<?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-5968787817599024073</id><updated>2012-01-12T10:34:51.248-06:00</updated><category term='sprue'/><category term='celiac'/><category term='gluten'/><title type='text'>Ramblings from the Island of Misfit Toys</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Miss Anthropy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>10</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-4653770725501406796</id><published>2010-04-15T03:19:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-15T04:21:07.864-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll soon be moving to a suburb of heaven.</title><content type='html'>How can this be possible you might ask? Well, it's kind of a long story. Over 25 years in the making long. To sum up my two best friends are finally getting together. Some who know them might think it should have happened over 25 years ago. It very well could have but for any number of reasons it didn't. You may think this was a terrible waste; a tragedy; sad beyond words, and you'd probably be right...but (is there always one of those?) being the selfish bastard that I am, and I feel awful &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;admitting&lt;/span&gt; to this, a small part of me is not unhappy it worked out this way. You see I love these two people dearly. In fact, if cornered, I might admit I was head over heels in love with one of them, but only if cornered, of course, and would gladly give my life for either of them.  All this would have happened a few years before we met and if it would have happened in all &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;likelihood&lt;/span&gt;, we never would have met. Over the years we have developed a long and very close relationship and shared many very intimate things (not in the sexual sense)...(dammit..er..well, just dammit). For the most part this relationship was pretty much independently done. The three of us barely spent any time all three together; mostly just in passing at most. We've laughed together, cried together, spent countless hours together sometimes just doing nothing but being content because we were with each other. Remember this was just two of us at a time for the most part. There was one long gap in time (over 10 years of no contact between two of us and the third person) but it was thankfully closed about a year ago which was the beginning of this new chapter in our lives. We were just three old friends trying to get to know each other all over again. The closeness has returned but now the three of us interact on almost a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;daily&lt;/span&gt; basis but not in person. Two of us live nearly 2300 miles apart via &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;MapQuest&lt;/span&gt; and the third is damn near exactly halfway between us. That's the one it's been well over a decade since I've seen in person. In a few months they'll both be nearly 2300 miles apart since they'll be living together. The love that was always there has finally been able to &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;blossom&lt;/span&gt; and it's a most beautiful and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;wondrous&lt;/span&gt; thing to behold. I can a bit sappy if I want because the thought of them being able to finally bring their dreams together honestly makes me tear up I'm so happy for them. The two of them so deserve to be happy and they'll finally get their chance. They'll be in a heaven of their own making.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, what does this have to do with me moving to a suburb of heaven? For some reason, they have a special place in their hearts for me. Maybe even more special than you'd expect for just friends. Goodness knows I don't merit such a place but I'll be damned if I'll tell them that. Naturally with their making a heaven they'll move me to a close suburb just because for some reason they want me to be that much a part of their lives. I'm more honored than I can ever put into words that they'd feel that way. For all the love they have for each other they still have a lot left for me...I will love them until I take my last breath, beyond that if possible, and will always feel warm and loved in my cozy little cottage in the suburb of their heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I'm still up at 5 am,  this isn't called 'ramblings' for nothing)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-4653770725501406796?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/4653770725501406796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=4653770725501406796&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/4653770725501406796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/4653770725501406796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2010/04/ill-soon-be-moving-to-suburb-of-heaven.html' title='I&apos;ll soon be moving to a suburb of heaven.'/><author><name>shane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05190997726820876482</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-7927111005131057979</id><published>2009-11-07T13:46:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T13:51:07.757-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Perspective</title><content type='html'>The other day I was talking with a coworker who works in the maintanence department. She mentioned how she dreaded a particular up coming day. We have some celebrity (who gives a fuck) coming to the store to sign his autobiography on that day. I said oh,yeah I guess we'll be crowded and it'll be hard for you to clean up around them. She said no that's not it. "Every 'gray hair' within a 100 miles with bowel problems will be here. Too funny!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-7927111005131057979?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/7927111005131057979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=7927111005131057979&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/7927111005131057979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/7927111005131057979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2009/11/perspective.html' title='Perspective'/><author><name>Miss Anthropy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-8950088648708396736</id><published>2009-07-23T17:28:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T17:29:10.874-05:00</updated><title type='text'>So......</title><content type='html'>So.............humans FUCKIN' SUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-8950088648708396736?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/8950088648708396736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=8950088648708396736&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/8950088648708396736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/8950088648708396736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2009/07/so.html' title='So......'/><author><name>Miss Anthropy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-2380339031226643588</id><published>2009-04-10T06:09:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T06:50:28.753-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Tasteless Tomato</title><content type='html'>I was eating a BLT (without the T) and thought that a nice slice of tomato would taste good. It's been a long time since I've bought one. Then I remembered that they're just a waste of money. Tomatoes taste nothing like they used to 25-30 years ago. They used to be firm and bursting with flavor. Now they're mushy and tasteless. It's sad that humans distroy most of what they touch, attempting to improve it or simply make more money. It's bad enough when every man-made product has to be changed or improved like laundry detergent but they have to play God and mess around with nature. Nature would take care of itself if there weren't any humans around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a recent fuck-up...Africanized honey bees. "Duh, let's cross breed some bees and make the honey bee super aggresive so it'll make more honey and we'll make more money." Hello! Are these people scientists? Are they stupid? Did they really think they could contain a tiny aggressive flying creature? Oops, some got out. Now they've upsetting the insect world which affects the birds...and so on. I trailed far from my BLT (it is called "Ramblings...").&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok the tomatoes.... and cucumbers. Come to think of it, I don't remember the last time I had a decent watermelon. Remember when fruits and veggies were available 'in' season only. Now we have to either import them or grow them faster (hurry, hurry let's make some more money). I don't need strawberries in December. I'd rather have them RIPE and in their prime growing season...locally, well at least within the region (Midwest, Northeast, etc.) Having them in winter means they're picked before they're ripe so that they won't spoil on their way from South America to my refridgerator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'm done bitching for now. Guess I'll get back to my tomato-less BLT.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-2380339031226643588?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/2380339031226643588/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=2380339031226643588&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/2380339031226643588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/2380339031226643588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2009/04/tasteless-tomato.html' title='Tasteless Tomato'/><author><name>Miss Anthropy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-8300954921361809093</id><published>2009-04-04T17:56:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T18:25:07.655-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Death of a friend's loved one.</title><content type='html'>Everyone has loved ones die. It's a fact of life. The loved can be a family member, a spouse, lover, friend, pet or even, for some people, an inanimate object. We each have our own way of handling/dealing with this. Some like being surrounded by friends, others want only a select few with them and still others would rather be alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the friend (I'm talking true, love them dearly close friend here, not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;acquaintance&lt;/span&gt;) of someone who's lost a loved one, it's often hard to know what to do or say. I spout off some dumb platitudes, something I tell myself I won't do, and feel empty and useless afterwards. If I say too much am I going to make it worse for my friend? If I say too little will they feel I'm heartless and uncaring? It's worse when you're hundreds of miles away and can't be with them in person. I listen as they tell me what happened, how important the loved one was in their life, how long they've known them, etc and tears well up in my eyes and roll down my face as I hear the tears in their voice. I want to reach out and hug them, hold them close, but I can't which makes me feel all the worse and even more useless. I should know what to say, I mean what kind of friend am I anyway if I can't handle this? Fortunately for me since this is of the true friend variety, they know my feelings are in the right place even if I suck at expressing them. This is one of the many things that makes a true friend so priceless and so rare. I love you and your loss is my loss.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-8300954921361809093?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/8300954921361809093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=8300954921361809093&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/8300954921361809093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/8300954921361809093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2009/04/death-of-friends-loved-one.html' title='Death of a friend&apos;s loved one.'/><author><name>shane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05190997726820876482</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-999575311353280910</id><published>2009-03-30T17:20:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T18:53:52.490-05:00</updated><title type='text'>English is a funny language</title><content type='html'>yet no one laughs. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;, maybe some people do. One thing that irks me about it is if a word is mispronounced or misused long enough, it will change to make the wrong way correct. I think this promotes sloppiness. An example that comes to mind is 'forte'. The most common usage of the word means 'strength'. If your good at something, it's your forte. Forte used this way is pronounced 'fort' not '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;fortay&lt;/span&gt;' which is an Italian musical term. Forte as most people use it, is French. Very few people pronounce it correctly. The last person I heard do so was Howie Long, an analyst foe Fox Sports. A lot of dictionaries will show the '&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;fortay&lt;/span&gt;' version since it's so commonly mispronounced they gave in so everyone doesn't look stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a goofy one. If you can you can keep something secret, do it without people knowing, you're discrete. If you try to sneak around and get caught, you're &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;indiscrete&lt;/span&gt;. If you have a brain tumor that surgeons can safely remove, it's operable. If they can't safely remove it, it's inoperable. By the same token, if something catches fire easily, it's flammable. On the other hand, if it's inflammable, it can be easily set on fire...er..hey, wait a minute, are you nuts? 'In' is used to designate the opposite so whose idea was it to make flammable and inflammable mean the same thing? Is it any wonder people that move here from other countries have so much trouble learning English?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then we have things like idioms, figures of speech, and the like. I'm a big fan of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;NCIS&lt;/span&gt; and there's a character from Israel, a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Mossad&lt;/span&gt; agent, named &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Ziva&lt;/span&gt; who's always trying to fit in by using them, but always messes them up a bit which points out how silly most of them are in the first place. Things we say like 'there's more than one way to skin a cat'. Our poor foreign friend is still having trouble with flammable and inflammable and now they have to study the different methods of feline skinning and why the hell that's applicable to finding different routes to drive to work. It's raining cats and dogs, great, how am I going to explain those dents in my car to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Geico&lt;/span&gt;? Let me give you a piece of my mind. Please, from listening to you the last few minutes, you've all ready given out way too much as it is. A lot of them don't make any sense and it's just by memorization that you understand what they mean. In most cases you really can't derive the meaning of them. Our speech is very colorful but it just makes it that much harder to learn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's a little unrelated thing that isn't worth a separate entry (yeah, like this whole thing was, I know). Is there a convention for how long someone who's died is referred to as the late? Some presidents seem to keep 'the late' attached to their name for years. JFK maybe decades. I mean how long can someone be considered late before accepting the fact that they're just not ever going to show up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-999575311353280910?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/999575311353280910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=999575311353280910&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/999575311353280910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/999575311353280910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2009/03/english-is-funny-language.html' title='English is a funny language'/><author><name>shane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05190997726820876482</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-6612866672523063628</id><published>2009-03-26T05:08:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-26T05:39:47.262-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='celiac'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sprue'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gluten'/><title type='text'>Celiac rant #1</title><content type='html'>There is a rare disease called celiac sprue which kicked in for me in my early 30's. What is it? It's an intolerence to gluten. Gluten? A gluey substance found in grains such as wheat, oats, barley, and rye. There's no pill or cure. It's a matter of not eating these foods or anything made from these foods or anything with cross-contamination from these foods. Unlike a diabetic who can eat sugar but must monitor the amount, a celiac can NEVER eat gluten. If you want to know more about this disease look it up. The point is that my diet is different than others (not to mention complicated).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before the spur reared its ugly head I could eat anything like most others can. I also knew most of the basics of the foods I ate. Bread was made from flour and flour from wheat. Sugar is a cane, potatoes are a tuber, and cheese comes from milk-milk from cows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since I've had this disease I have discovered just how ignorant people are about the foods they eat. Typically when someone learns that I have to eat certain foods, they ask too many questions...this usually occurs when I'm trying to eat. "Shut up! I'm hungery!!!!" If this isn't bad enough they say the most stupid things. Like "oh, so you can't eat sugar?" Since when did sugar become a grain you idiot. Another one I've heard is "so you can eat white bread" WHAT??? Is your mother also your sister??? And yet another "so you can eat cake". I asked this person what they thought cake was made of and they replied that they didn't know. One other was a comment that I couldn't eat potatoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are basics. I of course now know all kinds of ingredients. This is mandatory for me. I wouldn't expect everyone to know that some fruit drinks have wheat in them but I would expect that they know that oranges are a fruit and grow on trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Listen up people first...know what the hell you're eating....second...if someone has a rare disease and they are not a loved one, leave them alone. We are not freaks in a carnival!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-6612866672523063628?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/6612866672523063628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=6612866672523063628&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/6612866672523063628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/6612866672523063628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2009/03/celiac-rant-1.html' title='Celiac rant #1'/><author><name>Miss Anthropy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-6973707358482153002</id><published>2009-03-21T04:02:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-21T06:10:02.159-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where's the awe...or shock for that matter?</title><content type='html'>I do realize that most of us develop some level of cynicism as we age. Mine seems to be at a greater level than most others. Nothing that humans do seems to inspire awe in me. I'll use a classic example...a 120lb mommy lifts a burning car off her child and saves it's life. This does not inspire awe, however it does reassure me that there is still a small percentage of humans that are not souly motivated by self gain. She's not the incredible Hulk or a fucking angel. Her primal instincts kicked in along with her adrenaline. Kudos to mommy for her unselfish love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the other side of the coin...nothing humans do inspires shock or surprise in me. Of course if my BFF became a serial killer this would surprise me because it is not their nature. Since I have already used a mommy example, I'll use another. Mommy blames PPD for microwaving her baby. Am I shocked..no. I am pissed off...yes. I have experienced very black depressions and extreme anxiety. I don't kill because of it. Besides if she was having black thoughts about motherhood she should have gone to the doctor. Sterilize her, lock her up, and throw away the key.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watch others in my age group react to these types of happenings with awe and shock&lt;span style="font-size:0;"&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;Some seem like their acting on purpose but others are truely surprised! This evokes a bit of jealousy in me...how I long to for a touch of naiveness....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-6973707358482153002?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/6973707358482153002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=6973707358482153002&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/6973707358482153002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/6973707358482153002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2009/03/wheres-aweor-shock-for-that-matter.html' title='Where&apos;s the awe...or shock for that matter?'/><author><name>Miss Anthropy</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-1790873236519998751</id><published>2009-03-20T17:25:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T17:27:42.724-05:00</updated><title type='text'>hose flavored Gatorade (a rerun)</title><content type='html'>Sounds pretty ridicules, doesn't it? I'm in my 50's and was raised just outside of Milwaukee (literally within 5 blocks). We'd run around outside in the summer, be hot, sweaty and dehydrated and we didn't have Gatorade and seldom would bother to go inside for a drink. Instead we turned on the nearest hose, let it run for a minute, then drank from it. We drank long and deep and nothing was so refreshing as that slightly funny tasting water from a hose. It had the extra benefit of easily dousing our face and head, cooling us off so we could run back out and get hot and sweaty all over again. Most of us probaly drank out of a hose when we were young and never worried about it not being purified, fortified, or avertised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I miss those simpler times.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-1790873236519998751?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/1790873236519998751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=1790873236519998751&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/1790873236519998751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/1790873236519998751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2009/03/hose-flavored-gatorade-rerun.html' title='hose flavored Gatorade (a rerun)'/><author><name>shane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05190997726820876482</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5968787817599024073.post-4706350256011456106</id><published>2009-03-19T23:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-19T23:46:27.787-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Re-friendship</title><content type='html'>The word re-friendship (ok, maybe it isn’t a word but it should be) came up the other day when I was talking to a friend from High School I hadn’t heard from in over 30 years. We hadn’t had any contact with each other in over 30 years so it’s been fun catching up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This brings up something I think we’ve all experienced. I think everyone at one time or another has run into an old friend they haven’t seen in years, and I mean a real friend, not just an acquaintance, and then after talking for a few minutes it’s as if there was no time has passed at all.  It’s as if you saw them just a few days ago, not 10 years. You fall back into the same comfort level you previously shared with them. This is one of the best feelings I’ve ever come across. It’s one I’m experiencing now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my very best friends, a BFF if ever there was one, whom I love and have loved dearly for years, was missing from my life for over a decade. This was mostly due to a temporary change in lifestyle, then moving and just losing touch. Also because of some things that were gong on in our lives, our last few times together weren’t as friendly as in the past so our parting wasn’t on the best of terms. We both were feeling badly over some things we had said and done. This friend has never been out of my thoughts for any length of time. I’d wonder what was going on in their life, if they were happy, healthy, if they were with anyone and where they were. We used to talk all the time, nothing was off limits, hang out doing the most mundane of things but enjoying being around each other while doing them. After all these years, there was a bit of a hole in my life and I finally decided to try and take some steps to find them. I dug up the parents’ phone number but was kind of nervous about calling. You know how the longer you put off getting a hold of someone the harder it can be to do it. You start feeling like they’ll think you’re crazy calling them out of the blue or won’t remember you or worse yet, just plain not want to talk to you. After a week or two I finally worked up the courage to call. Of course the conversation went great and I asked them to pass on my contact information which the said they would do on the upcoming weekend. I still was nervous as to whether I’d get a call and how it would go. The next day my phone rang and it was my friend. I was so excited. After a bit things got more relaxed and soon after things were back to normal. I was so relieved to have my friend back. I wasn’t the only one, another mutual friend had been waiting just as long to get hooked back up and that’s been done too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is there a point to all this? I suppose it’s first a good friendship should be cherished and not let to drift. I mean how many people are you truly close to? Ones you can share anything with no matter what and not worry about driving them away even if they don’t like what you say. Who can tell you just how they feel, be brutally honest, and not hurt your feelings or anger you. And you can to do the same back at them. Not very many I don’t imagine. As a matter of fact, you’re lucky to find one like that much less several.&lt;br /&gt;So, if you’ve drifted apart from someone like that and still think about them years later, it’s definitely worth the effort to at least try to re-friend them. If they ignore your email or say nice to talk to you but...it’s you’re no worse than before. But…if they respond positively and you start back up where you left off, you gained something of measureless value that will enrich your life immensely. I have been so blessed and I’d like for you to be as well. So grab an old phone number, get on Myspace or Facebook and do a search. You’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5968787817599024073-4706350256011456106?l=ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/feeds/4706350256011456106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5968787817599024073&amp;postID=4706350256011456106&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/4706350256011456106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5968787817599024073/posts/default/4706350256011456106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ramblingsfromtheislandofmisfittoys.blogspot.com/2009/03/re-friendship.html' title='Re-friendship'/><author><name>shane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05190997726820876482</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
