<?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-8414188520322805735</id><updated>2011-07-08T08:47:41.143-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Diabetes Rules</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>The Goob</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>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-6455488760938617031</id><published>2010-05-03T22:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-03T22:58:23.403-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coed Dressing Rooms in Michigan</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;I talked to a friend earlier this week who told me that she checked my blog recently and worried that I would go another 2 years without posting.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;As I am sure that all my readers are losing sleep over this very fear, I just wanted to reassure you that this will not happen.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;As for the title of this post, I logged into google analytics for the first time in a few years and found out that one of the top ten searches that people use on google that then link them to my blog is “Coed Dressing Rooms in Michigan”.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So let me just say that you sickos ought to be ashamed of yourselves.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Shame on you.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Shame, shame, shame.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Though, in all honesty, some of the other searches were “Matt Dinger Pleather Pants” and “Hot Topic red velvet curtain” so maybe I should really be saying shame on me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-6455488760938617031?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/6455488760938617031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=6455488760938617031' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/6455488760938617031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/6455488760938617031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2010/05/coed-dressing-rooms-in-michigan.html' title='Coed Dressing Rooms in Michigan'/><author><name>The Goob</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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-2775816947984428699</id><published>2010-03-29T21:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T21:54:59.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Post-Graduation Plans</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;The closer and closer I get to real life the more I realize what exactly I want—a wealthy benefactor who will pay for every desire that I have.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Hopefully one day I will write a novel that Oprah lays hands on so that I will never have to do anything but write for the rest of my life, but until then I am looking for another source of income.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My friend &lt;a href="http://franklinchronicle.blogspot.com/2010/03/what-is-graduate-degree-in-english-good.html"&gt;Joey&lt;/a&gt; recently made a blog post about how people with advanced degrees in English have no real marketable skills.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In short, Joey, I have to disagree.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I think there are a lot of skills that make me very marketable as a kept man.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;So, if you are out there, wealthy and still remain unconvinced, here is a list of reasons that will convince you to support me:&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;1 – I will do almost anything for money.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This of course excludes working 9-5, doing any sort of manual labor, or going outdoors.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Other than that, though, I am your man.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;2 – I have big time dedication.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am definitely willing to do what it takes to really live a life &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;of leisure.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;For example, I once watched Legally Blonde 8 times in 7 days.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;3 – I have a lot of hobbies that deserve time and attention.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I watch a lot of TV.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;An amount of TV that would shock, intrigue, and disgust you.  Sometimes I even disgust myself.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I also read a lot and I would like to bind more books.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;These things take time—time that I don’t have as a working person. &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;4 – I can be quite charming. I have not paid full price for a book at Borders in years (the female cashiers love me—especially the one who wears too many accessories and is dating a boy 20 years younger than she is; and you thought I was wrong about &lt;a href="http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2010/03/trouble-with-dating-in-21st-century.html"&gt;cougars&lt;/a&gt;) I get what I &lt;a href="http://findizzle.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-cant-do-this-story-justice-but-i.html"&gt;want&lt;/a&gt; because people love to love me.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;5 – I make a beautiful trophy.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The other day a woman in my program talked about walking down the hallway with a tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;She said that it made her feel &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;beautiful because everyone was staring at her.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I explained to her what it felt like to be one of those beautiful people—the kind of person that people do a double take just to get one more glimpse.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I will be the first to admit that it is very, very difficult to live the life of a beautiful person, but I have accepted my fate and I am willing to suffer the excruciating consequences of my lot in life.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;6 – Undoubtedly, I am going to end up very successful and wealthy at whatever I decided to do, so you probably won’t have to support me for long&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;On a related note, I was recently browsing a creepy blog that I read every once in a while.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The author mentioned that she was getting a fairly large following and promised her readers that her site would always remain ad free no matter what.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Let me take this moment to promise you, dear readers, that I will cash in this blog the first opportunity I get.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  If they will give me money to allow someone to ring your doorbell and shove an advertisement down your throat as soon as you open the door, I will do it with a song in my heart. &lt;/span&gt;This is my way of keeping it real.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-2775816947984428699?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/2775816947984428699/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=2775816947984428699' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/2775816947984428699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/2775816947984428699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2010/03/post-graduation-plans.html' title='Post-Graduation Plans'/><author><name>The Goob</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>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-1639271779265118258</id><published>2010-03-17T09:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T10:05:41.875-07:00</updated><title type='text'>They're After Me Lucky Charms, and I'll Make Them Wish That They Weren't</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;Early this morning, I was reading blogs in an attempt to try to fall asleep.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I came across a blog with a post that is a greenish illustration of a scene from Alice and Wonderland.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;The author said that she was posting it as to not get digitally pinched.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;This naturally led me to thinking about how bizarre St. Patrick’s Day really is.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;Less early this morning, I was on campus walking down a long staircase and this boy ran down the staircase, pinched a girl, and ran back up.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Today, anyone is able to go up to a person and if they are not wearing green they are somehow able to pinch them.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There is a name for this type of behavior: assault.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Were it May 17&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; or December 17&lt;sup&gt;th&lt;/sup&gt; everyone watching would have been horrified by this student’s behavior.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;They may have even faced academic or even legal consequences and rightfully so.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;When I was in school if someone has been beat up for not wearing a certain color they would have likely been a victim of gang violence.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;What is wrong with these people?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNoSpacing"&gt;This being said, I will be eating corned beef and cabbage later tonight because it tastes good.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;And I am still wearing green today, because I don’t want to get pinched.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;But if anyone dares pinch me today, you can bet I will be pressing charges.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I have a feeling it will be much more satisfying than pinching someone back 10 times.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Happy St. Patrick’s Day everybody.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-1639271779265118258?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/1639271779265118258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=1639271779265118258' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/1639271779265118258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/1639271779265118258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2010/03/theyre-after-me-lucky-charms-and-ill.html' title='They&apos;re After Me Lucky Charms, and I&apos;ll Make Them Wish That They Weren&apos;t'/><author><name>The Goob</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>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-28754867293881427</id><published>2010-03-07T19:36:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T19:37:33.914-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Trouble with Dating in the 21st Century</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I teach an introductory writing class at the local university.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;My students tend to love me because I am awesome.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Also because I am fairly close to my students’ ages so they tend to relate to me better than some of their other professors.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I keep in contact with some of my former students and yesterday my favorite former student called me for some advice.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;He has been dating this girl for a month or two and until recently thought that they were dating exclusively.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He was set up with this girl through a mutual friend.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Apparently the girl is about 6 years older than him (cougars are so hot right now), has an advanced degree, is beautiful, and is generally a very cool person.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Sounds perfect right?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Earlier this week the aforementioned mutual friend let slip that he knows how their relationship is going because he reads the girl’s blog.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;At this point he realized that he had made a huge mistake.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He tried to play it off but my former student pushed him and discovered all the gory details.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Here is the point at which real life becomes the plot to a romantic comedy. &lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Girlfriend’s blog has quite a large following and chronicles the details of her romantic escapades with multiple men.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;All of the details: conversations, attractiveness ratings, likes, dislikes, you name it.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;My former student claims that he doesn’t care about the blog or that she is pursuing other men (they never agreed to be exclusive).&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;He asked me to read the blog and let him know if I think he is going to get burned in the end.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;I am not going to link to the blog on here, in an effort to protect the privacy of the parties involved (read: I don’t want her to find out and him to get pissed at me), but I am curious about what others might think about the whole situation.&lt;span style="mso-spacerun:yes"&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Feel free to discuss. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-28754867293881427?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/28754867293881427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=28754867293881427' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/28754867293881427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/28754867293881427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2010/03/trouble-with-dating-in-21st-century.html' title='The Trouble with Dating in the 21st Century'/><author><name>The Goob</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>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-6318328563526090791</id><published>2010-02-11T23:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T13:08:05.554-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Working Hard for the Money</title><content type='html'>Reasons why I should not be working from home:&lt;div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Tivo&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Facebook&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Seven-hundred thread count sheets (and I recently splurged on a 10th pillow--I know you are jealous of my bed, and no, Kamiko did not teach me that, you perverts).&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;TV on DVD&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Instead of compulsively looking up the weather to prove that spring is coming, I can go outside and see it for myself&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Blogs&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Stanley Crouch&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My farmville farm needs some serious restructuring&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mcsweeneys.net/2009/2/13mah.html"&gt;McSweeney's&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Following the antics of the cast of Jersey Shore has become almost a full time job for me&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Reasons why I should be working from home:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;See above list&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;P.S. I'm back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-6318328563526090791?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/6318328563526090791/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=6318328563526090791' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/6318328563526090791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/6318328563526090791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2010/02/working-hard-for-money.html' title='Working Hard for the Money'/><author><name>The Goob</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>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-1738227446280754792</id><published>2008-01-15T19:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-18T23:50:20.036-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a Really Big Nerd</title><content type='html'>My Christmas present finally came: The Oxford English Dictionary, &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5GneXaSO4I/AAAAAAAAAFI/oncb295JcJY/s1600-h/019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5GneXaSO4I/AAAAAAAAAFI/oncb295JcJY/s200/019.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157087188438104962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;the compact edition, and it is BEAUTIFUL. 500,000 words and their first documented uses! Chronological changes that the words have undergone! A heavy round magnifying glass that you have to use to even see the words! It is generally 20 volumes but the compact version has 9 pages micrographically reproduced onto each page. &lt;a href="http://belcinismo.blogspot.com/"&gt;Katherine&lt;/a&gt; told me that it is one of the sexiest things she has ever seen. I've never really been in love before until this last Saturday when I finally held it in my arms. I know that we will never be apart again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5GmKnaSO3I/AAAAAAAAAFA/2JDWmcvQCoY/s1600-h/020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5GmKnaSO3I/AAAAAAAAAFA/2JDWmcvQCoY/s320/020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157085749624060786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the best things about the whole situation was that in getting the dictionary, I realized that I was a very big nerd, and while I always knew that I was from a family full of nerds, I didn't realize the full extent of that until now.  Here is the evidence:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  When I first asked for the dictionary there was a lot of excitement.  My father immediately started looking up information and came across a book about the history of the OED.  My mother purchased that as a gift for both me and my father.  When my sister found out about it she immediately told me that Rory on the Gilmore Girls once got the dictionary as a gift.  One of my friends mentioned to her parents that she might want the OED as a gift and her parents laughed at her.&lt;br /&gt;2.  My father held out for about a week until he had to go out and buy his own.  He got the shorter edition, however, and while he brags that it came with a CD that gives him easy electronic access, I know that mine is about a million times cooler.&lt;br /&gt;3.  After picking up the dictionary at my parents home in West Jordan I planned to go used book shopping in Salt Lake with a friend.  As I was about to leave my mother warned "You'd better keep it in the trunk while you are parked.  You wouldn't want somebody to break in and steal it."  While my mother has been terrified by the possibility of gang violence in Salt Lake, she never once told me that they were out stealing dictionaries.  What is the world coming to?  Unfortunately, I don't think that the criminal masses comprehend the worth of the dictionary.  Too bad for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5GoQHaSO5I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/pmFpXkUPTsI/s1600-h/024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 176px; height: 137px;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5GoQHaSO5I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/pmFpXkUPTsI/s200/024.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157088043136596882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5Go83aSO6I/AAAAAAAAAFY/vF_0G2wZDzg/s1600-h/028.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 191px; height: 144px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5Go83aSO6I/AAAAAAAAAFY/vF_0G2wZDzg/s200/028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157088811935742882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While my family is a bunch of nerds I am glad that I had them.  More than once I have had friends tell me that they are jealous of my upbringing.  So while the fact remains that there is a whole lot to make fun of, it would be a whole lot worse to live in a family that wouldn't give you an Oxford English Dictionary for Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5GqoHaSO7I/AAAAAAAAAFg/W3rsb3GrGIY/s1600-h/032.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5GqoHaSO7I/AAAAAAAAAFg/W3rsb3GrGIY/s400/032.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5157090654476712882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-1738227446280754792?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/1738227446280754792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=1738227446280754792' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/1738227446280754792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/1738227446280754792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2008/01/im-really-big-nerd.html' title='I&apos;m a Really Big Nerd'/><author><name>The Goob</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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/R5GneXaSO4I/AAAAAAAAAFI/oncb295JcJY/s72-c/019.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-5013929015296075250</id><published>2007-11-12T13:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-12T13:38:55.182-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a Sucker for Free Stuff</title><content type='html'>...and this will give me the opportunity to destroy some gender role stereotyping that I hate so much.  Besides, my sister-in-law has great taste so I'm sure that whatever I get will be worth the effort of making something for others (and the excruciating fact that I have to post a chain thing).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"......Here's the Pay It Forward Idea:I will send a handmade gift to the first three (3) people who leave a comment on my blog requesting to join this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;PIF&lt;/span&gt; exchange. You may not receive it tomorrow or next week, but you will receive it within 365 days! The only thing you have to do in return is pay it forward by making the same promise on your blog. (so, you must have a blog to participate.) I can't wait to see who I will be giving to. To join, just cut and paste this on your blog and comment away. So get posting......."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-5013929015296075250?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/5013929015296075250/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=5013929015296075250' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/5013929015296075250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/5013929015296075250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2007/11/im-sucker-for-free-stuff.html' title='I&apos;m a Sucker for Free Stuff'/><author><name>The Goob</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>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-1502302299040023505</id><published>2007-07-18T00:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-18T22:50:10.374-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What's the Point?</title><content type='html'>So last night while waiting up to celebrate the moment of my birth (3:17 am) I spent some time going through the links that others post on their blogs.  I kept linking from one to another to another.  In all this perusing I inevitably found it at least 90% of the blogs I examined: a picture of an ugly baby at Disneyland, a link to a weird/creepy Youtube video, and a post that says something to the degree of "I finally caved and started a blog."  I think that I must have an entirely different philosophy of what keeping a blog is all about.  Tonight I told my &lt;a href="http://nelits.blogspot.com/"&gt;sister&lt;/a&gt; that I want my blog to be a funny experience for anyone who happens to come across it at 2 am when they should be doing something more productive.  So, in honor of my beliefs, I promised my sister that I would post one of my greatest stories.  It is a little bit long so this may be the place to stop if you have commitment issues, but trust me, it is well worth the investment of time.  It is a little tale of how I bought my pair of pleather pants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two Halloween's ago I was going to this costume party where you and your date had to dress up as some sort of couple (as if I don't have enough reasons to hate Halloween).  Anyway, my date and I decided to go as Sidney and Vaughn from the TV show Alias.  We wanted to be the characters in one particular scene which required me to get a pair of pleather pants.  Not knowing where to buy a pair, I asked my friend Kiera.  "Hot Topic!"  She stated, "They are on clearance on the &lt;a href="http://www.hottopic.com/"&gt;website&lt;/a&gt; and I've heard that there is a great sale in the store too."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Through a strange circumstance I ended up at the mall the next day with my best friend Spencer and his Korean study buddy, One (Okay, not really his name, but none of us could pronounce it so "One" is what we called him).  We ventured over to Hot Topic and stared at the darkness looming inside.  Spencer informed me that he was going to wait outside but One followed me in and Spencer rushed in to rescue him from the evils of studded belts and emo 14 year old boys.  I found an employee and asked him where I could find a pair of pleather pants.  He looked at the three of us metrosexuals and asked "What are you dressing up for for Halloween?"  Apparently our Banana Republic Jeans and moisturized skin gave it away that we were not shopping for real.  After I told him about the spy thing he asked some more interesting questions which I dodged until we got to the pants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kiera was right, the sale was fantastic--so fantastic that no pants in my size were left on the rack.  There was. however, a pair that was one size too big and another pair that was two sizes too small.  I picked up one of each and found another worker--who was the most flamboyantly homosexual Asian man I have ever met in my life--to show me to the dressing room.  The "dressing room" at Hot Topic was actually a hole in the wall covered by a red, velvet curtain.  When we got to the back of the store the curtain was closed so I waited a couple moments for the room to be free.  After another awkward minute the curtain is pulled back and out comes a woman trying on &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;extremely &lt;/span&gt;scandalous dresses, holding a hairless chihuahua.  I swear to you that I am not making this up.  She stepped out to go and find more dresses so I went in and pulled back the red velvet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the dressing room I decided that because I would probably buy the pair that was big, I would try on the smaller pair first (strange reasoning, I know, but I was buying pleather).  What I didn't know about pleather pants before this moment was the fact that they are sized to be able to fit skin-tight, so imagine me (not a small man) in skin-tight pants that are also two sizes too small.  You could read the year on quarters in my pocket.  The moment was too insane to keep to myself so I opened the curtain so that I could show Spencer the pants.  When I drew back the curtain I was met with not only Spencer but One, the flamboyantly homosexual Asian worker, and the woman in an &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;extremely&lt;/span&gt; scandalous dress holding the hairless chihuahua.  At the exact same time, the homosexual Asian worker and the scandalous woman with the hairless chihuahua looked at me and screamed "Yes!!!"  I looked at both of them and said "No."  I went back into the dressing room, tried on the bigger pair, paid for it and walked out of the store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, I looked fantastic and the party was great.  Besides avoiding open flames and setting hot beverages on my lap wearing the pants came off without a hitch.  After the party I drove home and was &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;extremely&lt;/span&gt; glad to peel off the hot, unbreathing pants that I had been wearing for the past six hours.  When I did so I found that my underwear had been dyed completely black as if God was trying to tell me that I never should have done this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/Rp77UARV0fI/AAAAAAAAABY/nPSykn2vhps/s1600-h/snap003557.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/Rp77UARV0fI/AAAAAAAAABY/nPSykn2vhps/s320/snap003557.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088780950063927794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-1502302299040023505?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/1502302299040023505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=1502302299040023505' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/1502302299040023505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/1502302299040023505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2007/07/whats-point.html' title='What&apos;s the Point?'/><author><name>The Goob</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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/Rp77UARV0fI/AAAAAAAAABY/nPSykn2vhps/s72-c/snap003557.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-252020800735378505</id><published>2007-07-16T20:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-16T21:05:22.282-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Raise the Roof</title><content type='html'>There are many things about my apartment that I could complain about (horrible swamp cooling, a dishwasher door so heavy that you have to watch out to make sure that it doesn't shatter your ankle, and a mysteriously absent dining room) but 1 single element makes up for all of the negatives put together--the roof.  The only access to the roof in our entire complex is through our kitchen window.  Our contract clearly states that getting on the roof can result in eviction, but because we are owned by a minor league baseball team we can pretty much do whatever we want (at the exchange of expecting nothing from the management).  Besides tripling the size of our apartment, it has been a place where some of the greatest summer memories have happened.  Here are some font reminiscences:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Skanky Ho&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister invented this game her freshman year of college and it has since taken the nation by storm.  Everyone puts an open hand into a circle and takes turns saying something that they have never done that is a little bit scandalous.  If you have done the act that another player mentions you must put down a finger.  The first person to lose all five digits is declared the "skanky ho."  I've played this game at work parties, in classes, and even at church.  It is a great way to discover all sorts of wonderfully shameful things the people around you have done (like kissed both members of a set of twins in the same 24 hours). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Gossip&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;This topic may be getting a little bit old but it's a huge part of who I am.  This last weekend my Mission President's son, myself, and one of my former companions sat on my roof with half-pints of Ben and Jerry's and gossiped for 3 hours.  We told hilarious stories about shocking statements our Mission President had made and asked terrible hypothetical questions like "If you had to date a sister missionary from the Michigan Detroit Mission, who would it be?"  I would love to share all the gory details, but what is shared on the roof stays on the roof.  Unless anyone is listening down below...Gulp!!!&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Reading Parties&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;One of the roof activities that is enabled by my huge library of books in my bedroom.  It is incredibly relaxing to sit on the roof at dusk and be one with the shingles and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Harry Potter&lt;/span&gt; (it's currently &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Possession &lt;/span&gt;for me).  So relaxing, actually, that it caused my roommate to fall asleep on the roof one night until 3 am.  Right now my mother is freaking out reading this--don't worry I am not that stupid.  He woke up with a start that nearly ended our time on the roof, but all is well and the parties continue.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saving Souls&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Possibly the best roof activity is saving hormonal college students from fornication.  One night while walking a friend home, my roommate and I noticed a car, appropriately parked next to the dumpster, with a couple going at it in the backseat.  We ran home to tell our roommates about it and made them go take a look for themselves.  When the roommates got back they asked us if the man in the car had his shirt on when we were out there.  We ran outside to call his bluff, but sure enough, all you could see was a sweaty back glistening in the moonlight.  Now a somewhat awkward random viewing of people who are way too open with their private affections became a battle in the fight between good and evil.  So we did what any god-fearing men would do--grabbed a bag of week old bagels and headed to the roof.  We all got into positions covered by the dark of night and my roommate let the first bagel fly.  The bagel hit the top of the car with a deep thud instantly separating the couple.  The boy put his shirt back on and went out to investigate.  We were proud of ourselves, thinking that we had completed a job well done because most people would be interrupted and think "Okay, we were going a little too far.  It's time to say goodnight."  But the couple in this car were not most people.  After 10 minutes of searching the boy goes back into the car and the shirt comes back off (I have to note that later I found out that the girl was kind of dumb and the boy was from Texas and it explained a lot).  We then threw bagel number 2 which hit the back windshield.  This time they both got out of the car and Mr. Texas was furious.  They stormed around for a full 3o minutes looking for us before he finally walked her up to her apartment and drove away.  It felt incredible to have saved a couple from years of guilt and felt even better to have made a Texan really angry.  It was a good night.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&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/8414188520322805735-252020800735378505?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/252020800735378505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=252020800735378505' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/252020800735378505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/252020800735378505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2007/07/raise-roof.html' title='Raise the Roof'/><author><name>The Goob</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-3144838576173499121</id><published>2007-07-06T00:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-06T00:45:04.524-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gossip</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/Ro3yz_SPAhI/AAAAAAAAABQ/kKdJCgf1WAw/s1600-h/Gossip.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/Ro3yz_SPAhI/AAAAAAAAABQ/kKdJCgf1WAw/s320/Gossip.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5083986529346322962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I'll bet you thought this pot would be a stern rebuke to those who engage in an evil deed, but I'm not some Mormon extremist!  I decided that since I mentioned my vice in the last post, I should do a bit more explaining in my own defense.  I admittedly love gossip.  I love it more than most things and definitely more than I should, but it's not my fault at all.  I learned it from my family.  We love gossip.  We gossip about each other, we gossip about people we know, we gossip about people we have never met.  The first thing my &lt;a href="http://nelits.blogspot.com/"&gt;sister&lt;/a&gt; asks every time I call her is "What's the gossip?" and I always happily respond.  Pretty much, if you're reading this post, my family has talked about you at one time or another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember at one point in my adolescence I was in a church meeting with a rather emphatic woman addressing a group of youth from the pulpit.  I don't remember what she was talking about but I do remember that she said: "Gossip is ordained of God.  Look!  It's in the scriptures."  I think that she made some sort of tie-in to a scripture about speaking highly of others around you, but I'll never know for sure.  I just stammered an audible "Amen" and started looking around to see if anyone I knew was hooking up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may think that this petty banter of half-truths and exaggerated anecdotes might be damaging to the people that we are speaking of, but in reality we are doing the world a favor by spreading around joy and good entertainment.  If you don't believe me, ask any kid at the Boys and Girls Club why I am their favorite staff member.  It's not going to be because I believed in them when no one else did or because I helped them get an A in their hardest class, it's because I knew that Courtney told Jose that Tiffany was cheating on him because she wanted Jose to date her, and that Romero asked Lisa out twice after he found out that she was willing to break up with her boyfriend for him, and I knew that Natalie's boyfriend Jake flirted with Melanie at the pool and told her not to tell Natalie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom Line:  There's a love that is shown by knowing everyone's dirty little secrets that can't be proved in any other way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-3144838576173499121?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/3144838576173499121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=3144838576173499121' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/3144838576173499121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/3144838576173499121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2007/07/gossip.html' title='Gossip'/><author><name>The Goob</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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/Ro3yz_SPAhI/AAAAAAAAABQ/kKdJCgf1WAw/s72-c/Gossip.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-6376062458591170418</id><published>2007-07-02T23:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-03T00:53:43.243-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I Never Told My Parents</title><content type='html'>Last night I was on the phone with my Mission President's son for over an hour.  He was one of my very best friends from my mission and we reminisced about the loads of time that we spent together in Michigan.  He is just coming back to Utah after 3 years and I haven't seen him since last summer.  Big plans are already in the works.  Anyway, at one point in the conversation we were talking about weaknesses that we never managed to correct--mine is gossip (I'm a Dinger after all).  He admitted to me that after giving up caffeine for his parents, he began drinking it again about a year later.  After his admission he said "Don't tell my parents."  I then explained to him the joy of keeping secrets from your parents and then telling them years later when you no longer live with them and there is no way that they can do anything about it.  So, in honor of this blessed fact of life, here is a list of things that I never told my parents:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;In seventh grade while sleeping over at Casey Zaugg's house, we snuck out in the middle of the night to meet up with a bunch of girls.  Casey's mom caught us but swore she would never tell.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I always hated playing Jr. Jazz basketball.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The place I lived in Detroit was not a safe place at all.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I never get to bed before 2 am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I read "Brave New World" way before they told me I was mature enough to.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I wasn't asleep when they talked about the Christmas presents--not ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-6376062458591170418?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/6376062458591170418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=6376062458591170418' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/6376062458591170418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/6376062458591170418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2007/07/things-i-never-told-my-parents.html' title='Things I Never Told My Parents'/><author><name>The Goob</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-8414188520322805735.post-6334883008185322422</id><published>2007-06-30T10:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-30T11:07:08.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blog Tag - Modified</title><content type='html'>So I don't normally believe in things that get sent around in a chain-letter type fashion.  There is just something that scares me about it (especially when information from these chains ends up being read from the pulpit in sacrament meeting).  So, to honor and respect my sister I will respond to the Blog Tag list of things, but I refuse to pass it on to anyone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Facts/Habits About Me:&lt;br /&gt;1. I regret not having more regrets from both high school and my freshman year of college.&lt;br /&gt;2. My freshman year in college I urinated on the Y with a coed group of about 20 people.  I don't regret it.&lt;br /&gt;3. I once put a tomato in my brother's bed and didn't tell anyone about it until 10 years later.  He always thought it was one of his friends.&lt;br /&gt;4. I don't think I've gone a single day in the last 10 years without eating some form of chocolate.&lt;br /&gt;5. I've seen every cycle of America's Next Top Model except number four, and I'm going to watch it the first chance I get.&lt;br /&gt;6. I constantly have a list in my head of the order of people I like the best to people I like the least.  I review it at least once a day.&lt;br /&gt;7. I'm 100% convinced that my nieces and nephews are cuter than anyone else's--Just look at the links to the side.&lt;br /&gt;8. On the outside I am a 22 year-old middle class white man but on the inside I am a 300 lb. black woman.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-6334883008185322422?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/6334883008185322422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=6334883008185322422' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/6334883008185322422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/6334883008185322422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2007/06/blog-tag-modified.html' title='Blog Tag - Modified'/><author><name>The Goob</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8414188520322805735.post-2459107208067508062</id><published>2007-06-30T10:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-30T16:02:46.564-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The New York Subway</title><content type='html'>I've always loved mass transportation systems. There is something that is wonderful about a whole bunch of strangers being squashed into a smaller physical proximity than they have shared with their family and close friends. At one point I got deep enough into one tunnel that all you could smell was hot garbage. Anyway, two highlights made riding the subway an even more joyous experience that it already would have been.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Highlight #1 - Crazies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;There are plenty of insane people in the world, but the number of those seems to double when you are in a big city and triple if you are riding public transit (and multiply exponentially if you are a missionary). I got on my normal subway stop for the morning and was standing next to this disturbed man who was loudly using profanity in extremely creative ways. At the end of a minute or two he would stop and yell "Next question!" and then proceed with what was apparently a very vulgar interview with himself. A few stops down the line a woman with the biggest hair I have ever seen in my life got on and stood at the other side of me. Keep in mind I have lived a substantial amount of time in two of the big hair capitols of the world--Utah and Detroit--if anyone knows big hair, it is me. Anyway, this woman starting singing to herself in a very high-pitched crazy voice. At one point the two realized that the other one existed (which is strange because they didn't seem to know that anyone else was in the traincar) and they started interacting with each other. It was hilarious to be in the middle of this conversation even though I cannot really describe anything that was said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Highlight #2 - Advertisments&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I got on the subway on a different morning and found a usual standing spot.  After getting settled I looked up and saw this sign:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/RoaU8fSPAfI/AAAAAAAAABA/7NJt-ns--qk/s1600-h/Paris-Is-Pissed-that-Tinkerbell-Is-More-Famous-than-Her-2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/RoaU8fSPAfI/AAAAAAAAABA/7NJt-ns--qk/s320/Paris-Is-Pissed-that-Tinkerbell-Is-More-Famous-than-Her-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5081912996445225458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a breath of fresh air from the usual "Get Tested!" and "Do you have Chlamydia?" ads I normally saw.  Apparently &lt;a href="http://www.manhattanministorage.com/"&gt;this company&lt;/a&gt; has gotten some grief for their shocking marketing campaigns, but for someone who loves scandal (aka me) I thought it was wonderful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8414188520322805735-2459107208067508062?l=diabetesrules.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/feeds/2459107208067508062/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8414188520322805735&amp;postID=2459107208067508062' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/2459107208067508062'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8414188520322805735/posts/default/2459107208067508062'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://diabetesrules.blogspot.com/2007/06/new-york-subway.html' title='The New York Subway'/><author><name>The Goob</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><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_sWzcjLFpJR4/RoaU8fSPAfI/AAAAAAAAABA/7NJt-ns--qk/s72-c/Paris-Is-Pissed-that-Tinkerbell-Is-More-Famous-than-Her-2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
