/><category term='Sincerity'/><category term='Love'/><category term='Weather'/><category term='Foreign Exchange'/><category term='&apos;Me&apos; Time'/><title type='text'>the LITTLE things™</title><subtitle type='html'>Blog . Share . Enjoy .</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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>105</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-8350677106815843364</id><published>2008-03-15T00:42:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-03-15T00:52:09.896-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Around The House'/><title type='text'>Baggage</title><content type='html'>I shop at Target so much that I have more plastic bags from Target than I have from the grocery store......damn.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8350677106815843364?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8350677106815843364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8350677106815843364&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8350677106815843364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8350677106815843364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2008/03/baggage.html' title='Baggage'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-7351236869155711950</id><published>2007-11-01T21:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-11-01T21:14:14.384-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's in the numbers</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time a psychic told me that I'd have a job that involves numbers. I thought he was a quack because I've always hated math and didn't really get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started a new job last month. It involves A LOT of math. I always though I wasn't good at math. But to tell you the truth, I'm not so bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: It make take about 10 years for a prediction to come true, but good things do come to those who wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7351236869155711950?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7351236869155711950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7351236869155711950&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7351236869155711950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7351236869155711950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/11/its-in-numbers.html' title='It&apos;s in the numbers'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-201318702717886563</id><published>2007-09-24T15:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T15:22:35.331-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Burning Question'/><title type='text'>Catching Feelings</title><content type='html'>Finally, I can ask...Is it possible to be in love with two people at the same time, or am being greedy?  LOL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Torria&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-201318702717886563?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/201318702717886563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=201318702717886563&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/201318702717886563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/201318702717886563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/catching-feelings.html' title='Catching Feelings'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-4194525428816925072</id><published>2007-09-24T08:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T08:19:48.693-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Burning Question'/><title type='text'>Not now, but right now!</title><content type='html'>I know patience is an important virtue, but for some reason my level of patience sucks!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Question: How can a person improve their patience?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4194525428816925072?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4194525428816925072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4194525428816925072&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4194525428816925072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4194525428816925072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/not-now-but-right-now.html' title='Not now, but right now!'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-5973065957163261622</id><published>2007-09-24T06:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T08:18:09.868-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Post a story'/><title type='text'>Post a story!</title><content type='html'>Thanks to all our visitors for the great posts so far! Your stories are the heart and soul of this site so please keep them coming!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you have a story to share please use the following format:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Title:"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Story:"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Lesson learned:"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Submitted by:"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks!&lt;br /&gt;The Little Things Online&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5973065957163261622?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5973065957163261622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5973065957163261622&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5973065957163261622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5973065957163261622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/share-your-story.html' title='Post a story!'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6737393165572275401</id><published>2007-09-17T16:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-17T16:28:27.253-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Happy 100'/><title type='text'>Lovely Day</title><content type='html'>I was 100% sure it'd be a great day today when I woke up an hour early and couldn't wait to start sending out emails for work and to friends...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6737393165572275401?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6737393165572275401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6737393165572275401&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6737393165572275401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6737393165572275401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/lovely-day.html' title='Lovely Day'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6183007398783652180</id><published>2007-09-17T16:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-17T16:27:20.533-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Happy 100'/><title type='text'>Pop Life</title><content type='html'>Popular culture passed me by when it became "okay" to refer to women as bitches and hoes. It really knocked me off my feet when I heard that the word nigger aka nigga was a term of endearment....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: I'm 100% sure that pop culture has passed me by too..lol&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Torria&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6183007398783652180?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6183007398783652180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6183007398783652180&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6183007398783652180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6183007398783652180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/pop-life.html' title='Pop Life'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-7558635196720929294</id><published>2007-09-17T11:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-17T16:35:14.257-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Happy 100'/><title type='text'>un-BALANCED</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Congratulations on the 100th Post!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The only thing I'm 100% sure of is the fact that I'm a Libra and I've hardly ever been 100% sure about anything. However, I am 100% sure that I'm tired of seeing the Britney Spears VMA performance.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7558635196720929294?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7558635196720929294/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7558635196720929294&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7558635196720929294'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7558635196720929294'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/un-balanced.html' title='un-BALANCED'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-5940486611711201432</id><published>2007-09-17T07:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-17T07:56:45.475-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Happy 100'/><title type='text'>Not that there's anything wrong with it.....</title><content type='html'>The minute it became OK for "thugs" to swing their hips and snap their fingers when they danced, I was 100% certain that popular culture had passed me by......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5940486611711201432?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5940486611711201432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5940486611711201432&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5940486611711201432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5940486611711201432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/not-that-theres-anything-wrong-with-it.html' title='Not that there&apos;s anything wrong with it.....'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-260792021399466125</id><published>2007-09-13T11:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-13T11:50:30.475-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='New Beginnings'/><title type='text'>Fresh Face</title><content type='html'>The best thing about new beginnings is that you can be whoever you want to be. No one knows your history, your strengths, or your weaknesses. You can be the class clown, you can be the overachiever, the encourager, or just stand back and watch from the sidelines- it’s all your choice. It’s true that when you leave somewhere you take your bags with you, but you get to decide what to unpack at the next destination.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Lisa Marie&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-260792021399466125?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/260792021399466125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=260792021399466125&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/260792021399466125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/260792021399466125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/fresh-face.html' title='Fresh Face'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-399830783986651717</id><published>2007-09-10T12:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T12:10:37.999-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='New Beginnings'/><title type='text'>Detach</title><content type='html'>The hardest part of a new beginning is acknowledging that you have to let go of who you once were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-399830783986651717?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/399830783986651717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=399830783986651717&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/399830783986651717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/399830783986651717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/detach.html' title='Detach'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-4741513140009079672</id><published>2007-09-10T11:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T11:58:38.260-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='New Beginnings'/><title type='text'>Globetrotter</title><content type='html'>When I was younger, my Dad had a job that had us move from country to country. As a child, one of the most difficult things was to leave all the good friends I had made and say goodbye for what could potentially be forever. The only thing that topped that was to go to a brand new country with a brand new language and a brand new culture and have to have a brand new beginning. I learned looking back that once you first open your mind and endure the beginnings, it's always worth it in one way or another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Siaka Harding&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4741513140009079672?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4741513140009079672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4741513140009079672&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4741513140009079672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4741513140009079672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/globetrotter.html' title='Globetrotter'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-181007219088500388</id><published>2007-09-10T10:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T10:19:29.147-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Patience'/><title type='text'>The Good Life</title><content type='html'>My grandfather passed away last week at the age of 90. There were a few lessons that I have learned from him that I thought I would share.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. It is better to listen well then to speak well. My Pop-pop always listened to us. He usually didn't give his advice right away but he let us work through situations and learn from our mistakes and our accomplishments. Then he would tell us what he really thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Always stay active. Up to his death he was an active man. Slower in pace as the years piled on but active still. He played golf through his eighties and even got a hole in one and he played bocce ball and traveled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Set your goals and make them happen. In the 1990's he got cancer and fought through it with surgeries and treatment. He set a goal that he would live to see the year 2000, and became healthy again and accomplished it. Then after my grandmother died in 2004 he set another goal to travel to the Panama Canal. This past March he took a cruise through the canal and loved it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Take time to watch the sunsets. You see them a zillion times but they are beautiful each time and oh so different. His house on the river has a porch where he would sit and watch the sunset each evening. They mark a beautiful life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Err on the side of patience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The good things in life will come if only you are patient.He was the most patient, kind and considerate man I have ever known. He will be missed greatly in this world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Whitney&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-181007219088500388?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/181007219088500388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=181007219088500388&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/181007219088500388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/181007219088500388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/good-life.html' title='The Good Life'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8841394124919117986</id><published>2007-09-10T07:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T07:30:24.214-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='New Beginnings'/><title type='text'>Goonie Adventures</title><content type='html'>Ever since graduating from college I've had the pleasure of traveling all over the world. Every year my friends and I would make plans to get together and see some of the most beautiful destinations in the world. Hawaii, Mexico, Central America, South America, Europe, Asia-- some of the best times of my life. As great as those trips were, an interesting thing would always happen at the end of each trip-- something I like to call "Return Flight Blues". At the end of each trip I would sit on the airplane on my return flight home and recap all the fun things we did during our trip. Without fail I would get nostalgic, and without fail I would get sad to see such fun times come to an end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: New adventures never last forever, but I let my nostalgia inspire me to make the next one bigger and better than the last.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8841394124919117986?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8841394124919117986/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8841394124919117986&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8841394124919117986'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8841394124919117986'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/09/goonie-adventures.html' title='Goonie Adventures'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-4779355210244057090</id><published>2007-08-22T20:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-22T20:59:59.865-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='&apos;Me&apos; Time'/><title type='text'>Lying in bed &amp; reading</title><content type='html'>My life is always a little bit crazy with long work hours, board memberships, city council candidates, fundraisers, committees, going to the gym, seeing my friends and boyfriend... the best thing i can do to recharge and spend a little time with just me is to get under the covers and pull out a favorite book, like i always did as a kid.  It never fails to bring me some peace and a sense of stability.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: What comforted me way back when, still comforts me now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4779355210244057090?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4779355210244057090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4779355210244057090&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4779355210244057090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4779355210244057090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/lying-in-bed-reading.html' title='Lying in bed &amp; reading'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-4613836321698333695</id><published>2007-08-20T14:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T14:06:59.619-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='&apos;Me&apos; Time'/><title type='text'>Me Time</title><content type='html'>Now that I'm back on the west coast and have a car, me time is defined by getting in the car and cruising to 89.9 KCRW, Hot 92.3, or in the Bay Area 98.1 KISS FM or 89.5 KPOO. I've been using driving as me time since I first got my car in 1991.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Some people have retail therapy... some have hygiene therapy... I have carbon footprint based therapy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Yaosh&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4613836321698333695?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4613836321698333695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4613836321698333695&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4613836321698333695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4613836321698333695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/me-time.html' title='Me Time'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6479653585792266999</id><published>2007-08-20T14:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T14:04:58.054-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='&apos;Me&apos; Time'/><title type='text'>Stillness in Time</title><content type='html'>"Me" time is when I wake up on Sunday morning, looking out my living room window, everything is quiet, no cars on the street, the morning air is crisp, The City seems so at peace, then the "City" of Oakland starts to wake up and I hear the police sirens....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: When we’re sleep GOD is having his “ME” time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Torria&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6479653585792266999?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6479653585792266999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6479653585792266999&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6479653585792266999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6479653585792266999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/stillness-in-time.html' title='Stillness in Time'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-1741400810049824959</id><published>2007-08-20T13:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T14:00:46.262-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='&apos;Me&apos; Time'/><title type='text'>Biggest Fan</title><content type='html'>Preening myself is always good "me" time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Desiree&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1741400810049824959?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1741400810049824959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1741400810049824959&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1741400810049824959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1741400810049824959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/biggest-fan.html' title='Biggest Fan'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8386557108107088572</id><published>2007-08-20T07:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T08:54:45.379-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='&apos;Me&apos; Time'/><title type='text'>Man in the Mirror</title><content type='html'>Good 'me' time is a Friday night, after work, in the bathroom mirror--- grooming. Getting ready to go out, while listening to my latest Jamiroquai mix.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Some people have "retail therapy", I have "hygienic therapy".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8386557108107088572?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8386557108107088572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8386557108107088572&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8386557108107088572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8386557108107088572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/man-in-mirror.html' title='Man in the Mirror'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8952407295517098206</id><published>2007-08-13T23:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-13T23:51:23.696-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Summer Anthems'/><title type='text'>The Emancipation of LadyBug</title><content type='html'>Summer 2005 - Mariah Carey - "It's Like That"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Cause it's my night &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;No stress, no fights &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I'm leaving it all behind &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;No tears, no time to cry &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Just making the most of life &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: "Them chickens is ash and I'm lotion"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Summer '07 - A Bay Bay&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8952407295517098206?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8952407295517098206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8952407295517098206&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8952407295517098206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8952407295517098206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/emancipation-of-ladybug.html' title='The Emancipation of LadyBug'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-5094823864268788728</id><published>2007-08-13T15:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-13T15:22:12.874-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Summer Anthems'/><title type='text'>Timeless</title><content type='html'>My favorite summer song for '07 is my favorite summer song for every year...."Summertime" by the Fresh Prince! Of course! Although it was released in 1991, it is truly a song that never gets old and is still the jam when it comes on the radio. It is a remake of Kool &amp; the Gang B-side, "Summer Madness" from 1975 so many generations can vibe to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: M&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5094823864268788728?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5094823864268788728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5094823864268788728&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5094823864268788728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5094823864268788728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/timeless.html' title='Timeless'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6951994143185456873</id><published>2007-08-13T13:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-13T13:40:05.272-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Summer Anthems'/><title type='text'>Two Summer Songs...</title><content type='html'>My fav summer song was "Heartbreaker" by Dionne Warwick. Lately that's been superceded by "The Way I Are".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Timbaland is the new Bee Gees when it comes to producing hot tracks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6951994143185456873?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6951994143185456873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6951994143185456873&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6951994143185456873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6951994143185456873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/two-summer-songs.html' title='Two Summer Songs...'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6269846289700895708</id><published>2007-08-13T13:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-13T13:37:40.814-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Summer Anthems'/><title type='text'>"Let It Go" by Keyshia Cole ft. Missy Elliott and Lil Kim!</title><content type='html'>It's a good song especially for women because we have a tendency to hold on to men that really don't want us. If he's not treating you right, then you need to let it and him GO! It's not worth the stress especially when there is someone out there that is so much better for you who will appreciate you and everything you bring to the table. Don't block your blessing by holding onto someone that wasn't meant to you be yours anyway!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6269846289700895708?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6269846289700895708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6269846289700895708&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6269846289700895708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6269846289700895708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/let-it-go-by-keyshia-cole-ft-missy.html' title='&quot;Let It Go&quot; by Keyshia Cole ft. Missy Elliott and Lil Kim!'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-3452883994729539546</id><published>2007-08-13T08:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-13T09:04:13.831-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Summer Anthems'/><title type='text'>"Bartender" by T-Pain</title><content type='html'>I can't even front, I'm a T-Pain fan. Like most people, I totally didn't get this kid when he first came out. He had me thinking that &lt;em&gt;anybody&lt;/em&gt; nowadays could get a deal. But then I saw him perform on TRL one day and I can't lie-- dude was mad entertaining. I've been a fan ever since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Favorite line: "Ooooo, if you're looking for me."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3452883994729539546?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3452883994729539546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3452883994729539546&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3452883994729539546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3452883994729539546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/bartender-by-t-pain.html' title='&quot;Bartender&quot; by T-Pain'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-5499234085001449029</id><published>2007-08-09T16:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-09T17:00:59.142-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Late in the Evening</title><content type='html'>Love looks like that person lying by your side when you are awake at night... and whose presence makes you realize that with all of life's challenges, you have been extraordinarily blessed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: My moments of clarity tend to come in times of peace and quiet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5499234085001449029?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5499234085001449029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5499234085001449029&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5499234085001449029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5499234085001449029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/late-in-evening.html' title='Late in the Evening'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-7701193230258343521</id><published>2007-08-07T13:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-07T13:35:49.587-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Mile High</title><content type='html'>Love looks like a girl waiting for you at the airport after a long biz trip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7701193230258343521?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7701193230258343521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7701193230258343521&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7701193230258343521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7701193230258343521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/mile-high.html' title='Mile High'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-819393061543850602</id><published>2007-08-07T11:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-07T11:38:40.268-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>Stretch Yourself</title><content type='html'>Love gives you the opportunity to be selfless. It expands the soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Sneha&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-819393061543850602?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/819393061543850602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=819393061543850602&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/819393061543850602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/819393061543850602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/stretch-yourself.html' title='Stretch Yourself'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-3647059509391523124</id><published>2007-08-06T08:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-06T09:09:59.610-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love'/><title type='text'>His &amp; Hers</title><content type='html'>She thinks I look cute when I wear my doo-rag.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think she looks cute when she has a towel wrapped around her head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It must be love.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3647059509391523124?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3647059509391523124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3647059509391523124&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3647059509391523124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3647059509391523124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/08/his-hers.html' title='His &amp; Hers'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-2967640999773423529</id><published>2007-07-30T08:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-30T08:14:33.741-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Patience'/><title type='text'>Finish Line</title><content type='html'>I ran my first marathon back in 2004. When you're at the starting line your adrenaline is pumping, there's thousands of people around you, and you're anxious as hell because you know you've worked your butt off for the past 4 months just for this very moment. It's pretty intense. When that gun goes off, all you want to do is jump out there and get in the race and get running! But you can't. Every smart runner knows you have to control your pace in the beginning so that you have enough gas to finish at the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I learned alot of things from my marathon experience. By the time I crossed the finish line my toes were bleeding, I had cramps everywhere and I felt like my lungs were going to collapse. But if it wasn't for the patience and discipline I had at the beginning, I would have never had the heart and fortitude I needed to finish at the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Life is a marathon. Patience is your pace-setter. Use just enough in moderation to make sure you finish what you start.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-2967640999773423529?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2967640999773423529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=2967640999773423529&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2967640999773423529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2967640999773423529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/finish-line.html' title='Finish Line'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-7110517321895245093</id><published>2007-07-25T11:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-25T12:03:26.434-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Surprises'/><title type='text'>A Not So Pleasant Surprise</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I'm pretty hard to surprise I think its because I'm so nosey. Now that I think about it I don't think anyone has actually ever tried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;But I recently had a surprise that wasn't a good one. I found out last week that the husband of my friend is dying of terminal cancer. He's 37 years old. They are active, healthy, they run marathons, live on the beach. She's a vegetarian. All of the things they say you're supposed to do to live a long and healthy life. I know my friend never thought that she could be a widow at 36.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Lesson Learned: Sometimes doing the right thing just isn't enough. Tomorrow is not promised. Live each day like its your last because it actually might be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7110517321895245093?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7110517321895245093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7110517321895245093&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7110517321895245093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7110517321895245093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/not-so-pleasant-surprise.html' title='A Not So Pleasant Surprise'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-6857614886436709346</id><published>2007-07-24T23:51:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T23:52:33.745-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Compromise'/><title type='text'>Integrity</title><content type='html'>Everday one's integrity is tested either in personal relationships, business dealings, school,finances, or in the games we play .I try not to ever compromise my integrity, even on the golf course where scoring is left up to each individual player to record his own score accurately. It would be easy to not count a 'whiff' at the ball as a stroke particularly if you're behind a tree and no one is looking to see if that was a practice swing I made, or an attempt at hitting the ball. Whiffs are counted as a stroke. Unlike other sports golf is a game of honesty and self-assessment. I love golf for the challenges it presents, but it is also a good test or measure of one's integrity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: CKC Sr.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6857614886436709346?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6857614886436709346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6857614886436709346&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6857614886436709346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6857614886436709346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/integrity.html' title='Integrity'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6980345702290859683</id><published>2007-07-24T15:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T15:50:13.283-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Surprises'/><title type='text'>School of Hard Knocks</title><content type='html'>I’ve had a lot of surprises throughout my life, but the biggest surprise came when I was a senior in high school many, many, many, did I say many, years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to a predominantly white school in the rural South. There were six African American girls in my senior class including me, and three African American boys. My entire senior class consisted of 348 students. Be that as it may, we were friends with everybody. To be honest, during that time, for whatever reason we didn’t see color. We knew that after school and after school related activities, we didn’t venture into their neighborhoods and they didn’t venture into the “Color Section” of town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day I was talking to one of my dearest friends. (We’re still the best of friends today.) Her name was Debbie. I met Debbie when we were in the 1st grade. Debbie was this corky looking white girl with red hair and freckles that invited me to her Pizza party at Pasqual’s Pizza, when it was not heard of for a black child to be at a white child’s birthday party. Anyway, we were looking at our senior class schedule to see if we were in some of the same classes, and I notice that Debbie had Calculus and Economics, while I had Algebra 2 and Chemistry. I said, “Debbie, how did you get those classes?” She said, “They were on the curriculum.” I was like, “Well, we have the same curriculum, but I didn’t see those on mine.” I really did think too much about it until I was talking to two other African American Students. I asked if they had Calculus and Econ on their curriculum. They each say no. We discuss the classes that Debbie was taking and decided to bring it to Debbie’s attention. Once we compared “our” curriculum to a few of the other white student’s curriculum, we discovered that we had different curriculums. Talk about a wake up call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Integration was an illusion of inclusion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Torria&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6980345702290859683?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6980345702290859683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6980345702290859683&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6980345702290859683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6980345702290859683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/school-of-hard-knocks.html' title='School of Hard Knocks'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8802088043694182754</id><published>2007-07-23T12:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T12:14:22.586-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Surprises'/><title type='text'>Curve Ball</title><content type='html'>Last time I was surprised? When my girlfriend and I had a wonderful 2 hour talk in the morning and then at the end of our call she said, "baby let's take a break from each other".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8802088043694182754?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8802088043694182754/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8802088043694182754&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8802088043694182754'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8802088043694182754'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/curve-ball.html' title='Curve Ball'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-2878065248201252703</id><published>2007-07-23T07:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-23T08:53:50.473-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Surprises'/><title type='text'>Smooth Operator</title><content type='html'>Recently my fiance asked me to shave all my facial hair. At first I was adamatly opposed to it because I think my big nose looks even more ginormous in the absence of a mustache. But I figured what the heck, anything for the my future wife, right? So I went ahead and shaved it all off. And you know what.....it wasn't that bad. In fact, after a day or two I actually started to like it. Grooming is 10x easier and my fiance loves that my whiskers don't scratch her anymore. I feel like a new man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Unlearning old assumptions is very liberating.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-2878065248201252703?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2878065248201252703/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=2878065248201252703&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2878065248201252703'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2878065248201252703'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/smooth-operator.html' title='Smooth Operator'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6449753945164112872</id><published>2007-07-19T13:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T13:07:22.289-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><title type='text'>Small Talk</title><content type='html'>I’m a mother of a fifteen year old boy. The first eleven years of his life, we adored each other. We spent Saturdays and Sundays doing fun things, movies, parks, swimming, etc. For the last four years of his life the extent of his conversation to me has been, “I hate you. You make me sick, I wish you were dead.” My words have been, “Because I said so. You don’t pay any bills around here. Because, I’m your mother and I HAD you. This is MY house and as long as you live under my roof you will do as I say.” He recently made a bad choice and the consequences were dire. I called him on his cell and started talking about random things not the “bad choice”. I told him about when he was younger and he would say, “Skrimp” instead of shrimp. We talked and laughed for the longest time. When I was about to hang up the phone he said, “Mama we haven’t talked like this in a long time.” I said, “I know.” Of course I cried when I hung up the phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Relationship without fellowship is a sinking ship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Torria&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6449753945164112872?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6449753945164112872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6449753945164112872&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6449753945164112872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6449753945164112872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/small-talk.html' title='Small Talk'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-1618982586160755959</id><published>2007-07-17T19:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-18T14:22:30.794-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Compromise'/><title type='text'>Don't Get It Twisted</title><content type='html'>I refuse to compromise my values. I'm old enough that I can't play naive - I'm old enough to take responsibility for my choices (good or bad).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1618982586160755959?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1618982586160755959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1618982586160755959&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1618982586160755959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1618982586160755959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/dont-get-it-twisted.html' title='Don&apos;t Get It Twisted'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-188023167421950318</id><published>2007-07-17T09:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-17T09:42:53.994-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Compromise'/><title type='text'>Other Cheek</title><content type='html'>Besides my ethics? Not much. Why be a little b*tch about one issue when you can be cool about it instead?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-188023167421950318?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/188023167421950318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=188023167421950318&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/188023167421950318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/188023167421950318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/other-cheek.html' title='Other Cheek'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-2221067382958561676</id><published>2007-07-16T19:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T19:22:36.509-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Compromise'/><title type='text'>Priceless</title><content type='html'>I refuse to compromise my celibacy. It's too precious. It's too expensive and not worth a thirty second thrill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Torria&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-2221067382958561676?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2221067382958561676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=2221067382958561676&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2221067382958561676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2221067382958561676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/priceless.html' title='Priceless'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-5977049349694740437</id><published>2007-07-16T13:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T13:27:33.706-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Compromise'/><title type='text'>Just the facts</title><content type='html'>I refuse to compromise data. It is what it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: You know who i am&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5977049349694740437?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5977049349694740437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5977049349694740437&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5977049349694740437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5977049349694740437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/just-facts.html' title='Just the facts'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-3991750283578977187</id><published>2007-07-16T13:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T19:31:16.190-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Compromise'/><title type='text'>Keep the faith</title><content type='html'>I refuse to compromise my faith in God.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: YJH&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3991750283578977187?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3991750283578977187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3991750283578977187&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3991750283578977187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3991750283578977187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/keep-faith.html' title='Keep the faith'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-1934807206503053902</id><published>2007-07-16T12:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T13:07:39.041-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Compromise'/><title type='text'>Happyness</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;It has taken me a while to get to this point, but I refuse to compromise my happiness or my sense of adventure. It is pretty hard for me to make a decision but when I do it pisses me off when someone tries to talk me out of it. I don't want to leave this place with regrets about things that I never got a chance to do or places that I never got to see. There have been things that I've wanted to do that my boyfriend (of 9 years) could care less about. At first, I would just say "ok, never mind" and pout. Or I'd talk him into doing something and he would complain the whole time and ruin the whole experience. So now I know that its ok to do things by yourself. If no one wants to join you, so what!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Lesson Learned: When you're part of a couple its very easy to get caught up in "we". Live YOUR life. Fulfill YOUR dreams. And don't let anyone convince you otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1934807206503053902?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1934807206503053902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1934807206503053902&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1934807206503053902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1934807206503053902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/happyness.html' title='Happyness'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-3528299153533779836</id><published>2007-07-16T12:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T12:10:14.193-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Compromise'/><title type='text'>I Am Woman</title><content type='html'>I feel I am a very proud person. I refuse to compromise my dignity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Desiree&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3528299153533779836?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3528299153533779836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3528299153533779836&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3528299153533779836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3528299153533779836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/i-am-woman.html' title='I Am Woman'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-1801422436566813830</id><published>2007-07-16T06:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T10:03:46.916-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Compromise'/><title type='text'>What's in a name?</title><content type='html'>I'm frugal. I'll admit it. Some might even say I'm "tight with a dollar". I like to think I'm just efficient with my money. Call it what you want. But thanks to my fiscal practices I have discovered the wonderful world of generic brand groceries. You get the same quality as name brand for a fraction of the price. It's gotten to the point where the Target brand is second-nature in my kitchen cabinets. But as great as the private labels have been to me, there is one ailse where I refuse to go generic-- cereal. Call me crazy but I'm just not buying that "Honey Oat Clusters" tastes the same as Honey Bunches of Oats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: If breakfast is the most important meal of the day why take any chances.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1801422436566813830?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1801422436566813830/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1801422436566813830&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1801422436566813830'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1801422436566813830'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/whats-in-name.html' title='What&apos;s in a name?'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-5704017225737561959</id><published>2007-07-10T20:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-10T20:07:22.710-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gender differences'/><title type='text'>Heaters and engines...</title><content type='html'>Why are men like heaters or an engine that's always on? I promise I have yet to hear any man tell me that he's cold!! That is truly baffling for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Always bring a jacket because the windows may be opened or rolled down at any time of the day or night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Rochelle&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5704017225737561959?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5704017225737561959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5704017225737561959&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5704017225737561959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5704017225737561959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/heaters-and-engines.html' title='Heaters and engines...'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-1882874269983893057</id><published>2007-07-09T16:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-09T16:04:48.798-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gender differences'/><title type='text'>Dr. Jekyll</title><content type='html'>What confuses me is when they claim PMS is making them act up... but at work they are still 100% professional.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1882874269983893057?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1882874269983893057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1882874269983893057&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1882874269983893057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1882874269983893057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/dr-jekyll.html' title='Dr. Jekyll'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-2198913099462992320</id><published>2007-07-09T11:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-09T11:56:00.809-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gender differences'/><title type='text'>Androgyny</title><content type='html'>They confuse me when they take on more feminine qualities.. like being more clean than me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Desiree&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-2198913099462992320?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2198913099462992320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=2198913099462992320&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2198913099462992320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2198913099462992320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/androgyny.html' title='Androgyny'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-2184857040633849428</id><published>2007-07-09T09:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-17T09:41:23.792-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Relationships'/><title type='text'>Absence makes the heart grow fonder</title><content type='html'>First of all, great work on the site! Keep up the good work!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I just spent the last 5 days with my girlfriend who I'm in a long distance relationship with. We've been doing the distance thing for almost 2 years now. We're doing a bicaostal relationship: She from LA, me in Boston.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The past tiresome days have been extra-extraordinarily fun: BBQ on the fourth of July, Kittery ME on Thursday (well the speeding ticket sucked!), both of us winning $$$ at foxwoods at midnight on 7/7/07, birthday parties with our friends on Saturday night. And then comes the goodbye on Sunday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look back on our history, our adventures, our bond. And it is the time that she leaves and the time that we are apart that I truly treasure. The times of "the grind" of school, work, and routine. All throughout, she has given me the greatest gift: the gift of missing her and appreciating her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Till the day that we are together, I will continue to strive to miss her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: You know who I am&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-2184857040633849428?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2184857040633849428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=2184857040633849428&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2184857040633849428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2184857040633849428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/absence-makes-heart-grow-fonder.html' title='Absence makes the heart grow fonder'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6837141748594840537</id><published>2007-07-09T06:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-09T06:13:07.907-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gender differences'/><title type='text'>Woman vs. Wild</title><content type='html'>Someone please explain to me why all women are afraid of bugs????? Was there an R-rated version of "Itsy-Bitsy Spider" that I missed as a kid?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: RAID never has to worry about going out of business.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6837141748594840537?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6837141748594840537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6837141748594840537&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6837141748594840537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6837141748594840537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/woman-vs-wild.html' title='Woman vs. Wild'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-1045543080046698845</id><published>2007-07-02T13:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T13:44:47.651-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Inspiration'/><title type='text'>Perspective</title><content type='html'>I could live a pretty comfortable lifestyle without really applying myself. Whenever I'm tempted to do so I remember that 2 billion people live on less than $2 a day, and that the other 3 billion people in the world need to do something about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1045543080046698845?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1045543080046698845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1045543080046698845&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1045543080046698845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1045543080046698845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/perspective.html' title='Perspective'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-3894994917797451696</id><published>2007-07-02T11:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T12:01:25.187-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Inspiration'/><title type='text'>Strong Women</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;There are so many women in my life that inspire me. But I'll tell you about two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The first is my mother. My mother has had some pretty severe medical set backs over the last few years: cancer, a broken ankle, diabetes and kidney failure. She's not always in a good mood. Most days she's tired and feels like crap. But no matter how bad she's feeling, she hardly ever complains and none of these issues have stopped her from living her life. She travels, she goes to Curves, she takes a dance class, she lunches w/her girlfriends and she SHOPS! Whenever I'm feeling sorry for myself, or I think I'm tired, I think about my mother and how she's feeling and I get off my Ass!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;The second is my grandmother. My grandmother is 95 years old. She's raised 5 children, 6 grandchildren and 2 great-grandchildren. She can see better than I can. She gets up and gets dressed every day. She's always up on current events. She stopped walking a few years ago, "because her feet hurt". The other day my mother asked her how she was feeling. She said "Fine." My aunt said, "You're not fine. You weren't feeling good this morning." She looked at my mother and said, "I didn't want to make you sad."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Lesson Learned: I come from a long line of strong women and I have a responsibility to uphold the legacy that they have set for me. But trust me, it ain't easy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3894994917797451696?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3894994917797451696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3894994917797451696&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3894994917797451696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3894994917797451696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/strong-women.html' title='Strong Women'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-7242741412564275658</id><published>2007-07-02T11:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T11:22:16.076-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Inspiration'/><title type='text'>Four is Enough</title><content type='html'>I’ve been thinking about having kids lately - particularly, whether I want 1 or 4. Maybe it’s because our class just finished four weeks of OBGYN lectures and I watched “Miracle of Life” for my fourth time. Or maybe it’s because I did my first pelvic exam last week and I’m excited for my rotation in August where I’ll be working with a midwife. Whatever the trigger, I’m definitely having a case of baby fever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday at church, there was a couple sitting in front of us with their 2 year old son. When we were sitting, he was standing and jumping. At silent moments, he would vocally point at his book of trucks. I tried my hardest not to encourage his misbehavior, but I couldn’t help looking at him and then doing what I do with all babies that make eye contact with me – flare my nostrils. Even though I found him amusing, he was a misery for his parents, and more so, for the priest who was trying to conduct the service.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that brings me back to the issue of having 1 child or a Brady bunch. I can’t imagine the energy it will take to raise just one child: what to do when he/she misbehaves in public, how to deal with sleepless nights, and for someone who cleans obsessively, the amount of laundry and hygiene it will take to keep the child drool-free. Then I think about my grandmother, who birthed and raised 12 children. If she can do it with the grace and fortitude that my mother and uncles tell me, then so can I. Now, that’s my inspiration for having 4 children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Cristina&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7242741412564275658?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7242741412564275658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7242741412564275658&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7242741412564275658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7242741412564275658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/four-is-enough.html' title='Four is Enough'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-4876768879007025912</id><published>2007-07-02T07:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T07:48:00.163-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Inspiration'/><title type='text'>Salute</title><content type='html'>While I was in grad school I had the fortune of meeting some really amazing people that had done some really amazing things in their lives. One in particular was a classmate of mine who was a graduate of West Point and a two-tour veteran of the war in Iraq. After serving his country faithfully for 5 years, he was looking forward to attending business school and starting the next phase of his life as a civilian. Then, the unimaginable happened. After enjoying a wonderful first year in school he got a letter from the US government: his services were needed, and he would be forced to drop everything and return for a 3rd tour in Iraq. We all were devestated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After much shock, sadness and anger, he accepted his fate and returned to boot camp unaware of what his future might hold. I prayed for his safety, but honestly I wondered if I would ever see him again. Then, the unimaginable happened AGAIN. During a routine physical exam before his deployment, a number of tumors were found. Thankfully they all were benign. Thankfully the surgery to remove them would be routine. And thankfully this surgery made his pending re-deployment null and void.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm happy to say that my classmate graduated this past year. I'm also happy to say that his lesson of selflessness made every dollar of my tuition worth every penny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: I'm thankful for the unimaginable.....it reminds me just how big to laugh when someone says, "No you can't."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4876768879007025912?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4876768879007025912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4876768879007025912&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4876768879007025912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4876768879007025912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/07/salute.html' title='Salute'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-7871215529582228276</id><published>2007-06-25T15:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T15:54:34.608-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='TV'/><title type='text'>TV Jogger</title><content type='html'>For some reason I haven't been a TV watcher for the last 8 years. I have a TV but refuse to pay for any channels, so I only get 3 and fuzzy ones at that. I've always felt like TV can suck your life away if you're not careful, especially for someone as easily distracted as I am. However-- my gym recently got TV's on every treadmill and I love it! It's been an additional incentive to go to the gym and run a few miles, and I've never been in such good shape. I guess that's my version of TV addiction!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Claudia&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7871215529582228276?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7871215529582228276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7871215529582228276&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7871215529582228276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7871215529582228276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/tv-jogger.html' title='TV Jogger'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6504080350871894648</id><published>2007-06-25T13:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T13:54:27.509-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='TV'/><title type='text'>'Ol School vs. New School</title><content type='html'>The best thing on TV is Lucille Ball.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worst thing on TV is Paris Hilton.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Desiree&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6504080350871894648?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6504080350871894648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6504080350871894648&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6504080350871894648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6504080350871894648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/ol-school-vs-new-school.html' title='&apos;Ol School vs. New School'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8235116812016725979</id><published>2007-06-25T13:31:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T13:37:37.922-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='TV'/><title type='text'>TMI</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Where do I even begin! I'm a true lover of television. I wake up to it. I go to sleep to it. I would drive to it if I could. Granted there is truly a lot of garbage on tv. But at the same time you can learn so much from television about people and places and things that you would never usually encounter. Whether its Flavor of Love Charm School, Man vs Wild, CSI or Big Brother (can't wait til next week!) television offers something for everyone. Plus I think people who don't own tv's are just weird.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: Because of TV I know a little bit about a lot of stuff and I love it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8235116812016725979?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8235116812016725979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8235116812016725979&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8235116812016725979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8235116812016725979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/tmi.html' title='TMI'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-8867602603427447704</id><published>2007-06-25T10:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T10:34:21.371-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='TV'/><title type='text'>Sleeping Beauty</title><content type='html'>The best thing about TV is that I can nap to it all day on weekends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: YH&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8867602603427447704?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8867602603427447704/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8867602603427447704&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8867602603427447704'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8867602603427447704'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/sleeping-beauty.html' title='Sleeping Beauty'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-3100138178367151174</id><published>2007-06-25T07:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T08:08:07.520-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='TV'/><title type='text'>Order in the Court</title><content type='html'>"Judge Mathis". Hands down, the best thing on TV. Who knew a case involving two cousins fighting over a can of curl activator could be so entertaining?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: "It's time for hard lessons and tough love."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3100138178367151174?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3100138178367151174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3100138178367151174&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3100138178367151174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3100138178367151174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/order-in-court.html' title='Order in the Court'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-1840815058469670350</id><published>2007-06-23T20:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T20:56:31.574-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Dads'/><title type='text'>It Takes Two</title><content type='html'>I always knew my dad was the smartest in the world. I agree with Obi-Wan Kenobi when they say that their dad was the best at Algebra homework. Mine was too. My dad and I had a special connection. My mother was a teacher and you would think that I would ask my mom for help on homework but I would always rather ask my dad to help me. He had a way about him that made me understand and not shut down. Now, the real question is when did I realize that my mother knew what she was talking about? Not until I gave birth to my first child. The minute I held my son in my arms was when I finally understood my mother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: Mom knows what she is talking about too. Sometimes it helps to listen to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: VA Friend&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1840815058469670350?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1840815058469670350/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1840815058469670350&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1840815058469670350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1840815058469670350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/it-takes-two.html' title='It Takes Two'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6615660858197320928</id><published>2007-06-21T13:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T11:17:16.212-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Dads'/><title type='text'>Obi-Wan Kenobi</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I've always known that my daddy knows everything and everyone. You can ask him any question and he's got an answer. He can be in any state and someone will come up to him with a big smile saying how long its been since they've seen one another. I can call out any address and he can tell me what side of the street its on and usually what's next door. My daddy is so smart that my 8th grade algebra homework looked like a mathematician's Ph.d dissertation because he couldn't understand why he got the answer so easily.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson Learned&lt;/strong&gt;: No matter how many degrees I have. No matter how much I think I know. I'll never know as much as my daddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6615660858197320928?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6615660858197320928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6615660858197320928&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6615660858197320928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6615660858197320928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/obi-wan-kenobi.html' title='Obi-Wan Kenobi'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-4821870539067753504</id><published>2007-06-17T14:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-17T16:12:44.277-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Dads'/><title type='text'>Been There, Done That</title><content type='html'>Last year for my grandmother's 95th birthday, my sister put together a slideshow of a bunch of old family pics.  Alot of the pics I had never seen before, and a bunch of them included pics of my Dad back in the day.  He looked JUST like me!  He had the same dusty clothes, scrawny legs and goofy smilie like I had as a kid.  And he had the same broad shoulders, groomed goatee and subtle confidence that I've developed as a young man.  After seeing those pics I had a true revelation: there is nothing I have done (or hope to do) that my Dad hasn't already done.  As cool and as current as I think I am, my Dad was just as cool and just as current in his day.  And I have the pics to prove it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: I'm proud to be my Dad's "mini-me".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4821870539067753504?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4821870539067753504/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4821870539067753504&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4821870539067753504'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4821870539067753504'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/been-there-done-that.html' title='Been There, Done That'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-1450873840147591663</id><published>2007-06-13T20:50:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-14T11:58:42.058-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Growing Up'/><title type='text'>Respect Your Elders</title><content type='html'>It officially hit me that I was grown up the first time somebody younger than me called me "Sir". I was all of 30 years old!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: CKC Sr.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1450873840147591663?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1450873840147591663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1450873840147591663&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1450873840147591663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1450873840147591663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/respect-your-elders.html' title='Respect Your Elders'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-4366046213945936301</id><published>2007-06-11T15:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T15:10:00.183-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Growing Up'/><title type='text'>Shades of Gray</title><content type='html'>I remember it well. I had just turn 28, and still felt like a 19 year old. It was one night at around 10pm. I was in front of my bathroom mirror putting the final touches to my make up and hoochie outfit, getting ready for a night of clubbing. Then, right there, on the right upper part of my scalp, I saw it. A gray hair! I stared at it for a few seconds, then grabbed it and pulled it gently--to make sure it was attached to my scalp. It was. For some reason at that moment I realized that my days of spoiled, carefree young woman were over and adulthood was just around the corner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Maribel&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4366046213945936301?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4366046213945936301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4366046213945936301&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4366046213945936301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4366046213945936301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/shades-of-gray.html' title='Shades of Gray'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-7592158741425604048</id><published>2007-06-11T14:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T14:30:36.055-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Growing Up'/><title type='text'>Eye Blink</title><content type='html'>I officially became "grown up" when I came to understand mortality, and the fact that life is temporary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Teran&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7592158741425604048?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7592158741425604048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7592158741425604048&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7592158741425604048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7592158741425604048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/eye-blink.html' title='Eye Blink'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-9208309334469998323</id><published>2007-06-11T12:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T12:54:52.817-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Growing Up'/><title type='text'>Bare Necessities</title><content type='html'>It hit me that I have officially "grown up" when I started drinking coffee every day and started buying anti-aging and firming lotions (as a preventative measure, of course!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Desiree&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-9208309334469998323?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/9208309334469998323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=9208309334469998323&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/9208309334469998323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/9208309334469998323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/bare-necessities.html' title='Bare Necessities'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6673734004543272111</id><published>2007-06-10T23:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-10T23:59:17.667-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Growing Up'/><title type='text'>Hallmark Moment</title><content type='html'>I'll never forget it. It was back in '03. I was 26 years old, and my cousin was graduating from UC Berkeley. I was in my parents hotel room, looking through their bags. My mom asked, "What are you looking for?" I said, "I'm looking for Terry's graduation card, I still need to sign my name." My mom said, "Oh, I'm sorry baby. Your dad and I already signed and mailed him his card. We figured you'd go ahead and get him something on your own."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get a card on my own?? Huh?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: You know you're grown up when you have to buy your own greeting cards.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6673734004543272111?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6673734004543272111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6673734004543272111&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6673734004543272111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6673734004543272111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/hallmark-moment.html' title='Hallmark Moment'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-9096260632757259298</id><published>2007-06-08T17:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-08T17:23:58.450-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Head vs. Heart'/><title type='text'>The Abilene Paradox</title><content type='html'>Most often your first instinct or intuition about something or someone is right. Yet, although we know that something or someone is not right for us, we go ahead and do it, or enter into a relationship anyway. Why do we do that? Why do we go against our basic intincts? In one of my college business classes this was called the 'Abilene Paradox'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple was enjoying a relaxing hot afternoon on the front porch of their farm house playing cards with his parents. They had a big pitcher of leomonade and everything was cool. Then someone mentioned that maybe they should drive into Abilene(Texas), some 25 miles away, for ice cream. None of the four really wanted to do it, but each said they would go along if the group really wanted to. The next thing they knew they had piled into their car and were off to Abilene for ice cream. On the way back the car air conditioner went out, the car over-heated forcing them to pull over on the side of the highway and stand in the blazing sun for several hours while the car cooled down. When they finally got back to the house they were miserable, irratated at each other, thirsty, and exhausted. They had allowed themselves to do something that initially nobody wanted to do. They had left the comfort of the porch and turned it into disaster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moral of the story is to follow your first instinct. Chances are you were right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: CKC (Sr.)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-9096260632757259298?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/9096260632757259298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=9096260632757259298&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/9096260632757259298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/9096260632757259298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/abilene-paradox.html' title='The Abilene Paradox'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-4562138546567782182</id><published>2007-06-05T18:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-05T18:26:15.131-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Head vs. Heart'/><title type='text'>Perfect Storm</title><content type='html'>Recently, I was dating a girl that I became totally in love with. The kind of love that when you saw her and were next to her, a feeling of euphoria and contentment swept over your body. After dating for a while, I realized that this gift of love that stems from the heart wasn't enough to calm the raging waters that came between us. I've heard love conquers all and I tried to do all I could to make things work. It came to a point when I had to use my head to pull my unwilling heart and my body out of this tornado of negativity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: SIAKA&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4562138546567782182?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4562138546567782182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4562138546567782182&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4562138546567782182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4562138546567782182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/perfect-storm.html' title='Perfect Storm'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-4809837508659264558</id><published>2007-06-04T16:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-04T16:17:19.270-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Head vs. Heart'/><title type='text'>Alright Hans Solo this ones for you...</title><content type='html'>Over the years I have been blessed to be in the presence of and have dated many women. Now my first statement may sound like I'm bragging but to me its just an honest comment. Myself I was called ugly alot growing up. Over the years my body has change, my mind has become stronger and I am at peace. All in all I guess these qualities have made me more attractive to women. So like most young ugly kids I have dated the women who years past would not have given me the time of day if they had on five watches and I was blind. What this leads me to is that no matter how pretty they are the ugly little boy in me always brings me back to my center. And when I come to center many things that look pretty become ugly or at least dull. Now that my ego is calming down I look at models and such type women like damn I bet your giving someone hell, and he don't even know that he's taking it all because of your looks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4809837508659264558?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4809837508659264558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4809837508659264558&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4809837508659264558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4809837508659264558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/alright-hans-solo-this-ones-for-you.html' title='Alright Hans Solo this ones for you...'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-5514492721606737608</id><published>2007-06-03T16:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-04T08:40:50.390-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Head vs. Heart'/><title type='text'>Love on a 2-way street</title><content type='html'>I dated this girl back in the day who was really pretty. Runway model pretty. But she wasn't that smart. OK, maybe that's not fair. Let's just say mental stimulation was one of her least favorite activities. But hey, nobody's perfect, right? We dated for a while. Then one day during a conversation she said, "All I wanna do is stay home and have your babies." I knew right then and there it wasn't gonna last.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Thankfully my heart realizes that my brain needs a little lovin' too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5514492721606737608?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5514492721606737608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5514492721606737608&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5514492721606737608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5514492721606737608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/love-on-2-way-street.html' title='Love on a 2-way street'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8421152009426244767</id><published>2007-06-01T10:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-01T10:28:43.796-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Working'/><title type='text'>Field Day</title><content type='html'>I am a teacher in a Juvenile Detention Center. The other day I was announcing that we would be having a 'field day' next week and I was reading the menu for that day which is a special menu from our normal 'jail food'. One kid said, "ah, man! I am being released two days before field day. Can I come back for a visit and hang out with you all?" I said, "No you can't just come visit." Another kid chimed in with all seriousness in his voice. "Okay, here's whatcha do. Go down to Dollar General and steal a toothbrush in plain sight of the manager. You will get arrested but don't worry it is only petit larceny and you won't be in here for long but you will be back in time for field day."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: One man's jail cell is another man's castle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: VAfriend&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8421152009426244767?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8421152009426244767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8421152009426244767&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8421152009426244767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8421152009426244767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/06/field-day.html' title='Field Day'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-7724728587114055691</id><published>2007-05-31T15:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-06-01T10:29:09.648-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank you, Trainman</title><content type='html'>Was running late yesterday (as usual). I hurried down the steps to catch the waiting 6 train. As I arrived, the doors closed. In frustration, I pounded on the doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much to my surprise, the doors opened back up! Stunned, I looked both ways -- and caught sight of the trainman. He gave me a wink, just before I scurried into the train.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson 1: There are nice New Yorkers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson 2: It's not just hot women who get winks; scrawny Jewish guys with big hair can get them too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson 3: Don't be afraid to bang on the doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: JG&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7724728587114055691?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7724728587114055691/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7724728587114055691&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7724728587114055691'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7724728587114055691'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/thank-you-trainman.html' title='Thank you, Trainman'/><author><name>jg</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17516255887203446361</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-2349796595620339921.post-6863708985589482415</id><published>2007-05-23T15:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-23T15:56:41.491-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Growing Up'/><title type='text'>May 23rd</title><content type='html'>I turn 30 years old today. This morning I had to trod up 5 steep Seattle city blocks and thought I would never make it. I had one drink last night and today I feel hung over. I think I might have found a gray hair last week. And the other day I returned a skirt I had just bought at Nordstrom because the reality is, I can't wear skirts like that anymore-- it's just not appropriate for someone my age.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10 years ago I was 20 years old and in college. I was partying, studying for tests, wearing 20- year-old clothes and making all kinds of stupid mistakes. You know what? It was fun then, but today is beautiful. I've learned and grown from my mistakes, I have a career I am proud of, a wonderful partner, a mother I adore and my friends are my family. I've had a wonderful life, and I'm looking forward to the next 30 years!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: 30 ain't no big thing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Claudia&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6863708985589482415?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6863708985589482415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6863708985589482415&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6863708985589482415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6863708985589482415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/may-23rd.html' title='May 23rd'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-2363324688111938885</id><published>2007-05-22T21:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-23T15:59:29.824-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Working'/><title type='text'>Work it, Girl</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Every job I ever had I did exactly what I was told. Got there when they told me, left when they told me, ate when they told me. One day I went to lunch at 2p. When I got back at 3p my boss said, "You need to take lunch at 12p. You can't be out of the office all day." That's dumb I thought. I didn't start until 10a. Why would I take lunch 2 hours later? Whatever, I didn't argue. I did what I was told. I never got promoted and 2 years before I left they stopped giving raises - of any kind. After 7 years at that job I decided enough was enough. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made a decision. My next job was going to work for me not the other way around. I walked in to the interview asked for exactly the amount of money I wanted. Told them I was not a morning person and couldn't possibly be at work before 9am. I even named my own title. And you know what, they agreed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say I hated the job and left after 6 months. However, I decided from that point on that if I had to spend 9 hours at a job I should at least get &lt;em&gt;some&lt;/em&gt; of my own terms in return. Because I'm a great catch and I'm worth it!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: Work the job don't let it work you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-2363324688111938885?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2363324688111938885/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=2363324688111938885&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2363324688111938885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2363324688111938885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/work-it-girl.html' title='Work it, Girl'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-3529337691914759698</id><published>2007-05-20T22:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-23T15:59:54.786-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Working'/><title type='text'>The rule is still golden</title><content type='html'>I was in a meeting this past week with a colleague. He made a comment during our conversation that really stuck with me. We were talking about what it takes to motivate people, and he said, "In business, people are only motivated by two things: your attituide and your money". I didn't want to agree with him, because on the surface it sounded like such a "capitalist" statement. But the more I thought about it, the more I had to agree. Just like anything else, your attitude and your money are a reflection of yourself. Having one or the other is OK. But its what you do with them that makes all the difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Treat people the way you want to be treated, and pay people the way you want to be paid.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3529337691914759698?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3529337691914759698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3529337691914759698&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3529337691914759698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3529337691914759698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/rule-is-still-golden.html' title='The rule is still golden'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8201439030042916657</id><published>2007-05-19T19:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-20T22:15:16.519-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Childhood'/><title type='text'>Purple Rain</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;In the 9th grade, my then best friend Angela got me tickets to the Purple Rain concert for my birthday. My parents decided that, although they knew I loved Prince more than life itself, he was too risque for a 14 year old to see live. I was devastated, heart broken, crushed. I thought I would never recover from the pain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To this day I remember the anguish that I felt when Angela and Andrea (who she took to the concert instead of me) brought me a t-shirt the day after the show. I recently told my mother that she stunted my growth, ruined my life and that the decision she made to keep me away from Prince was the worst thing that has ever happened to me in my whole life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her response: If that's the worst thing that's ever happened to you then you've had a pretty good life. &lt;em&gt;Lesson Learned&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8201439030042916657?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8201439030042916657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8201439030042916657&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8201439030042916657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8201439030042916657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/purple-rain.html' title='Purple Rain'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-5078376015556917883</id><published>2007-05-14T03:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T03:58:43.310-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Childhood'/><title type='text'>"Patches"</title><content type='html'>When I was kid I used to play so hard on the playground that I constantly wore holes into the knees of all my pants.  My mom got so tired of it that she started sewing industrial strength knee patches on my pants.  The problem was, she never used patches that matched my pants!  Gray patches on black pants.  Brown patches on green pants.  I walked around all day looking like a baseball catcher.   It got so bad that kids at school started calling me "patches".  But I didn't care, I kept right on playing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: No price is too great as long as you're doing what you love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5078376015556917883?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5078376015556917883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5078376015556917883&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5078376015556917883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5078376015556917883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/patches.html' title='&quot;Patches&quot;'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8656323863651194891</id><published>2007-05-09T09:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-09T09:34:44.117-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nature'/><title type='text'>The hills are alive</title><content type='html'>The last few weeks I have been getting up on Saturday mornings and taking walks on a hiking trail that meanders through a very wooded park along the Root River here in Racine, WI. It amazes me how much my heart and soul cries out to be in nature. It reminded me of a story I heard on NPR about a 3rd graders home work where the goal was to match two pictures with either the word need or want. First example was a New Bike or Food. New Bike = Want &amp; Food = Need The last one was a man reading or flowers. I think sometimes we under estimate how much we NEED flowers!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Ancient Path&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8656323863651194891?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8656323863651194891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8656323863651194891&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8656323863651194891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8656323863651194891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/hills-are-alive.html' title='The hills are alive'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-7376942370406666411</id><published>2007-05-07T18:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T09:27:05.310-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Moms'/><title type='text'>Age ain't nuthin but a number</title><content type='html'>Last year my family had a huge party for my grandmother's 95th birthday. I was over to her house making mixed cd's for the party. I asked my grandmother what she'd like to hear. She said, "Louis Armstrong, Sara Vaughn, Josh Groban and Angie Stone." What kind of playlist is that! How does my 95 year old grandmother know Angie Stone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: You're never to old to get your groove on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7376942370406666411?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7376942370406666411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7376942370406666411&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7376942370406666411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7376942370406666411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/age-aint-nuthin-but-number.html' title='Age ain&apos;t nuthin but a number'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-4491451039698685874</id><published>2007-05-07T12:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-07T13:41:20.528-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Moms'/><title type='text'>Shopaholic</title><content type='html'>My mother, aside from being a sci-fi geek, is also a shopaholic. She is all about the outfit. She won't go and buy a simple pair of pants. She has to buy the pants and at least 2 matching tops, the skirt if it happens to be a set... and in every color! She's seriously the only person that I know who owns and rocks yellow pants. The other funny thing is she will spend $100 on a pair of shoes, but will refuse to buy the matching purse if it cost more than $20.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: My mother is a fashionista!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4491451039698685874?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4491451039698685874/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4491451039698685874&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4491451039698685874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4491451039698685874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/shopaholic.html' title='Shopaholic'/><author><name>da G spot</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03273277675652703351</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='18' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger2/4471/4343/240/z/351705/gse_multipart32921.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-3071112703832543111</id><published>2007-05-07T10:28:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-07T10:31:36.350-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Moms'/><title type='text'>What's with people getting pregnant before marriage?</title><content type='html'>At a recent wedding shower... needless to say for a dude, my friend Chris told us about his proposal to his girlfriend who was three months pregnant. He proposed to her at a hot dog stand in Santa Barbara. When he asked her: "Will you marry me?" Being traditional and Catholic, she said: "Of course. I have to." I was cracking up when I heard that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: Use contraception.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3071112703832543111?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3071112703832543111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3071112703832543111&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3071112703832543111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3071112703832543111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/whats-with-people-getting-pregnant.html' title='What&apos;s with people getting pregnant before marriage?'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2349796595620339921.post-4577372615984338004</id><published>2007-05-06T19:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-05-08T16:53:03.407-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Moms'/><title type='text'>Beam me up!</title><content type='html'>You know all those shows you see on TV and you wonder 'who in the world watches that?' Those are the shows my mom LOVES! Xena Warrior Princess, Stargate SG1, Beastmaster, Ghost Whisperer, the list goes on and on. It's almost like she has a tacky TV radar that has no off-switch. It's hilarious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Sci-fi geeks come in all shapes and sizes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4577372615984338004?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4577372615984338004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4577372615984338004&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4577372615984338004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4577372615984338004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/05/beam-me-up.html' title='Beam me up!'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-2072181860623680984</id><published>2007-04-30T08:38:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-30T08:38:42.607-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Words of wisdom'/><title type='text'>Carpe</title><content type='html'>I got some really cool advice yesterday that really hit home. Enjoy:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Life doesn't get any easier as time passes, so if you think you don't have time to do something today, you probably won't have time to do it tomorrow either. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Don't put off living.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-2072181860623680984?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2072181860623680984/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=2072181860623680984&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2072181860623680984'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2072181860623680984'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/carpe.html' title='Carpe'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-433914510738869725</id><published>2007-04-29T17:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-29T18:58:25.019-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idle Time'/><title type='text'>Hardcore</title><content type='html'>My sister hipped me to this show on Discovery Channel called "Man vs. Wild". HIGHLY recommend it. Each week this guy gets dropped out of a helicopter into the middle of nowhere, and has to find his way to civilization with nothing more than a hunitng knife and a cantine. Dude is nuts! But somehow he gets it done week after week. I've seen him make his way out of the Arctic, the Sahara, the Costa Rican rainforest and a deserted island!  Bananas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: The term rock star has officially been re-defined.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-433914510738869725?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/433914510738869725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=433914510738869725&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/433914510738869725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/433914510738869725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/hardcore.html' title='Hardcore'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6921108341824586647</id><published>2007-04-24T08:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-24T08:20:35.199-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Words of wisdom'/><title type='text'>My Filipino Proverb</title><content type='html'>It was a cold, winter weekend and I was visiting my best friend in New Jersey. Her family is traditionally Filipino, which meant lots of food and unyielding hospitality. In other words, I couldn't pass the kitchen without my friend's cheerful dad asking me, "Are you hungry?" Each time I'd answer, "No thank you, Tito." And then my stomach would grumble. Then he'd ask, "Are you cold? You want the heat turned up?" I'd just shiver and respond, "No, I'm just fine." Finally, he realized I was just trying to be overly polite and said, "Don't be shy. You know what they say about shy people. They are cold and hungry."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: My favorite words of wisdom came from a Filipino man in New Jersey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: CG&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6921108341824586647?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6921108341824586647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6921108341824586647&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6921108341824586647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6921108341824586647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/my-filipino-proverb.html' title='My Filipino Proverb'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-3858355237428012675</id><published>2007-04-23T08:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-23T08:09:58.116-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Gender differences'/><title type='text'>Unraveling the mystery</title><content type='html'>I wanted 1-ply. She had to have 2-ply.&lt;br /&gt;I found a good deal on generics. She said only Charmin would do.&lt;br /&gt;I thought the 6-pack would suffice. She wouldn't accept anything less than the super-24.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If it's just going to get flushed, what's the big deal????&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: I know there are many differences between men and women, but toilet paper is the one I have yet to figure out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3858355237428012675?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3858355237428012675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3858355237428012675&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3858355237428012675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3858355237428012675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/unraveling-mystery.html' title='Unraveling the mystery'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-7895683218799424780</id><published>2007-04-19T08:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-19T08:36:49.680-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idle Time'/><title type='text'>Reality is perception</title><content type='html'>Last night I watched "Wheel of Fortune", then "Run's House", then "Flavor of Love Girls: Charm School", then "American Idol", and then "Real World".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I addicted to reality TV? Or is that all that's on anymore?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: I miss Seinfeld.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7895683218799424780?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7895683218799424780/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7895683218799424780&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7895683218799424780'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7895683218799424780'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/reality-is-perception.html' title='Reality is perception'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-5246344188627220122</id><published>2007-04-18T21:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-18T21:10:26.233-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><title type='text'>Prep school memories</title><content type='html'>Yesterday I got my annual high school "communique"-- a publication that provides annual updates about what our graduating classmates are up to these days. I went to a small, all- girls prep school for 12 years (hey! stop that! I know what you're thinking!), with forest green uniforms and a martian for a school mascot (don't ask).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes when I look back at those years all I can remember are heavy workloads, academic pressure to succeed at all costs, and unholy competitiveness between us girls from everything ranging to boys, grades, weight, sports, and where you got into college. I sometimes wonder about how badly I missed out on a "true" high school experience and question my parents' wisdom in sending me there. Plus, it would have been nice to have gone to school with at least one other Latina.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But after reading my classmates' updates-- so many of I knew for the entire length of my K-12 education- I could only admire how far we all had come. Many of us have excelled in our chosen fields (from fashion designers to doctors to authors to street- pounding journalists), broken away from our high school molds and used our respective skills to become the best possible versions of ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's possible that this array of 30 - year- old women would have been as successful as they are even if we had not all attended this one particular school. But when reading about all the fascinating things my classmates have been up to this year, I felt a sense of comfort in knowing that I shared the most formative years of my life with these women. I'm glad that the network of our alums retains a palpable sense of vibrancy, and that after so many years, these women are the closest thing to my extended American family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned: Never underestimate the ties that bind people who've known each other since first grade, through puberty, and into adulthood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Claudia&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5246344188627220122?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5246344188627220122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5246344188627220122&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5246344188627220122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5246344188627220122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/prep-school-memories.html' title='Prep school memories'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-4661329694477141935</id><published>2007-04-16T08:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-16T08:50:45.950-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Helping Others'/><title type='text'>Thin Line</title><content type='html'>The other day I was walking down the street and there was a guy in a wheelchair coming towards me. The street had a long incline and it looked like he was struggling a little bit. As we neared each other I simply asked him, "You alright?". He replied just as simply, "Yeah, I'm good." That was it and we both went on our separate ways. Later I wondered to myself-- would I have offered him the same help if he was walking? I hope so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: There's a thin line between compassion and pity-- it's important to know the difference.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-4661329694477141935?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/4661329694477141935/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=4661329694477141935&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4661329694477141935'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/4661329694477141935'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/thin-line.html' title='Thin Line'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-3486725180404884556</id><published>2007-04-12T09:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-12T09:20:18.403-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Growing Up'/><title type='text'>Falling Apples</title><content type='html'>I prefer a home-cooked meal over eating out.   I cut my own hair instead of going to the barber shop.  I'll eat anything in the refrigerator.  And I can whistle any song on-key.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: My sister was right.....I'm turning in to my dad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-3486725180404884556?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/3486725180404884556/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=3486725180404884556&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3486725180404884556'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/3486725180404884556'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/falling-apples.html' title='Falling Apples'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-5876687157843358801</id><published>2007-04-11T10:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-11T18:44:07.880-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Inspiration'/><title type='text'>2nd grade</title><content type='html'>I think the most significant moment in my life happened in 2nd grade. I was in elementary school, at the blackboard trying to learn long subtraction (e.g., 342 - 289). I was standing in front of the entire class with everyone looking at me and I just couldn't understand it. I was almost in tears from embarrassment and self-doubt. Just as I was ready to turn around and give up, my teacher (Mrs. Brown) said to me, "Oh no you don't! I am not going to let you give up. You stay up there and work thru it. Just take your time and work thru it." I stayed up there, and you know what....I got it! In that one instance everyting clicked, and to this day I still believe there is nothing I can't do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: There's that one moment in life when every kid needs a "Mrs. Brown".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-5876687157843358801?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/5876687157843358801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=5876687157843358801&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5876687157843358801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/5876687157843358801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/2nd-grade.html' title='2nd grade'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8896908534857419682</id><published>2007-04-10T09:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-10T09:07:28.630-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Growing Up'/><title type='text'>"My future's so bright....."</title><content type='html'>One time I was in the mall shopping with my mom and I was looking for a pair of sunglasses. As I perused the sunglass stand looking for a $20 pair like I always do, my mom said to me in frustration, "You're getting to the age where its OK for you to spend $100 for a nice pair of sunglasses. Stop being so cheap."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Getting older is expensive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8896908534857419682?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8896908534857419682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8896908534857419682&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8896908534857419682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8896908534857419682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/my-futures-so-bright.html' title='&quot;My future&apos;s so bright.....&quot;'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-383751406302277400</id><published>2007-04-09T08:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-09T08:46:21.185-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Foreign Exchange'/><title type='text'>Lost In Translation</title><content type='html'>During my junior year of college, I decided to spend a semester abroad. The only criteria in choosing where I wanted to go was that it had to be an English-speaking country. What better a destination than the country named after the language - England! So, during my four months in London, I joined a dance group where I became aquainted with a bunch of local college students. At one of our practices, I asked my new friend what his parents did for a living. He said with an English accent, "My dud's an engineer and my mum's a barista." I was astonished. "No way," I said, "I used to work at Starbucks, too!" He looked bewildered, "No, she's a barrister. You know, in England that's a lawyer."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson: Even though you think you may know the language, don't forget to learn the jargon too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: Anonymous&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-383751406302277400?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/383751406302277400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=383751406302277400&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/383751406302277400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/383751406302277400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/lost-in-translation.html' title='Lost In Translation'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-1802026992702291884</id><published>2007-04-06T18:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-06T18:51:23.865-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sincerity'/><title type='text'>Ikhlaas (Sincerity)</title><content type='html'>I learned a lesson recently which I was reminded of today after I paid for my food and the cashier said, "Take care!" I returned the greeting, "You too" in a very soft-spoken voice to which she most likely didn't hear. It was only when I left the cafeteria that I noticed that I hadn't been sincere in my speech and just returned the greeting in an artificial and routine way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prophet Muhammad reminds mankind that, "Successful indeed is the person who is sincere in faith, whose heart is pure, whose speech is truthful and whose character is upright."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned:May we all strive to be of those who are sincere in their speech and actions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted By: Omar&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1802026992702291884?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1802026992702291884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1802026992702291884&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1802026992702291884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1802026992702291884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/ikhlaas-sincerity.html' title='Ikhlaas (Sincerity)'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-8553976381159253667</id><published>2007-04-06T16:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-06T18:52:12.431-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Patience'/><title type='text'>Patience....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Today I went to the grocery store. There was an old(er) man walking very slooooowly through the parking lot. I waited, although somewhat annoyed, for him to get out of my way. I parked, grabbed my basket and headed inside all while he was still making his way thru the doors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did my shopping, checked out and headed back to my car. I glanced over and saw that the man was still in the produce section, the first section of the store. "Dang", I thought. "He is hecka slow." In some ways I felt sorry for him, thinking how sad it must be to reach an age where your body doesn't move as quickly as you want it to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was head home I realized that in my haste I'd forgotten about 3 items that I needed at the store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson Learned:&lt;/strong&gt; Maybe there is something to this patience thing after all. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-8553976381159253667?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/8553976381159253667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=8553976381159253667&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8553976381159253667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/8553976381159253667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/patience.html' title='Patience....'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10777113770032876940</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-2349796595620339921.post-7479177433757372304</id><published>2007-04-06T10:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-29T17:35:40.214-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Idle Time'/><title type='text'>Keepin It Real</title><content type='html'>The other day I was watching Spike TV, and Ultimate Fighting Championship was on. At first I was repulsed. But then I realized: in a world that can be so fake, it is refreshing to see something so real as two bloody guys beating the hell out of each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submited by: Nandu&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-7479177433757372304?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/7479177433757372304/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=7479177433757372304&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7479177433757372304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/7479177433757372304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/keepin-it-real.html' title='Keepin It Real'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-2126382221786187771</id><published>2007-04-06T08:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-06T08:45:43.098-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Weather'/><title type='text'>Frosted Tips</title><content type='html'>I'm a California native and I spent the first 27 years of my life in the great golden state. Then I moved to Boston for 2 years. During my first winter in Beantown, I walked outside one morning, inhaled, and my nose hairs froze up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: Cold weather is a mother******.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-2126382221786187771?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/2126382221786187771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=2126382221786187771&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2126382221786187771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/2126382221786187771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/frosted-tips.html' title='Frosted Tips'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-9202198547665204503</id><published>2007-04-05T20:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-05T21:42:07.626-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People Watching'/><title type='text'>Do Your Thang!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I live near a high school. I'm fascinated every day when I drive by and look at the kids walking to and from school. The way they dress, the crazy hair styles. Most of them look a hot mess. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;One day I saw two girls walking across the street. Both had on extremely tight jeans, huge hooded sweatshirts, brand new kicks and neither had a book or backpack in site. They were right next to each other, obviously together and both talking on their cell phones at 10 in the morning. I thought to myself, "Who could they be talking to? Everyone they know should be at school right now. Why aren't they somewhere soaking up knowledge? What are they gonna be when they grow up? A smart kid would be in the library studying between classes." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;Then I laughed to myself and thought, "What did I look like back in the day with my crimped hair, neon sweatshirt, 50 silver bracelets, Jellies and Michael Jackson Thriller jacket? &lt;em&gt;(cute is the answer to that question)&lt;/em&gt; What did "adults" think of me when I was ditching school, chillin and McDonald's or picking up boys in the mall? For all I know these 2 could be the valedictorians of their class!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson Learned:&lt;/strong&gt; Having a full on conversation with yourself while driving make look a little nuts so if you're gonna judge someone, trying being positive sometime.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-9202198547665204503?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/9202198547665204503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=9202198547665204503&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/9202198547665204503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/9202198547665204503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/do-your-thang.html' title='Do Your Thang!'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10777113770032876940</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-2349796595620339921.post-1620583263690131085</id><published>2007-04-05T09:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-05T09:12:27.256-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Romance'/><title type='text'>Play Another Slow Jam</title><content type='html'>When my fiancee and I first started dating I learned a valuable lesson about romance. In the past, much of my "game" revolved around playing slow jam classics like Prince, Sade, Stevie Wonder, etc. to set the mood. But none of that stuff worked with her b/c she never heard of half the songs I would play! At first this made me REALLY frustrated. Then I had an epiphany: why was I using other peoples' &lt;em&gt;songs&lt;/em&gt; about love to spark romance, when I had the &lt;em&gt;real &lt;/em&gt;thing sitting right in front of me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned: There's no greater composer of a love song than your own heart.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-1620583263690131085?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/1620583263690131085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=1620583263690131085&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1620583263690131085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/1620583263690131085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/play-another-slow-jam.html' title='Play Another Slow Jam'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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-2349796595620339921.post-6563475277817975051</id><published>2007-04-04T19:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-04T23:38:02.398-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Friendship'/><title type='text'>Good "OLD" Friends</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;My first day of junior high school I was scared to death. I was going to a school that was HUGE. I had to take a test to get in and it was in the "good" part of town. There were kids w/mohawks and leather jackets, chains and combat boots. I couldn't understand what my parents had done to me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I arrived at my homeroom - whatever that meant. Opened the door, took a deep breath and walked in. There were about 6 tables w/6 chairs each. I looked around wondering where I should sit. To the left, under the window sat a girl. She looked nice and harmless. At that moment I decided I would sit at her table and she would be my friend for the rest of my life.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I was in her wedding. I was at her baby shower when she was pregnant with her daughter. She moved away, I moved away. Here we are, 24 years later. Now we both live in Georgia and I got an email from her this morning.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson Learned:&lt;/strong&gt; People come in and out of our lives every day. But true friendships don't happen without effort, commitment and a leap of faith.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Submitted by:&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;Nicole&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6563475277817975051?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6563475277817975051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6563475277817975051&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6563475277817975051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6563475277817975051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/good-old-friends.html' title='Good &quot;OLD&quot; Friends'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10777113770032876940</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-2349796595620339921.post-6749236310326876515</id><published>2007-04-04T15:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-04-04T15:07:48.598-04:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='People Watching'/><title type='text'>Muffin Tops</title><content type='html'>I always forget how much I enjoy people watching on the subway. It's hard to do - you look kind of weird when you start swiveling your head on the subway. But the other day I noticed a girl with not 1 but 3 muffin tops. She has one above her jeans, which is pretty normal these days, but she had two more above her way-too-tight boots. Hilarious. This cruel little thing made my day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Submitted by: YH&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2349796595620339921-6749236310326876515?l=thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/feeds/6749236310326876515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2349796595620339921&amp;postID=6749236310326876515&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6749236310326876515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2349796595620339921/posts/default/6749236310326876515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thelittlethingsonline.blogspot.com/2007/04/muffin-tops.html' title='Muffin Tops'/><author><name>The Little Things</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12180315907616308851</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>
