<?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-972529565328232517</id><updated>2012-01-13T14:02:26.338-05:00</updated><title type='text'>la stasha's trash</title><subtitle type='html'>have you ever had something you've wanted to say...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>23</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-7652173405327924116</id><published>2007-04-30T21:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-30T22:14:34.938-05:00</updated><title type='text'>chuck norris is my homeboy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RjawHk7aIcI/AAAAAAAAAGA/J4INntBjQRU/s1600-h/Chuck+Norris.PNG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RjawHk7aIcI/AAAAAAAAAGA/J4INntBjQRU/s400/Chuck+Norris.PNG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5059424875615756738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris has been the topic of many conversations lately... out of boredom, here are a few of my favorites, in no particular order:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ol style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris' tears cure cancer. too bad he has never cried.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;when the boogeyman goes to sleep every night he checks his closet for chuck norris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris has already been to mars; that's why there's no sign of life there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris knows exactly where carmen sandiego is.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris can touch mc hammer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris is luke skywalker's real father.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris is the reason waldo is hiding.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;some kids piss their name in snow. chuck norris can piss his name in concrete&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris can speak braille.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;once, while having sex in a tractor-trailer, part of chuck norris' sperm escaped and got into the engine. we now know this truck as optimus prime.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris can do a wheelie on a unicycle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris doesn't sleep. he waits.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris can slam revolving doors.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris can delete the recycling bin.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris can build a snowman out of rain.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris once finished the song that never ends&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;guns dont' kill people. chuck norris kills people.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;there is no theory of evolution. just a list of animals chuck norris allows to live.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris doesn't get wet. the water gets norris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;chuck norris doesn't bowel strikes. he just hits one and the others faint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ok, i'd say 20 is enough. what are your favorites?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-7652173405327924116?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/7652173405327924116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=7652173405327924116&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/7652173405327924116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/7652173405327924116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2007/04/chuck-norris-is-my-homeboy.html' title='chuck norris is my homeboy'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RjawHk7aIcI/AAAAAAAAAGA/J4INntBjQRU/s72-c/Chuck+Norris.PNG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-1174697528268823400</id><published>2007-04-28T19:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-04-28T19:37:48.975-05:00</updated><title type='text'>roses are red, dead computers are blue...</title><content type='html'>i haven't "blogged" in a while. mostly cuz i just never got around to doing it, but also cuz my computer has been having issues. that's right, the blue screen of death.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;if you haven't experienced the blue screen of death you're a lucky person... that or not a computer killer. i am a computer killer. i have gotten the blue screen of death MANY times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RjPnH07aIbI/AAAAAAAAAF4/-NqQdxE_As0/s1600-h/picture+269.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RjPnH07aIbI/AAAAAAAAAF4/-NqQdxE_As0/s400/picture+269.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5058640928120119730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;"blue screen of death"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;its scary when it happens. "beginning dump of physical memory" who's idea was it to have uneducated computer users like myself read that. microsoft (or whoever decided this) idiots! you read that you panic! and what happens when you panic? instant pushing of the power button. The funny thing is, it says that if its the first time you've seen this screen to restart - but i do it EVERY TIME! read instructions... psh, squirrel please!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lessons learned...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;don't let me use your computer, i might kill it. i've killed my own computer 5 times and my office computer is beginning to show symptoms.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;have a friend who knows how to fix computers... preferably one who has copious amounts of illegal software, i mean who wants a computer without microsoft office? more so, who wants to PAY for office?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;computers suck, but sooooooo bored without one&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;the blue screen of death is bluffing&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-1174697528268823400?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/1174697528268823400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=1174697528268823400&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/1174697528268823400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/1174697528268823400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2007/04/roses-are-red-dead-computers-are-blue.html' title='roses are red, dead computers are blue...'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RjPnH07aIbI/AAAAAAAAAF4/-NqQdxE_As0/s72-c/picture+269.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-8020018388395250262</id><published>2007-02-20T01:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-02-20T01:25:00.897-05:00</updated><title type='text'>i scream you scream, we all scream for...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i just at a stupid amount of ice cream and feel rather gross... but that feeling will pass, sooner than later, and by tomorrow i'll be craving ice cream again. i dunno why i love it so much, or why i haven't gotten sick of it... i mean, i worked in an ice cream shop for a year and a half and ate well more than my share then... i managed to become sick of waffle cones (i've only had 2 since i stopped working at sara's 6 years ago) but never the good stuff that goes in them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so here's what i've learned over the years about my favorite dairy treat...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) this might be the most important thing i've learned... I DO NOT LIKE WHEN MY ICE CREAM STARTS MELTING! for similar reasons as to why i don't like drool, i hate melting ice cream. it needs to be firm - hard even. extra cold if possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) despite what you might think, having so much experience in this field, i do not have a favorite flavor... more so flavor moods. Some times i crave fruity, other times sweet and chocolate-y. licorice flavor ALWAYS sucks, as does green tea, wasabi and bubble gum (only because they put those cheap-ass mini chiclets in there and they're always stale, the ice cream itself is3 ok, but the stale gum that isn't enough to chew anyways is what sucks nuts for crack!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) ice cream is good anytime of day... yes even breakfast... ice cream on waffles or pancakes? need i say more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) ice cream and cereal... see point #3. I recommend reese puffs or rice crispies - the crunch mixed with the creaminess, mmmmmmmmm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5) theres more, but one thing sums it up - ice cream is the best stuff on earth. if i were lactose intollerant i think i might have to shoot, no stab, myself. life just wouldn't be worth living.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RdqTvcSqM0I/AAAAAAAAAFo/Bs1F5gasiTc/s1600-h/melted_ice_cream_cone.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RdqTvcSqM0I/AAAAAAAAAFo/Bs1F5gasiTc/s400/melted_ice_cream_cone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033497976797541186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;what a waste...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so when i'm old and grey i might be obese from this stuff, possibly diabetic, but at least i wont require my teeth to eat it. ice cream is my guilty pleasure, never can i say no to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-8020018388395250262?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/8020018388395250262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=8020018388395250262&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8020018388395250262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8020018388395250262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-scream-you-scream-we-all-scream-for.html' title='i scream you scream, we all scream for...'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RdqTvcSqM0I/AAAAAAAAAFo/Bs1F5gasiTc/s72-c/melted_ice_cream_cone.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-8488257108628636570</id><published>2007-01-25T21:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-26T12:49:38.149-05:00</updated><title type='text'>girls are stupid</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Its been said before, and i haven't ever totally agreed, but i definitely don't disagree totally either, but, GIRLS ARE STUPID!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;why? well that all depends on who you ask. If you ask my buddy gus, you'll get a whole whack of stuff that, as a girl, you don't want to hear because you'll get paranoid and never trust another man in your life. (&lt;em&gt;Gus i love you, you're a great friend, one of the best, BUT, you can't date any of my friends&lt;/em&gt;).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Pants! Pants make girls stupid! But oh, not just any pants, lululemon pants. I mean, what other pants would make hundreds (i'm not kidding - HUNDREDS) of supposedly smart women line up around 3 city blocks at 6:30am in -20 degree weather!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/Rbll_Ba-FII/AAAAAAAAADY/xAfAyn4AKkU/s1600-h/43_Lululemon%20pants.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024158992696218754" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center;" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/Rbll_Ba-FII/AAAAAAAAADY/xAfAyn4AKkU/s400/43_Lululemon%2520pants.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://opinionman.ca/?p=15"&gt;the pant&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;don't we all want our asses to look ridiculously amazing? I think so. For that reason i too am a stupid girl. So lululemon was having another warehouse sale in toronto, and it had been 2 years in the waiting. Madness. Luon-butt-shapening-yoga-pant-hungry bitches everywhere! Here was the plan:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. go to the sample sale on the morning of the first day, cuz ppl will be working and it'll be the best time to get the line at its shortest point, cuz it will just get long through the day... i was soooo wrong in soooooooo many ways with that idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The line went around 2 corners in the morning when i got there.... later in the afternoon it was less than 1/2 of what it was in the morning. So basically i wasted the morning (and yes, i'm saying morning/afternoon - I WAS THERE THAT LONG!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. doors opened at 10. So i'd be in line by 9:30. My buddy ryan was gunna meet me at 11:30, so 2 hours would be plenty of time to get near the door and me and him can just go in shortly after. Again, soooooooooooooooooooo wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 hours. HA! try 5! That's right. 5 hours in -20 weather. no food. no heat. nuthin. just standing on the street side with my feet so cold i thought they were going to shatter with ever step. I wanted to give up soooooooooo many times, but then the dumb voice in my head was like "well you've made it this far, just wait, just a bit longer and you'll be in...." riiiiiiiiight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. buy a couple tops. Well if i was wrong with the first two, why not make it 3!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;well now i just had to justify my day. A skirt, 2 dresses, crop pants, long pants and short shorts later i was finally out and on my way to live a real life. Soooooooooooo stupid. waste how many hours to save a buck or two? but you end up spending more than you wanted? You know what's the dumbest part? I know its dumb? but what do i do about it? nuthin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh the joys of being a girl&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-8488257108628636570?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/8488257108628636570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=8488257108628636570&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8488257108628636570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8488257108628636570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2007/01/girls-are-stupid.html' title='girls are stupid'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/Rbll_Ba-FII/AAAAAAAAADY/xAfAyn4AKkU/s72-c/43_Lululemon%2520pants.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-1198583082211450579</id><published>2007-01-19T09:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-19T09:44:23.749-05:00</updated><title type='text'>april showers bring may flowers</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Is it just me, or does anyone else out there just not feel like showering sometimes. Not because you don't want to get clean, but cuz it seems so useless at times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take last night. Got home at 11:30 after playing some volleyball. Then comes the age-old dilemma after working out: eat or shower? Well, for me, eating ALWAYS wins. So i eat. but then showering seems like such an onerous task. I rather just go to bed, especially since i know that early the next day, before i even have to see people i'm going to work out again, then have to shower again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did shower. I'm not dirty, i do shower daily - but i'm not saying that i don't find it a chore! But its funny, the times i find it the hardest to make my self get in there are the days i don't want to get out. Cuz lets face it, once your in, its nice, but getting in is the battle. I like HOT showers, with good pressure. A cold shower with low pressure? I'd rather not shower at all. Last night i just stood in the shower for 10 minutes before i even touch the soap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now my hair smells like Herbal Essence shampoo - always a plus. I think showering for me is like going to the gym. Sometimes i'm sooooooooooo lazy i just rather not do it, but once i do, i like it. I dunno, maybe i'm weird that way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-1198583082211450579?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/1198583082211450579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=1198583082211450579&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/1198583082211450579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/1198583082211450579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2007/01/april-showers-bring-may-flowers.html' title='april showers bring may flowers'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-38658984201755307</id><published>2007-01-04T11:45:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2007-01-26T00:48:49.339-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Life, bajan style</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmVhRa-FRI/AAAAAAAAAEk/C3yoROnaHFA/s1600-h/picture+091.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmVhRa-FRI/AAAAAAAAAEk/C3yoROnaHFA/s400/picture+091.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024211258153243922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;on an island in the sun..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is a brief account of my life, bajan style (not a new cooking method or diet... well maybe a bit of a new diet), for the past two weeks. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So we landed late, at about 7:30 in the morning. First few things i noticed - flat, like Toronto, but far from grey. Lots of lush green trees and plants all over the place. It was humid and noticeably warm, but not unbearable. It wasn't like leaving the airport in the dead of summer in Toronto or Miami, i didn't start sweating on the spot. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I'm by no means racist but black people, lots of black people. It's not like i've never been in a place where i was a minority (ever go to Richmond?), I knew to expect that (Chris had told me, even tho all of his many friends that i met from there are white... maybe he's the racist... seriously, just kidding), but i have never been in a place where blacks are the majority so it just seemed odd... i dunno why, but that oddness only lasted about a day. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then we drove home, on the other side of the road with the steering w&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;heel on the otherside of the car. I never got used to left turns for the whole trip... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;my stomach would always&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RZ0o6uvfjLI/AAAAAAAAAAk/_xcuEPVCmdU/s1600-h/picture+125.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RZ0o6uvfjLI/AAAAAAAAAAk/_xcuEPVCmdU/s320/picture+125.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5016210549405355186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; drop &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;when the car would move and i'd see a car coming in the lane i thought we were going to. Don't think you c&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;n say "driving on the other side of the road can't be hard, its easy" cuz its not. All i had to do was pull t&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;he right-hand drive car into the driveway and i was disorientated, i couldn't judge where the car was, didn't know which shoulder to look over, it was a mess. And even tho its a small island, you drive everywhere. Why? be&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;cause the streets are so damn small. NARROW. SUPER MODEL SKINNY! Cars come form the opposite&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; way and you just think "there's no way we can both fit", most of the time, somehow, you do, but on the occasion&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; s&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;o&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;me one had to stop and let the other person through. Honking, lots of honking. But no&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;t Toronto honking, friendly honking. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmTYha-FMI/AAAAAAAAAD8/Bdg9ECHCnz8/s1600-h/picture+305.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmTYha-FMI/AAAAAAAAAD8/Bdg9ECHCnz8/s400/picture+305.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024208908806132930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;AHHH! He's on the wrong side! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I wouldn't dare walk anywhere in fear of getting knocked off the road. We went around some curves hugging the side wall - I mean hugging! if my arm were&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; handing out the window along side the car the skin on my forearm would have been left on the wall. Chris liked to pretend that he was a rally car driver, sliding through the turns, that made me squirm sometimes but not as much as when we went through hugging the curves. And of course, all this is done FAST! I wouldn't recommend driving there unless you're fearless or stupid. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmTyxa-FNI/AAAAAAAAAEE/Yuf0TcqYXdI/s1600-h/picture+125.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmTyxa-FNI/AAAAAAAAAEE/Yuf0TcqYXdI/s400/picture+125.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024209359777699026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is your standard 2-lane road. pot holes, lots!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;There's also no such thing as a designated driver. Nor is there such thing as a breathalyser. That and the fact that you can buy beer, rum, vodka, gin, whatever at the grocery store or gas station makes easy to see that everyone drives home drunk. And its ok. Socially accepted. And they make it home ok, driving 40 km/h down the windy skinny roads. Don't try to argue it, just accept the skillz. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;They know how to party down there. Clubs, pay a flat rate to get in, equivalent to about 25$ canadian, and drink all you want all night (well until 3am, after that you gotta pay. but if you get there at 11 and drink til 3 i'd say you're good to go). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span class="a"&gt;Guinness&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;, Smirnoff Ice, mixed drinks, beer, rum punch (be careful with the rum punch), whatever you want. The music is hard (good). The atmosphere is even harder (wicked-awesome). Harbour Lights: The club is outside, basically its a big house with a big backyard that backs onto the beach. Palm trees are all lit up, benches and tables, it really has a good feel - and you can buy food! They even have an annual party on Christmas eve, go there dressed in R&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ed and White. So after Christmas eve church service everyone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; heads over there to be hungover Christmas day. Its tradition. Its standard. Friday before the wedding we're all going to Harbour Lights, be there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmWABa-FSI/AAAAAAAAAEs/zm2DpODjdJ8/s1600-h/picture+043.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmWABa-FSI/AAAAAAAAAEs/zm2DpODjdJ8/s400/picture+043.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024211786434221346" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;another day at the beach&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Boxing day no one shops, nothing is open, but they lime (more drinking). Boxing day morning an email goes out, i dunno how they know who to send the email to, telling everyone which beach/hill the lime is going to take place. You get there and there are a couple thousand people of all ages with lawn chairs and coolers, tents with live bands, big speakers, DJ music and port-a-potties. Everyone just has a good time enjoying the view, slapping some doms. Like at the cluband christmas eve, people get real drunk. Good times.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RZ0obOvfjKI/AAAAAAAAAAc/7dzo-LlAS7w/s1600-h/picture+210.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RZ0obOvfjKI/AAAAAAAAAAc/7dzo-LlAS7w/s320/picture+210.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5016210008239475874" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmUTha-FOI/AAAAAAAAAEM/Q7H5EGdIBWs/s1600-h/picture+210.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmUTha-FOI/AAAAAAAAAEM/Q7H5EGdIBWs/s400/picture+210.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024209922418414818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;boxing day festivities&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmUrxa-FPI/AAAAAAAAAEU/WJQjBLLDQQU/s1600-h/New+years+128.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmUrxa-FPI/AAAAAAAAAEU/WJQjBLLDQQU/s400/New+years+128.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024210339030242546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;new year's (or old year's as they call it down there)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In addition to drinking nuff (that means lots!) we spent a lot of time at the beach. GORGEOUS gorgeous beaches. The beaches are incredible. No stinky seaweed smell and crystal clear water. The water isn't hot or cold, just nice. When you go in your don't want to get o&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ut. The water is soft and refreshing. Depending on your mood you can go to a clam beach with basically no waves and just relax and float, a rougher beach with bigger waves that keep you on your toes so that you don't get your face planted in the sand, or beaches with even bigger waves if you wanted to go surfing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmRtha-FJI/AAAAAAAAADk/8Hsfbhc_Z7U/s1600-h/picture+056.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmRtha-FJI/AAAAAAAAADk/8Hsfbhc_Z7U/s400/picture+056.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024207070560130194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;calm beach&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmSlha-FKI/AAAAAAAAADs/CNxIaa1cAMo/s1600-h/picture+172.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmSlha-FKI/AAAAAAAAADs/CNxIaa1cAMo/s400/picture+172.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024208032632804514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;rougher waters&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmVIxa-FQI/AAAAAAAAAEc/2QvHvmHtcJ4/s1600-h/picture+077.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmVIxa-FQI/AAAAAAAAAEc/2QvHvmHtcJ4/s400/picture+077.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024210837246448898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i have a palm tree fetish&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RZ0uEuvfjRI/AAAAAAAAABU/FR0M0PJ13TI/s1600-h/picture+366.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RZ0uEuvfjRI/AAAAAAAAABU/FR0M0PJ13TI/s320/picture+366.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5016216218762186002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Tanning was great because you never got too hot. You never got too hot anytime because there was this constant breeze. The weather was very comfortable. I didn't quite reach black-ness status, so operation race change will have to wait another day. I could go on with more, but this is long and i'm tired of sitting here....  Trust me, a beautiful place and a great time, you'll have to just check it out for yourself. Barbados anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmTAxa-FLI/AAAAAAAAAD0/CAjFLzqwc2c/s1600-h/picture+366.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmTAxa-FLI/AAAAAAAAAD0/CAjFLzqwc2c/s400/picture+366.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5024208500784239794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-38658984201755307?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/38658984201755307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=38658984201755307&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/38658984201755307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/38658984201755307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2007/01/this-is-brief-account-of-my-life-bajan.html' title='Life, bajan style'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RbmVhRa-FRI/AAAAAAAAAEk/C3yoROnaHFA/s72-c/picture+091.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-456655300120192005</id><published>2006-12-16T08:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-16T11:13:49.352-05:00</updated><title type='text'>squirrel please!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;squirrels are wicked-awesome animals. Wicked-Awesome! This time of year is great for squirrels cuz they're FAT. This got me thinking (interesting how fat squirrels are what make a civil engineering graduate student think)... Every one knows that squirrels eat nuts - BUT WHERE ARE ALL THE NUTS! What i mean is, how many nut trees have you seen down town Toronto? So, squirrels have to eat more than just nuts. I know they eat all the crap people feed them, like bagels, and muffins, and oat-fudge-squares from starbucks, but did you know they eat grass? True story, i saw it. A big fat squirrel with a huge tuff of grass in its mouth. I dunno if its that they all eat grass, or just this guy, cuz he was extra fat, perhaps a heifer of the squirrel world. So maybe he just ate anything. He was still cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what else is cute? when they pat the ground as they burry their nuts (or other morcles of food with i doubt are actually nuts). I also like how they hop around to get from place to place. I want a pet squirrel, but they do make weird angry bird noises.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had my chance to get a pet squirrel the other day. I saw him (or her) in Queens park. He would hop, hop, hop - then tip over. He never moved more than about a meter and a half, hop hop hop tip over. And i don't mean that he just fell, he actually tipped over, always on the left side, like a cut tree falling. It was sooooooooo funny looking. So of course i went closer to check this dude out. A woman had given him a piece of toast and he was trying to carry it away but wasn't getting far. But even once he tipped over he didn't give up on the bread, so tipped over on his side he would keep chewing at it. He was obviously hurt, but determined. I was able to get about a foot away from him and i just wanted to pick him up and take him home. He woulda bitten me tho. So no go. When i got to close&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RYQajKiKZ8I/AAAAAAAAAAM/m3UVAIYP5cY/s1600-h/squr2.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RYQajKiKZ8I/AAAAAAAAAAM/m3UVAIYP5cY/s400/squr2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5009157876968220610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; he would make himself get up and he moved over a bit, no tipping over, just sitting and chewing away - but not for long. Just sitting there chewing HE TIPPED OVER AGAIN. I was gunna die laughing. I'm bad, laughing at the poor squirrels expense. I wish i got a video, the best i could do was this picture from my cell phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i hope he enjoyed that toast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-456655300120192005?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/456655300120192005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=456655300120192005&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/456655300120192005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/456655300120192005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/12/squirrel-please.html' title='squirrel please!'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/RYQajKiKZ8I/AAAAAAAAAAM/m3UVAIYP5cY/s72-c/squr2.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-8048302153580857417</id><published>2006-12-13T20:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-13T21:17:28.098-05:00</updated><title type='text'>socially accepted bum</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;now i remember why i wanted to be a student again. And so far grad school hasn't been too bad, some really busy times, but for the most part i've become a socially accepted bum. Today i finished my exams and course work, and can be a total bum until Jan 8th without feeling any guilt or remorse. 3 and a half solid weeks of whatever i wanna do, when and however long i wanna sleep for, all me time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some may argue that the working world is still better, because there are no assignments or homework, when your home you have you time and of course, best of all, the money. They say once you start working you just can't go back to school. Well i'm happy to say that i haven't been in the real working world for longer than 3 months... 3 months that i wished i was back in school for... so i guess i didn't adapt to it enough to not want to leave it. I definitely don't miss it, which is ok by me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what do i do now? Well first of all i know my apartment is gunna finally get a good cleaning. I'll get the christmas shopping out of the way. Do some yoga (i pretend i can do it... i really want to get into it but i'm as stiff as a steel pole... practice practice practice!). For now, i think i'll just sit and watch a movie, no rush for anything right now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-8048302153580857417?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/8048302153580857417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=8048302153580857417&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8048302153580857417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8048302153580857417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/12/socially-accepted-bum.html' title='socially accepted bum'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-4096159828676071616</id><published>2006-12-06T23:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-06T23:54:56.756-05:00</updated><title type='text'>let the good times roll</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So i got the privilege of proctoring an exam today... wow, i shoulda just been shot, i don't think i've ever experienced a longer 2.5 hours in my life. It was like the feeling i get when i'm running. I hate running. I know its good for me, but every minute running around the track feels like 5, times slows to a crawl i'm dying. My bet is people who enjoy running would also enjoy monitoring exams, its that same great feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the middle of it, my prof said to me "well its not too bad, at least your not them!" pointing to the ppl writing... but no, i really would rather have been them. When you're writing the exam the 2 and a half hours just flies by! It's great! Plus, cuz i TA'd the course the exam woulda been fairly easy - i woulda rocked it! and that's always a good feeling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's what i learned tho. Don't bother asking questions in the exam. No one is allowed to answer you, and the prof doesn't even answer your questions. At the start of the exam i might as well said "If you have any questions through the exam here is your answer: Re-read the question, then read it again, then based on your understanding make the best assumption you can and state it." I think i answered 20 different questions from 20 different ppl with that same one answer. Useless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what did i do to ease the time? Looked for interesting habits that people have when they write. This one girls spent the whole exam smiling, grinning as she answered... i doubt it was cuz she was happy, because honestly, for most of the test she was behind in her answers, i don't know if she finished in time. Bet she doesn't even know that she looks all silly, grinning there like an idiot. But when i think about it, whats so wrong with being a grinning idiot... i mean they're happy at least aren't they?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I woulda loved to do something that made me grin like an idiot for 2.5 hours.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-4096159828676071616?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/4096159828676071616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=4096159828676071616&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/4096159828676071616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/4096159828676071616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/12/let-good-times-roll.html' title='let the good times roll'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-2999986506838434406</id><published>2006-12-04T00:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-04T00:36:22.359-05:00</updated><title type='text'>yummy in my tummy</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;If you were to ask me "hey nastassja, what have you been up to lately?" I'd have to say eating... and not just eating... eating WELL!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to attempt a hail-marry on a diet for these 17 days before i'm in barbados, having said that... i'm no good with diets... i give this idea until tuesday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my point in a nutshell (otherwise i'll never make it), go try these places:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Yamato Japanese Restaurant (rated #31 for all toronto restaurants, according to yahoo)&lt;br /&gt;2. Plaza Flamingo (rated #71 for all toronto restaurants, according to yahoo)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just you wait... my list will go on... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm food.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-2999986506838434406?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/2999986506838434406/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=2999986506838434406&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/2999986506838434406'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/2999986506838434406'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/12/yummy-in-my-tummy.html' title='yummy in my tummy'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-7695975863544710610</id><published>2006-11-28T21:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-28T21:40:56.678-05:00</updated><title type='text'>grrrrrrr!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i just wrote a nice blog, but my computer died and it all went away... now i just can't reproduce it. this has happened to me many times before, but not with blogs, with reports, and i have to try to reproduce... but its never as good as the first time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;life's rough sometimes... meh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-7695975863544710610?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/7695975863544710610/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=7695975863544710610&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/7695975863544710610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/7695975863544710610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/11/grrrrrrr.html' title='grrrrrrr!'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-3787828615554131282</id><published>2006-11-23T19:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-23T19:33:04.247-05:00</updated><title type='text'>lazy ass</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ok, i enjoy tutoring, i really do. I like knowing that i can help the kids learn and figure out stuff that they didn't understand before. There's nothing better than when you see the look on their face when the concept just clicks. Its great... that and the money's good too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT, this one boy has got me vexed, REAL vexed. I've been doing my best to help him understand but he doesn't put in any effort to understand it. He's a smart boy i know that, but soooooooooo unbelievably lazy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;check this email out that i got from him, no lie, these are his words... (&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;well the purple parts in the brackets are my thoughts as i was reading through&lt;/span&gt;)... and i changed his name to BOB, don't wanna disclose any personal information...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Hi, This is BOB. I not seeming to get the questions. (&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;ok i'll see what i can do to help you out...&lt;/span&gt;) It's only the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;first three questions that are due for tomorrow (&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;no problem i'll give it a look-see&lt;/span&gt;). Please look at it if &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;you have a chance (&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;). Ok. Possibly maybe even do them (hu?), then send it (&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;ok...?&lt;/span&gt;). You &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;don't have to give explanations (&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;whoa, whoa, whoa, what's going on here!?!&lt;/span&gt;), I'll just look at it and try to &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;figure it out (&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;b&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;y figure it you do you mean you want me to do your problemset so you can copy it?&lt;/span&gt;). I know it's kind of late so I'm just wondering if you &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;could help me with it &lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt;(&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 153, 255);"&gt;your fuckin' retarded boy, i could get you in big trouble with school for this&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Wow! is this kid for real? I told him to get ready to fail the course. Does that make me a bad tutor?&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-3787828615554131282?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/3787828615554131282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=3787828615554131282&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/3787828615554131282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/3787828615554131282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/11/lazy-ass.html' title='lazy ass'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-3777704107307956833</id><published>2006-11-14T21:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-15T01:38:30.131-05:00</updated><title type='text'>will there be a webster face-dictionary?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Ok, i know i said it, and i meant it, and for the longest time i actually held up with what i said... but i broke. As many of you have figured out, as reluctant as i was, i finally submitted myself to facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How did this just happen you ask? boredom, paired up with curiosity... or maybe it was the millions of emails i kept getting of ppl asking me to be their friends... maybe it made me feel popular, all these ppl wanting to be my friend... even tho they were all ppl who already are my friends... but lets not mention that. i was just sitting around, bored one day, and i actually clicked on the link in one of those emails... add the 12 friends who have been waiting about a year... then i started browsing... and found more ppl and more ppl and more ppl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to admit, the facebook concept is alright... i mean, i can keep in contact with friends, find out what they're up to, who they're going out with, who's wall they've written on, what their status is, when they changed their status, who all their friends are and the same information about all them! AND, if for some reason i forget to go to the facebook website to check, they'll send me a message telling me that so-and-so has done blank... (don't worry, i've realized i can turn that feature off, i don't need 20 ppl emailing me telling me that!) Ok, lets just say some features are more usefull than others.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I'll have to say that i'm a selfish facebooker... maybe its because i'm new. I don't really go and read other ppl's &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt; information or write on their walls etc etc etc... but i like when they comment on mine! i feel special! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;definitely &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;a selfish&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;facebooker (dont let this deter you from writing on my wall!!!)... or maybe i just need to find another bored/curious moment when i'll browse for hours... then i'll be hooked, so maybe its better that i don't... i could end up like tom, going for 2000 photos of himself on facebook without owning a camera. Ambitious boy, good for him!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing i'm not a fan of is when ppl i went to high school with, but didn't actually know because they're about 10 years younger than me ask for friend requests - and i reject them - then the next day they ask again. Eager young'ns... just wanna be cool with the older crowd i guess. Or maybe its just me and my super-coolness. Move over Vanilla, i'm the next ice-ice baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-3777704107307956833?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/3777704107307956833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=3777704107307956833&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/3777704107307956833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/3777704107307956833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/11/will-there-be-webster-face-dictionary.html' title='will there be a webster face-dictionary?'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-2670193704124078617</id><published>2006-11-08T22:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-08T22:56:23.672-05:00</updated><title type='text'>splish-splash i was taking a bath</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20180.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/320/picture%20180.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So, anyo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ne who's been over to my place may have noticed a few things. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;1) Its definitely roomy for one&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;2) Its definitely got a nice view&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;3) Building Science is running ramped!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do i mean? Well, basically because of a little flood that Adam and Jess had last year the glue attaching the wood tiles to the ground re-em&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ulsified, and basically died. Not too much of a big deal when i moved in, but now that its winter the amount of moisture in the air has gone down and th&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;e wood is shrinking, a bit, but just enough to cause the tiles to stick to my feet and pop out whenever i walked over them bare foot. Sooooooooooooooo annoying. It got to the point were i was about to go nuts with a bottle of glue and try to stick them all down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20262.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/200/picture%20262.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;The other thing was my bathroom... a bit on the ghetto side. I guess somehow the sealant holding the tiles on the wall failed and moisture was getting behind the wall cuz it was starting to bulge out (i mean my shower wall literally had curvature to it!), so much in some places that the tiles had just popped off!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So what did i do? Wrote a letter to the super of course. I was totally expecting nothing to happen with either of my comments - but within 3 days ppl were in my bath room ripping stuff apart and a new coating of something had been put over the wood floor. Yesterday i came home all gross from volleyball and there was a huge hole in my shower! The faucet was gone! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20258.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/200/picture%20258.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I couldn't of turned the water on if i wanted to... i know what your thinking, i worry not, i got clean! bum style, wash cloth and the bathroom sink, classy i know. But tod&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20263.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/200/picture%20263.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;ay i came home to a whole new shower (that i can't use until 4pm tomorrow, but worry not, i showered at the gym today so i'm good to go)! New tiles and faucet and everything. Is nice. I like.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;So what got this all done so quickly? One little word, and it wasn't please... MOULD! I've unlocked the secret, i can get anything i want now... Maybe a swimming pool on the balcony?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-2670193704124078617?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/2670193704124078617/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=2670193704124078617&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/2670193704124078617'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/2670193704124078617'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/11/splish-splash-i-was-taking-bath.html' title='splish-splash i was taking a bath'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-8057588577350304520</id><published>2006-11-04T20:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-04T21:23:48.252-05:00</updated><title type='text'>make me wanna scream</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Weddings are funny. I keep hearing that its my day, and i  get to do what ever i want because its my day - then why do other people try to turn it into their day? Take my mother for example, &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; sure that a part of her thinks that its her day too. &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Squirrel&lt;/span&gt; PLEASE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We decided that we were going to do it all in Barbados... it makes for a couple of reasons:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Chris has way more family/&lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ppl&lt;/span&gt; coming than i do, hence the overall cost for &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;ppl&lt;/span&gt; to come would be less if it were there.&lt;br /&gt;2) Plane tickets to Vancouver and Barbados (from Toronto)  at that time of year differ by $50, and lets face it, you can go to Vancouver anytime, how many chances to &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;ppl&lt;/span&gt; get to go to &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Barbados&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;3) It'll be a cultural experience for everyone. Sure for Chris its home, but for everyone else (less his friends there and family) its something exotic. Everyone loves exotic.&lt;br /&gt;4) The party there would be WAY more fun. Lets face it, White Rock (where my mom wants the wedding) is not a party town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh right, back to my mom...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it was decided to have the wedding in Barbados, and one day out of no where (almost in tears) my mom calls and tells me that she really wants me to get married in Vancouver because she wants to be able to plan everything and she feels that if its in Barbados she wont be able to. She's scared she's &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;gunna&lt;/span&gt; be left out of the wedding planning loop. Thus for this reason she's jealous of Chris' mom who will get to help with a lot of planing &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; she's got another daughter to do it all for later any &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;i'm&lt;/span&gt; my mom's only one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dunno, but most people would like to avoid planning a wedding as much as possible (a little thing called stress!!!). She also wants to show me off to all her friends - she wants to invite her friends to the wedding just &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; she was invited to their kid's wedding, um no. We're not &lt;span onclick="BLOG_clickHandler(this)" class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;gunna&lt;/span&gt; do that. People i care about and want to talk to only please, i have no time for the others. I am not her project to show off that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But i understand where she's coming from with all the planning worries, but she can't guilt me into doing what she wants, its my day! ME!  I'm not worried tho. I know what i want and don't need to spend hours flipping through magazines trying to decide. No fuss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than being all about me, its all about no fuss... but my mom can sometimes be the queen of fuss, so we'll see how this goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-8057588577350304520?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/8057588577350304520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=8057588577350304520&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8057588577350304520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8057588577350304520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/11/make-me-wanna-scream.html' title='make me wanna scream'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-7942637690655310140</id><published>2006-10-31T21:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T00:15:07.753-05:00</updated><title type='text'>... if you can't hear us we'll sing a little louder...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;WOW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday nights are the best. I look forward to Monday nights all week. Co-ed volleyball. Now our team has a bit of a reputation for being a little bit cocky. Its not that the members of our team actually think that way (or at least i don't), we just really enjoy acting that way. If some one asks me if i'm the best player out there, not way can i say yes, but within my team i will... of course i'm the best, worship me.  I'm mean, its fun playing it up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we joke. We joke a lot. From playing totally drunk out of our minds to laughing at the other teams when one of our players packs them hard to other things like our new team shirts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically this past Monday me and Ron (who i believe to be the heart of our bombastic &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;attitude, and i love him for it!) gave out t-shirts that we made for our team. Each t-shirt had the face of the person wearing it in a star with the phrase "i'm no. 1" written below it and a big #1 on the back. Priceless. The apex of our swaggering attitude was now shown to the world. I kinda felt bad putting it on to tell [you, whoever you are] the truth. I mean, its fun saying i'm no. 1, but to write it down and put it on a t-shirt with my own face on it takes some guts... guts i wasn't sure that i had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but we all wore them for the game anyways... a game that we nearly lost, and probably would have deserved to because we were being lazy... which i think is what made the other team even more mad. First our boastful shirts, then our shitty game, then still winning... meh, Maybe we just are no. 1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-7942637690655310140?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/7942637690655310140/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=7942637690655310140&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/7942637690655310140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/7942637690655310140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/10/if-you-cant-hear-us-well-sing-little.html' title='... if you can&apos;t hear us we&apos;ll sing a little louder...'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-6471081113000046873</id><published>2006-10-26T20:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-26T20:26:29.517-05:00</updated><title type='text'>la la la la la la life is wonderful</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Emotions are crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; What gets me the most is just how much control they can have over you. You can tell yourself a million times that your either being unreasonable, or over reacting, or irrational, or insecure, or paranoid, or whatever - and even though you know that to be the truth in your mind, your emotions aren't convinced so easily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Its hard enough to convince yourself everything is going to be ok... how do you convince someone else. Sometimes i feel useless because i never know what to say, or am lost for words... the best i can do is listen and say that everything is going to be ok, cliche i know... its so easy to say but sometimes so hard to believe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dispite how put together i seem sometimes i crumble into the biggest emotional wreck of them all. My body turns into an empty bottomless pit. My mind wonders and it gets WAY ahead of me, til i have to run to try and catch it but i'll still never reach it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Emotions are crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being the reasons behind some of the worst times in our lives, emotions also bring us to what we consider to be the best times of our lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They go hand in hand... but i guess it takes the lows, to appriciate the highs... i've had lows, but definateloy many more highs!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-6471081113000046873?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/6471081113000046873/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=6471081113000046873&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/6471081113000046873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/6471081113000046873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/10/la-la-la-la-la-la-life-is-wonderful.html' title='la la la la la la life is wonderful'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-995912293829040586</id><published>2006-10-23T22:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-23T22:47:38.682-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Do you see what i see?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20052.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/320/picture%20052.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I don't know if this sounds weird, but when i look at myself in the mirror i see one person i know as me, and when i look at myself in pictures i see a different person that i also know as me. But it's my opinion that the person i see in the mirror is better looking than the person i see in the pictures... so then i wonder about how other people see me? Do they see me like the person in the mirror or the picture, or another "look" all together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worst part of this all is that i actually think about these storts of things. I try and tell myself not to be superficial, but lets face it, i'm a girl. I want the long skinny legs, and the tight ass, rock hard abs, round boobs and pretty hair. And all the while, i sit and eat chocolate. I dunno if i'll ever be completely content... maybe when there's such a thing as calorie free ice cream... mmmmmmmmmmm ice cream. But maybe content isn't good either, cuz if your content you don't strive for change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now I'll keep hitting up the gym. Maybe next week will be better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-995912293829040586?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/995912293829040586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=995912293829040586&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/995912293829040586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/995912293829040586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-dont-know-if-this-sounds-weird-but.html' title='Do you see what i see?'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-4186667271678124292</id><published>2006-10-16T16:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-16T17:11:44.185-05:00</updated><title type='text'>ringy-dingy</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I found this man's (Barry) cell phone on the ground yesterday. The thing was crap and the battery dying, but luckily there was enough juice left for me to call the last number he dialed and figure out a way to find him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He turns out to be this guy who was running in theToronto marathon with a really low low voice. He kept calling me sweet heart and love and angel and stuff. It was weird when I was first talking to him on the phone cuz at first I thought he was just going to be some student, not a 45 year old correctional officer from Brampton.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we met up later that day for the exchange (he had to drive all the way back into down town from Brampton) he brought me chocolates and melba-toast crackers (he didnt know if I liked salty or sweet, but melba-toast? now I gotta go buy cream cheese and stuff to eat them... but the chocolate truffles are good... mmmmmmmmmmm chocolate - I HAVE WAY TO MUCH CHOCOLATE AT HOME). He told me if ever I find myself in jail I should give him a call... maybe I should save his number...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cell phones are so much trouble, but we can't live without them. I can't go anywhere without it... its not that I'm always on the phone, but its a secrurity blanket or something, at the very least I'm able to tell the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mine broke the other day, now mom had to mail me an extra one, cuz who in their right mind can afford to just go buy a new one with out getting a new contract? I wasn't about to pay the $200 cancelation fee to get a new plan with a free phone, but the sad part is that, if mom didn't have an extra one, I might of had to. All I can say is, at least Barry doesn't have to worry about all that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's right Barry, I saved the day!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-4186667271678124292?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/4186667271678124292/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=4186667271678124292&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/4186667271678124292'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/4186667271678124292'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/10/ringy-dingy.html' title='ringy-dingy'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-5024792347317499714</id><published>2006-10-12T21:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-12T21:36:31.546-05:00</updated><title type='text'>jason knows...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;   And I&lt;br /&gt;I'm dreaming of sleeping next to you and feeling like a lost little boy in a brand new town&lt;br /&gt;I'm counting my sheep and each one that passes is another dream to ashes&lt;br /&gt;And they all fall down&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as I lay me down tonight&lt;br /&gt;I close my eyes&lt;br /&gt;What, what a beautiful sight&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping to dream about you&lt;br /&gt;And I'm so tired&lt;br /&gt;Of having to live without you&lt;br /&gt;But I don't mind&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found myself in the riches&lt;br /&gt;Your eyes, your lips, your hair and you were everywhere&lt;br /&gt;I woke up in the ditches, I hit the light and I thought you might be here&lt;br /&gt;But you were nowhere (you were nowhere)&lt;br /&gt;Well You were nowhere&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as I lay me back to sleep&lt;br /&gt;Lord I pray that I can keep&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Sleeping to dream about you&lt;br /&gt;And I'm so tired&lt;br /&gt;Of having to live without you&lt;br /&gt;But I don't mind&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping to dream about you and I'm so tired  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's just a little a lullaby to keep myself from crying myself to sleep at night&lt;br /&gt;Oh just a lullabye to keep from crying myself to sleep&lt;br /&gt;Oh just a, just oh, just a little lullabye,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleeping to dream about you&lt;br /&gt;And I'm so tired&lt;br /&gt;Of having to live without you&lt;br /&gt;But I don't mind&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-5024792347317499714?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/5024792347317499714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=5024792347317499714&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/5024792347317499714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/5024792347317499714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/10/jason-knows.html' title='jason knows...'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-4188138865978730179</id><published>2006-10-11T18:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-24T19:30:10.582-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Chronicles of a Turkey Dinner</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;As Jen put it. Turkey's die here. Like many other years, here, was my apartment, and I guess the turkey didn't actually die there. It was just stuffed baked and enjoyed by 10 of my friends and I (Yay! Gus came!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now this is the 9th turkey dinner I've cooked by myself (well mostly, enough so that I can say "by myself " without shame) and when I tell people that some find it hard to believe. Their surprise is generally associated with the idea of me being domesticated and not utterly feeble in the kitchen - let me cook you dinner sometime, I'll remove any doubts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now to prove that I did in fact cook the turkey we had on Monday on my own, I was asked to document the actual process and post it for the world to see. Here goes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20013.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/200/picture%20013.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is the prep work for the stuffing. Diced onions, shredded carrots and cut up celery get cooked together in a pot. I dunno for how long really. Just til it smells right. Did I mention I cried.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I have to make maaaaaaaad amounts of garlic bread. When its nice and crispy I cut the bread into bite-size cubes and let them dry out in the air a bit. This whole process takes a surprisingly long time because the bread is REALLY REALLY hot for quite a long while after its done toasting. I learned the hard way that its better to be patient and just wait for it to cool. Waiting is bad cuz I end up eating a lot of the pieces that I've cut up... meh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20015.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/200/picture%20015.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20020.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/200/picture%20020.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then the veggie mixture and the bread bits get mixed together. Like the bread, it is very important to let the veggie mixture cool. I don't think I learned that one until the 7th turkey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes I'm mixing this is a juice jug.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm a poor student and my kitchen has the bare essentials. Deal with it, I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20024.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/200/picture%20024.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I stuff it. Top and bottom, like a confused under-developed hermaphrodite in high-school... bad image. Basically the bird gets fisted again and again. The stuffing tastes the best when it comes out of the bird so I have to make sure I get as much in there as possible. I generally over stuff it - oops!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20032.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/200/picture%20032.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Then the bird bakes. How long? I dunno, I just keep it in there until everyone arrives and it doesn't look jiggly anymore. That generally works, no one has died yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm turkey.&lt;br /&gt;Forget the turkey, Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm STUFFING!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-4188138865978730179?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/4188138865978730179/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=4188138865978730179&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/4188138865978730179'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/4188138865978730179'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/10/chronicles-of-turkey-dinner.html' title='Chronicles of a Turkey Dinner'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-9058600396408323129</id><published>2006-10-05T22:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-05T23:24:04.983-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't have plans for my life... why should I?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I think its safe to say that every long term plan I have ever made for myself has either come undone or altered by the time I would have expected to be experiencing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I said that I wanted to be a doctor, that was short lived. I said I'd never leave Vancouver, I've reconsidered. I said I'd go home and start working when school was done, I find myself back in school. I said that I want to be a professional engineer, but more and more every day I realize I dunno if that's really what I want to do forever. I said I'd never become a teacher, but its been in my mind for a long time now. I said I'd find and marry someone in Vancouver, that's now as far from what's happening as possible. But I'm so happy and I wouldn't change any of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that my plans were bad, but why do I need to plan every step of my life in such detail. It always takes something to realize what something else is. Right now I think the only thing that's safe to say is that I know what makes me happy, and I know who makes me happy, and I know that knowing those I'll continue to be happy for a very long time. Knowing that is more than 1/2 the battle, but we really only know about 1/2 of the time. So I'm still about 3/4 off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I mention that I KNOW I want a pet goat?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/1600/picture%20115.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/4165/118716987955106/320/picture%20115.0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-9058600396408323129?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/9058600396408323129/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=9058600396408323129&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/9058600396408323129'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/9058600396408323129'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-dont-have-plans-for-my-life-why.html' title='I don&apos;t have plans for my life... why should I?'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-972529565328232517.post-8089872550094006404</id><published>2006-10-04T19:05:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-04T19:08:26.081-05:00</updated><title type='text'>And it starts...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;So this is my first attempt at this blogging thing that has gotten so much hype. What is a blog exactly? Is it an online journal? A way for me to give information to people I know (and don't know)? A place to shoot the shit? What ever it is, I have one. We'll see how long it goes until I forget that I even set it up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/972529565328232517-8089872550094006404?l=la-stasha.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/feeds/8089872550094006404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=972529565328232517&amp;postID=8089872550094006404&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8089872550094006404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/972529565328232517/posts/default/8089872550094006404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://la-stasha.blogspot.com/2006/10/and-it-starts.html' title='And it starts...'/><author><name>La Stasja Creative Works</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_5u0H7VQ59dc/S76Vd-QdNPI/AAAAAAAAAM4/NPWheSymJRo/S220/DSC_0685.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
