<?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-9108746716262835567</id><updated>2012-01-15T22:44:49.298-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Alora....</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>loc</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>55</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-3789245900124288874</id><published>2008-09-10T20:12:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-27T21:07:55.519-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What else is going on?</title><content type='html'>Well I'll tell you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I rode 109 miles the other day.  A total elevation gain of about 5,000 feet throughout the day.  One bee sting - down the shirt - at mile 60.  A flat tire at mile 93 and then again at mile 95.  5 girls started at 6:50 in the morning.  3 finished at 5:30 in the afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I completed an 80 mile on the 19th.  Up the pass, up targhee, and then back up the pass.  4 girls started and finished in 6 hours.  I would say this one was harder than the first.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been watching Weeds on Netflix.  I am now addicted to Lost.  I'm rapidly watching season 1.  This could get ugly.  If you haven't heard from me in a couple days - you should check on me - there are just so many episodes to catch up on!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm taking a silversmithing class.  Very excited about the turquoise ring I just made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And let's see, what else.  I'm growing my hair out.  I'm eating a lot of raisins and popcorn.  Still throwing pots.  Checking my horoscope everyday.  Nursing a dead fern back to life.  Going on runs in the park.  Got pulled over by a cop early in the morning and was put through the drunk test.  don't worry - I passed with flying colors!  Learning how to change flat tires on my car.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My last day of work is October 15th.  Trying to figure out the rest of my life from then on!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3789245900124288874?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3789245900124288874/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3789245900124288874' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3789245900124288874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3789245900124288874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/09/what-else-is-going-on.html' title='What else is going on?'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-7017329496914372604</id><published>2008-07-28T22:23:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T22:43:55.206-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Work</title><content type='html'>This just about summarizes my first day of work...oh yeah, I got a retail job.  That's me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-d8e6535f5dc4c32d" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v4.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dd8e6535f5dc4c32d%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330220636%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D79601BEB0D02EA0D91137238F3B37F68437CDA0.51AD8997E9185084F634E2FED672E31F1101C9B5%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dd8e6535f5dc4c32d%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DZV0yDMBs0CiDqmBWm5AcKn8j7uQ&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v4.nonxt6.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3Dd8e6535f5dc4c32d%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330220636%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D79601BEB0D02EA0D91137238F3B37F68437CDA0.51AD8997E9185084F634E2FED672E31F1101C9B5%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3Dd8e6535f5dc4c32d%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DZV0yDMBs0CiDqmBWm5AcKn8j7uQ&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-7017329496914372604?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=d8e6535f5dc4c32d&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/7017329496914372604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=7017329496914372604' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7017329496914372604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7017329496914372604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/07/work.html' title='Work'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-3638605642350199318</id><published>2008-07-28T21:48:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T22:42:55.725-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Snot</title><content type='html'>A piece of snot has just fallen from my nose and hit the table with a loud crash.  This epic events begs several questions.  &lt;br /&gt;1.  How long has the snot been sitting at the tip of my nose, so that a tiny exhale sent it flying with great force out of my nose onto the table?&lt;br /&gt;2. How many people saw the snot sitting at the tip of my nose?&lt;br /&gt;3. Why is my snot so dry it can make a clink when it hits the table?&lt;br /&gt;4. Is there anything else hanging from my nose?&lt;br /&gt;4. answer:  not anymore.  took care of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So let's talk while we're on the subject.  Because I've been having a lot of problems recently.  Allergies.  They are horrible in Wyoming.  I can't stop snotting and sneezing - and I don't even have allergies.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's also talk about pink eye.  Because as you may or may not know, pink eye causes a lot of snot.  I found this out while in Peru.  I'm guessing I got pink eye from communal hot baths that we went to.  Because the day after visiting these baths I got the gross conjunctivitis.  A lot of the eye being glued shut and a lot of snot.  I have no idea why I would have gotten it from here....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/SI6ZNyHYpGI/AAAAAAAABJc/6AQclyNoX3A/s1600-h/IMG_8349.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/SI6ZNyHYpGI/AAAAAAAABJc/6AQclyNoX3A/s200/IMG_8349.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5228284679493821538" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Christina took care of me like a good sister and followed the recommendations from this pink eye website that she found.  "Sometimes it can be a challenge to get kids to tolerate eye drops several times a day. If you're having trouble, put the drops on the inner corner of your child's closed eye — when the child opens the eye, the medicine will flow into it...Cool or warm compresses and acetaminophen or ibuprofen may make a child with pinkeye feel more comfortable. You can clean the edges of the infected eye carefully with warm water and gauze or cotton balls. This can also remove the crusts of dried discharge that may cause the eyelids to stick together first thing in the morning."  eeeewwww.  She even sang me a song while she put the eye drops in.  Of course this is also during the time I was rubbing her back and wiping her mouth while she projectile vomited.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Traveling can be so fun.  And so can blogs about gross stuff.  Sorry about this post.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3638605642350199318?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3638605642350199318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3638605642350199318' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3638605642350199318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3638605642350199318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/07/piece-of-snot-has-just-fallen-from-my.html' title='Snot'/><author><name>loc</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://bp3.blogger.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/SI6ZNyHYpGI/AAAAAAAABJc/6AQclyNoX3A/s72-c/IMG_8349.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-3821568509602291743</id><published>2008-07-14T12:34:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-14T13:09:25.935-06:00</updated><title type='text'>You should hire me...</title><content type='html'>Right after deplaning in Jackson after three months down south, I learned that I didn't really have my job anymore.  You know, I still have it, but just not really.  The job that I moved back to Jackson for.  The job that I was with the understanding that I would still have when I got back.  The job that I basically molded with my own hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This news came as more of a causal side note, made by my cousin and previous employer, than a statement made with gravity, as it should have been.  There just isn't enough money to pay me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So with that news I am jumping back into the ever exciting job search that is Jackson Hole.  Now let's recap...&lt;br /&gt;I can't work for Eddie Bauer, or JoJo's Cafe - been there and done that and quit prematurely.  whoops.  &lt;br /&gt;As a rule I should probably stay away from all women's clothing stores.  They all seem to be old lady and depressing. I'm also not allowed to apply at the animal adoption center.  Or adopt a dog for that matter. &lt;br /&gt;Rejection can be a bitch, but there's no harm in trying twice.  I'll probably apply to cloudveil again and maybe teton mountaineering.  and Shades - a coffee shop.  I stalked Shades for a while.  I will probably do it again.  Making my daily telephone call to see if they are hiring.  and I'll probably go in with my resume at least twice. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I go again.  I've started the job hunt!  With the energy and enthusiasm that is a reflection of how excited I am to get a new job!  Well, I will start the job hunt.  Very soon.  So far I've kinda worked on my resume.  Opened the telephone book to find potential employers, filed a claim for my sunglass lenses, ordered new bike locks for my car, went to the Driggs music on main, thought about signing up with Netflix - weighed the pros and cons, sat in the park for 2 hours, oh...and started to blog again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;now although this picture is a reaction to the 8 Dutch people Christina and I were stuck with for 5 days on our hike to Machu Picchu, I feel it can be applied to this situation too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/SHuirERGHDI/AAAAAAAABH0/APcDQnT5NFA/s1600-h/IMG_8030.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/SHuirERGHDI/AAAAAAAABH0/APcDQnT5NFA/s320/IMG_8030.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222947053629742130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3821568509602291743?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3821568509602291743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3821568509602291743' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3821568509602291743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3821568509602291743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/07/you-should-hire-me.html' title='You should hire me...'/><author><name>loc</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://bp3.blogger.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/SHuirERGHDI/AAAAAAAABH0/APcDQnT5NFA/s72-c/IMG_8030.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-4799083334727660072</id><published>2008-03-26T23:21:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-26T23:34:38.156-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Finally!</title><content type='html'>At least somebody recognizes it.  And not just anybody, William Ianniciello, Vice President of ticket sales and services himself.  That's right, I got a letter today addressed as "Dear Mets Fan:"  Damn right I am!  I did everything the Wikipedia "How to become a mets fan" said, and look, I am now officially one!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to two games.  I bought a hat! I know at least one player by name.  And I never cheer for the Yankees.  But most importantly, I don't love them when they're winning and hate them when they're losing.  or something like that.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mr. Ianniciello even thanked me "for being part of our team."  Well, you know what Mr. Inaniciello?  You're welcome.  You're welcome....,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;A Mets Fan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R-sx0DdPWVI/AAAAAAAAAbY/xvn_kMTAFZs/s1600-h/mets.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R-sx0DdPWVI/AAAAAAAAAbY/xvn_kMTAFZs/s320/mets.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182290566570793298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-4799083334727660072?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/4799083334727660072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=4799083334727660072' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/4799083334727660072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/4799083334727660072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/03/finally.html' title='Finally!'/><author><name>loc</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://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R-sx0DdPWVI/AAAAAAAAAbY/xvn_kMTAFZs/s72-c/mets.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-3854678917927531829</id><published>2008-03-22T15:26:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-23T10:21:22.668-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Whose ribs are those?</title><content type='html'>I took Osa, my roommate's dog on a ski today.  It's such a beautiful day!  Not a cloud in the sky.  You can definitely tell that Spring is on the way.  The moose are out and about, shedding their winter coats.  There was moose hair, and poop and pee all over my trail today.  And Osa was smelling something in the air.  But I decided to cut the ski short after I ran into a rack of ribs on the trail.  Don't know where they came from, or whose they were.  I decided to turn around right there because the ski conditions weren't that good anyway and I didn't want to run into whoever had claimed those ribs.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I got back and went on a run.  I went with another dog.  I don't know where he came from.  But we ran 4 miles together.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I now know that I live on a dirt road.  And that my driveway is gravel.  I never knew that before.  But the snow is melting quickly on the streets.  And I heard a bird chirp today.  It's so nice to know that Spring is coming.  But of course, I'll be headed south to winter again.  sigh....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3854678917927531829?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3854678917927531829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3854678917927531829' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3854678917927531829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3854678917927531829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/03/whose-ribs-are-those.html' title='Whose ribs are those?'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-9151451277375886484</id><published>2008-03-06T08:48:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-13T17:39:54.356-06:00</updated><title type='text'>words i can never get</title><content type='html'>frusterated &lt;br /&gt;pacience&lt;br /&gt;angle/angel - can't tell the difference &lt;br /&gt;refridgerator &lt;br /&gt;espically&lt;br /&gt;vaccumm &lt;br /&gt;booke (but that is just when i'm typing fast - and is understandable) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;words that one would think i couldn't spell but i get every time (pat on the back)&lt;br /&gt;awkward &lt;br /&gt;foreign&lt;br /&gt;definitely&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-9151451277375886484?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/9151451277375886484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=9151451277375886484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/9151451277375886484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/9151451277375886484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/03/words-i-can-never-get.html' title='words i can never get'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-8893075477047060677</id><published>2008-02-15T23:24:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-15T23:31:13.093-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mommy made a mistake</title><content type='html'>I was in the car with my friend yesterday.  We were trying to get to a store and she made a wrong turn.  We had to turn around and her 2 year old son asked what was going on from the back seat.  Janene explained that she made a wrong turn, and we were turning around.  Willis responds "Mama fucked up."  It took us a second to realize what he had actually said.  But once we realized - at the same moment - it sent us both in to hysterics.  Janene turns to me and says "Did he say what I think he just said?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-8893075477047060677?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/8893075477047060677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=8893075477047060677' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/8893075477047060677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/8893075477047060677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/02/mommy-made-mistake.html' title='Mommy made a mistake'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-8058496482271422720</id><published>2008-02-10T19:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-10T19:51:28.660-07:00</updated><title type='text'>how low can you go?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R6-4C6IAzNI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/OGE61BCUsTs/s1600-h/IMG_0437.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R6-4C6IAzNI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/OGE61BCUsTs/s400/IMG_0437.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5165549657719360722" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't even know my car could go that low...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-8058496482271422720?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/8058496482271422720/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=8058496482271422720' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/8058496482271422720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/8058496482271422720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/02/how-low-can-you-go.html' title='how low can you go?'/><author><name>loc</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://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R6-4C6IAzNI/AAAAAAAAAbQ/OGE61BCUsTs/s72-c/IMG_0437.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-4965354105515800165</id><published>2008-01-31T16:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-31T22:00:10.907-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank you Mr. Snowplow man</title><content type='html'>Things I learned today:&lt;br /&gt;Never trust the sides of roads.  They may look like they are part of the road, but in fact they are a 5 foot ditch filled with powder snow.  And if you try to drive on it, your car will sink down and not be able to go anywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson two.  When stranded at the end of a road in the middle of no where, don't panic.  A nice man will sense that you are in trouble and drive his HUGE snow plow down your very road.  Then hook your car (which is currently at a 45 degree angle - about to topple on it's side) up to his HUGE snowplow and pull your car out of the ditch.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson three.  It's better to put your car in neutral when you are being pulled out of ditch rather than leave it in park.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also learned the phrase "acabar de" it means nothing but puts verbs in past tense.  Like for instance.  "Acabo de conducir mi coche into a ditch."  see?  Oh Spanish class...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-4965354105515800165?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/4965354105515800165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=4965354105515800165' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/4965354105515800165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/4965354105515800165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/01/thank-you-mr-snowplow-man.html' title='Thank you Mr. Snowplow man'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-2834664167543326954</id><published>2008-01-30T20:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-30T20:27:21.528-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pretty...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R6FABHP7OQI/AAAAAAAAAXM/YadeAF8GW_k/s1600-h/DSC_0078.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R6FABHP7OQI/AAAAAAAAAXM/YadeAF8GW_k/s400/DSC_0078.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161477035813189890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-2834664167543326954?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/2834664167543326954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=2834664167543326954' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2834664167543326954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2834664167543326954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/01/pretty.html' title='Pretty...'/><author><name>loc</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://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R6FABHP7OQI/AAAAAAAAAXM/YadeAF8GW_k/s72-c/DSC_0078.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-1456270606273720200</id><published>2008-01-17T17:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T22:08:53.088-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I WANT THICKER PAPER!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R5VrjoEppCI/AAAAAAAAAW0/7hwSaqul-z8/s1600-h/DSC_0066.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R5VrjoEppCI/AAAAAAAAAW0/7hwSaqul-z8/s400/DSC_0066.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5158147208019289122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I work with this printer in Jackson getting brochures, posters, and rack cards printed for Exum.  Every time I go in to talk with the printer, I end up yelling.  Not that I want to yell but I can't  control the level of my voice.  They start it.  They start talking loud, I raise my voice to match the level of theirs, and by the middle of our conversation we're yelling about paper types.  By the end of our conversation we're full out screaming "I'LL PICK UP THE BROCHURES TOMORROW!  THANKS SO MUCH!"  I always have to take a breather right when I walk out the door. I don't know how they can do it all day.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I learned how to ski on Sunday.  I'm not going to brag, but, actually, yes I am.  I was told that I was the "best student ever" that my instructor has ever had.  Ahem.  Just sayin'.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's cold here.  The high was 8 today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spanish lesson of the day.  Hace mucho frio.  - It's very cold.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-1456270606273720200?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/1456270606273720200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=1456270606273720200' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1456270606273720200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1456270606273720200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-want-thicker-paper.html' title='I WANT THICKER PAPER!!!'/><author><name>loc</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://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R5VrjoEppCI/AAAAAAAAAW0/7hwSaqul-z8/s72-c/DSC_0066.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-5971108918474549251</id><published>2008-01-05T11:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-05T11:24:48.249-07:00</updated><title type='text'>it's true</title><content type='html'>you'd the perfect anecdotal lead for a story on quarterlife crises.&lt;br /&gt;-Christina&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5971108918474549251?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5971108918474549251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5971108918474549251' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5971108918474549251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5971108918474549251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/01/its-true.html' title='it&apos;s true'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-7944927464984059058</id><published>2008-01-01T15:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T15:50:08.427-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year</title><content type='html'>I had new year's dinner with some friends.  Went back to their place and hung out and drank absinthe.  53% alcohol with a very very strong taste of liquorish.  We did a 4 gun salute at 12.  That's right, I stood on the balcony and fired a rifle - quite thrilling.  Lots of kick back.  Then we went skinny dipping in their hot tub. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R3rCI4Epo3I/AAAAAAAAAUc/-weY7yzGeWw/s1600-h/Photo+89.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R3rCI4Epo3I/AAAAAAAAAUc/-weY7yzGeWw/s320/Photo+89.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150642581598217074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;I came back to see that Sophie had celebrated new years herself too.  She got into a bag of salt and pepper kettle chips - ate them all and most of the bag too.  then drank all the water in the house.  Then she pooped on the floor - I like to think she pooped at midnight to ring in the new year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-7944927464984059058?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/7944927464984059058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=7944927464984059058' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7944927464984059058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7944927464984059058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2008/01/happy-new-year.html' title='Happy New Year'/><author><name>loc</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://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R3rCI4Epo3I/AAAAAAAAAUc/-weY7yzGeWw/s72-c/Photo+89.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-3910318723559603161</id><published>2007-12-29T15:28:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T15:30:09.444-07:00</updated><title type='text'>more advice from the mother</title><content type='html'>Say as I do and not as I say&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3910318723559603161?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3910318723559603161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3910318723559603161' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3910318723559603161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3910318723559603161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/12/more-advice-from-mother.html' title='more advice from the mother'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-8278196229342535202</id><published>2007-12-23T09:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-23T09:25:27.611-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Laura,</title><content type='html'>i have an out-of-control blushing problem. what can i do about it?&lt;br /&gt;-anonymous&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Reader,&lt;br /&gt;Out-of-control blushing problems are highly embarrassing. Not only are you already embarrassed which is demonstrated outwardly by the blushing, but the fact that you are blushing embarrasses you even more. Especially when people comment on it. I often get comments like "You're so tan!" and "Why are you so red?" or "You're blushing!!!!" If no one comments on it, you can pretend you're not blushing. But if someone calls you out on it, it's all down hill from there. The crimson-red gets deeper, you start sweating, tunnel vision. It's best to probably just go ahead and pass out in this situation. There is no fixing it once it starts to happen, and you can blame the passing out on food poisoning or something. Once you wake up just say, "Wow it must have been something I ate."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But if passing out is not an option, try to get out of the room as quickly as possible. Even if your exit causes a disturbance. The best way to exit the room is to get out before you even start blushing. If someone says something, you feel you are going to start, just get up and exit with no explanation. If you have already started the blush, just b-line for the door - and don't let them see your face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is no controlling blushing, I'm afraid.  If there was, I would know and no longer blush.  I hope these tips help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any other questions?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-8278196229342535202?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/8278196229342535202/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=8278196229342535202' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/8278196229342535202'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/8278196229342535202'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/12/dear-laura.html' title='Dear Laura,'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-7198116925015612175</id><published>2007-12-20T18:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-24T16:28:55.726-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My girl...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R2sSfYEpo2I/AAAAAAAAAUU/IeY0T-mInRc/s1600-h/Photo+75.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R2sSfYEpo2I/AAAAAAAAAUU/IeY0T-mInRc/s400/Photo+75.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5146227329448125282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the newest addition to my family.  But I'm not sure what to name her.  Here are some choices:&lt;br /&gt;Ella             &lt;br /&gt;Isabel (Izzy)    &lt;br /&gt;Sophie&lt;br /&gt;Letti&lt;br /&gt;Juno&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you think?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-7198116925015612175?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/7198116925015612175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=7198116925015612175' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7198116925015612175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7198116925015612175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/12/my-girl.html' title='My girl...'/><author><name>loc</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://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R2sSfYEpo2I/AAAAAAAAAUU/IeY0T-mInRc/s72-c/Photo+75.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-46554780863407640</id><published>2007-12-04T09:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-04T09:57:39.221-07:00</updated><title type='text'>?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R1WDmmc66jI/AAAAAAAAATE/P2ZWmDr4SCc/s1600-h/IMG_1548.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R1WDmmc66jI/AAAAAAAAATE/P2ZWmDr4SCc/s400/IMG_1548.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5140159248893405746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is this?  It's in front of the elementary school, which I drive by every day.  I don't get it.  Any ideas?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-46554780863407640?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/46554780863407640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=46554780863407640' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/46554780863407640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/46554780863407640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/12/blog-post.html' title='?'/><author><name>loc</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://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/R1WDmmc66jI/AAAAAAAAATE/P2ZWmDr4SCc/s72-c/IMG_1548.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-8382828096046408419</id><published>2007-11-28T17:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-28T17:59:46.663-07:00</updated><title type='text'>weeeeeeee</title><content type='html'>I have three loaves of bread in my refrigerator.  I guess every time I'm in the grocery store I think I need bread.  I don't. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also have a box of apples.  i mean a huge box.  A couple weeks ago these two 5th graders came to my door selling apples to help children in Afghanistan, or was it Africa (I'm not sure which one), and i couldn't say no.  I picked them up at the elementary school the other day and have been eating massive amounts of apples ever since.  I think I might have a bob for apples party.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went cross country skiing today with my friend Allison in Victor.  This time on the skis proved to be much better than my first time on Saturday.  I didn't go screaming uncontrollably downhill into the woods.  And I didn't fall.  But I did say "weeeeee" as I went down hill.  I think that needs to stop.  I don't think anyone will take me seriously if I say "weeeee".  I mean you don't see those tough skiing-is-life kinda guys say "weeeeeee" as they ski down the Grand Teton.  They probably grunt.  I need to start doing that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and I quit my job at the outdoor store today.  I think I'll get another one soon.  Don't ask questions - just accept that I quit.  My mother died and I died and it just doesn't look like I'll be able to make it in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-8382828096046408419?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/8382828096046408419/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=8382828096046408419' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/8382828096046408419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/8382828096046408419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/11/weeeeeeee.html' title='weeeeeeee'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-11423011684439341</id><published>2007-11-25T09:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-25T09:32:59.455-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bird Crap</title><content type='html'>I got shat on the other day.  I was running along the bike path, minding my own business, and I feel this splat on my head.  I wipe my ear and find bird shit on it.  Apparently the rest of the poop hit my back and was this long shiny trail down my shirt.  Stupid little bird - but apparently it's good luck in Italy if a pigeon shits on you, so maybe it was a good thing....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-11423011684439341?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/11423011684439341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=11423011684439341' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/11423011684439341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/11423011684439341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/11/bird-crap.html' title='Bird Crap'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-7314626868437589731</id><published>2007-11-24T17:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-24T17:49:44.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i quit</title><content type='html'>I quit Eddie Bauer today.  I called and said that my mom died and I died and it just didn't look like I was going to be able to make it in for my first day of work.  So that depressing job is out of the picture.  Instead I got a job at an outdoor store.  Much better.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-7314626868437589731?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/7314626868437589731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=7314626868437589731' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7314626868437589731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7314626868437589731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-quit.html' title='i quit'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-5282055990434187015</id><published>2007-11-20T11:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-20T11:57:30.169-07:00</updated><title type='text'>oh Eddie</title><content type='html'>So I got a job and it's 1 part depressing and 1 part funny.  Ok, well I guess it's 1.5 parts depressing and .5 parts funny actually.  It's at Eddie Bauer.  I'm going to work at Eddie Bauer because no other place in the whole freakin' town of Jackson wanted to hire me.  None of the cool coffee shops, yarn store, book store, restaurants, bike shop - no one.  But the preppy Eddie Bauer hired me on the spot.  And today when I tried to get out of it by being difficult telling them that I would be gone from Dec. 19-30th, they had no problem with it.  Damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My only other option was Pizza Hut.  I accidentally called them the other week thinking I was calling another restaurant.  When they answered "Pizza Hut, how can I help you?", I figured what the hell and asked them if they were hiring anyway.  The girl sounded really enthusiastic and I thought she was going to hire me over the phone.  She asked me what I was thinking I wanted to do.  I told her I saw myself working at the cash register or a server or something.  So I left it that I was really excited about the job and I would be over soon to fill out an application so I could be officially hired. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I am picking up freelance design jobs.  So that is 0 parts depressing and all parts exciting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5282055990434187015?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5282055990434187015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5282055990434187015' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5282055990434187015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5282055990434187015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/11/oh-eddie.html' title='oh Eddie'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-6770890465813906705</id><published>2007-11-15T09:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T09:02:26.286-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Emily thinks I'm cute</title><content type='html'>Got this in a myspace comment&lt;br /&gt;"hey my friend emily saw your pics online and thinks you are cute add her to msn messenger at emily27cute@hotmail.com "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;can you tell your friend emily that I don't swing that way, but I'm flattered?&lt;br /&gt;but judging from her email address, emily thinks she's cute too.....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-6770890465813906705?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/6770890465813906705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=6770890465813906705' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/6770890465813906705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/6770890465813906705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/11/emily-thinks-im-cute.html' title='Emily thinks I&apos;m cute'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-2838698701464417135</id><published>2007-11-14T22:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T22:18:32.088-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Current</title><content type='html'>I'm going to be a part of my friend's performance piece tomorrow night.  You can watch her announcing peoples' actions around the world as they happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://operator11.com/shows/5325"&gt;Current&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a list of what is going to be happening.  Yours truly is #4.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:30pm Liz&lt;br /&gt;Broadcast intro&lt;br /&gt;New General Catalog gallery space, the neighborhood of Greenpoint, Brooklyn, NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:35pm Chuck Miller&lt;br /&gt;drops the book S M L XL on the floor in the middle of a graduate lecture class&lt;br /&gt;UC San Diego, CA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:36pm Trey Kirchoff   sets an old children's school desk on fire while&lt;br /&gt;quoting Orson Wells&lt;br /&gt;a rooftop, the neighborhood of Bushwick, Brooklyn, NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:37pm Laura Cooke&lt;br /&gt;begins making a ceramics piece&lt;br /&gt;Jackson Hole, Wyoming, by the Tetons&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:38pm Mark Hensel&lt;br /&gt;goes for a drive in which he only makes right-hand turns&lt;br /&gt;Austin, Texas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:39pm Amanda Matles&lt;br /&gt;teaches an old dog a new trick - to have "laser eyes" - using a camera&lt;br /&gt;with a flash&lt;br /&gt;South Lyon, MI (suburb of Detroit)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:40pm Bryan Schatz&lt;br /&gt;starts playing the mandolin&lt;br /&gt;Santa Cruz, CA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:41pm Brian White&lt;br /&gt;draws panda bears on a wall using a light pointer and taking a&lt;br /&gt;long-exposure photograph&lt;br /&gt;Calendar St, Livingston, Montana&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:42pm Landon Van Soest&lt;br /&gt;kills at least 3 mosquitoes with his right hand using a gripping&lt;br /&gt;motion technique&lt;br /&gt;outside of his bed's mosquito netting, Kenya&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:43pm Luke Wolcott&lt;br /&gt;starts making hummus&lt;br /&gt;his kitchen, Seattle, WA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:44pm Matt McTernan&lt;br /&gt;folds a paper crane via origami&lt;br /&gt;Rhinebeck, NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:45pm Charlotte Young&lt;br /&gt;hits her alarm clock and swears at me for waking her up at 4:45 in the morning&lt;br /&gt;the East End, London, UK&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:46pm Adam Lowenbein&lt;br /&gt;does an impression of Britney Spears ordering fried chicken&lt;br /&gt;Pond Eddy, NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:47pm John Rosania&lt;br /&gt;genuinely weeps on cue&lt;br /&gt;somewhere in New York City&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:48pm Ben Gazy&lt;br /&gt;starts masturbating with the intention of cumming into a shot glass&lt;br /&gt;and drinking it later on in the broadcast&lt;br /&gt;Seattle, WA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:49pm Meg Frost&lt;br /&gt;performs Taekwondo forms 1 - 3&lt;br /&gt;Daegu, South Korea&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:50pm Tristan Brown&lt;br /&gt;the last ten pages of Mouse and His Child, by Russell Hoban&lt;br /&gt;221 Buckingham Place, Philadelphia, PA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:51pm Lacey Peckenpaugh&lt;br /&gt;starts baking&lt;br /&gt;her kitchen, the neighborhood of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:52pm Sarah Genta&lt;br /&gt;leaves work for an environmental group to go hug a bush&lt;br /&gt;Sacramento, CA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:53pm Phil Buccellato&lt;br /&gt;makes a to-do list&lt;br /&gt;our apartment, Brooklyn, NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:54pm Oliver Evelyn-Rahr&lt;br /&gt;scratches his foot&lt;br /&gt;London, UK&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:55pm Athena Kokoronis&lt;br /&gt;lights a clove cigarette&lt;br /&gt;New York City&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:56pm Helen Harris&lt;br /&gt;blows up three balloons and then pops them with a sewing needle&lt;br /&gt;Birmingham, AL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:57pm Lydia Briggs&lt;br /&gt;closes her eyes and pictures New York City&lt;br /&gt;Kyoto, Japan&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:58pm Michael Benevento&lt;br /&gt;is triggered by an alarm to insert a ten hippopotamus count, out loud,&lt;br /&gt;in the middle of a sentence&lt;br /&gt;Baltimore, MD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11:59pm Tika Young&lt;br /&gt;hula hoops&lt;br /&gt;Sunnyside, Queens, NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:00am Petter Goldstine&lt;br /&gt;performs the subversive exercises of falun gong&lt;br /&gt;his rooftop, Brussels, Belgium&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:01am Mike Cataldi&lt;br /&gt;pours a bottle of Fiji spring water into the Hudson River from the&lt;br /&gt;center of the George Washington Bridge&lt;br /&gt;New York City, NY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:02am Bernie McGovern&lt;br /&gt;rests his palm on another's beating chest while thinking of a dear&lt;br /&gt;friend who has recently passed&lt;br /&gt;the hallway leading to his bedroom, Chicago, IL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:03am Sarah&lt;br /&gt;brushes her teeth&lt;br /&gt;Vienna, Austria&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:04am Justin Quinlan&lt;br /&gt;kisses his 11 month-old nephew on the forehead&lt;br /&gt;Philadelphia, PA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12:05am Margaret Rolicki&lt;br /&gt;buries her work shoes&lt;br /&gt;latitude 39.9541 N, longitude 75.2089 W, Philadelphia, PA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-2838698701464417135?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/2838698701464417135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=2838698701464417135' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2838698701464417135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2838698701464417135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/11/current.html' title='Current'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-469271213469992429</id><published>2007-11-07T15:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-07T15:54:02.761-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Mother's Words....</title><content type='html'>"A little fish in a big pond or a little pond in a big fish"....words of wisdom from my mother&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-469271213469992429?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/469271213469992429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=469271213469992429' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/469271213469992429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/469271213469992429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/11/mothers-words.html' title='A Mother&apos;s Words....'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-7281928357796717169</id><published>2007-11-02T17:38:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-11-02T17:41:14.496-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I was called a man....again</title><content type='html'>I held the door open for a woman to day and she said "Thank you Sir."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-7281928357796717169?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/7281928357796717169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=7281928357796717169' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7281928357796717169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7281928357796717169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-was-called-managain.html' title='I was called a man....again'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-2944099592210113711</id><published>2007-10-29T10:07:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T10:38:19.880-06:00</updated><title type='text'>shitassmotherfuckerdamn</title><content type='html'>I went climbing Saturday.  Will and I camped near Lake Tahoe in a climbing mecca called Lover's Leap.  It was a beautiful fall day with a beautiful granite wall waiting for us to tackle it.  Which Will did.  I on the other hand did not so much tackle it as struggled up the little fucker, but with high spirits I might add.  It actually was very nice crack climbing - I had a couple good hand jams (yes I know the lingo), and there were nice dikes in the rock to get good hand and feet holds.  But I would say it all went down hill when a roof in the rock required a move I was not prepared to do - and all the good holds were gone.  What the situation ended up being was me, hand jamming for dear life, legs doing the sewing machine - which was really helping the situation, for a good 20 minutes, and saying every swear word known.  I fell a good 3 or 4 times only to be pried from the rock, swinging away from the safety of having something to hold on to, dangling in mid-air who knows how many feet above the ground.  Will, like a good boyfriend, then hoisted me up a couple feet with the rope, so I could make the necessary move.  Once I was safely over the roof, a round of cheers exploded from below, as my audience of expert climbers who had been watching the whole time rejoiced in my having made it.  Will sent out a yipee back to them.  I did not.  I'm glad I couldn't say anything at the moment because if I had been forced to acknowledge them, it would have been the words that had been coming out of my mouth for the last 20 minutes.  I don't think they would have appreciated being sworn at.    But after a few more moves, including some face gripping, and a couple more "Mother of's..." I was at the top.  thankyouverymuch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-2944099592210113711?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/2944099592210113711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=2944099592210113711' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2944099592210113711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2944099592210113711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/10/shitassmotherfuckerdamn.html' title='shitassmotherfuckerdamn'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-7317703062314260509</id><published>2007-10-19T14:55:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-19T16:00:54.266-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Survivor China</title><content type='html'>What did I learn today?  Well, the heart-throb of FLOREZ is on Survivor China.  Which is hilarious in itself.  But reading the play-by-play of the show, he's using his virginity to gain girls' trust to find out more about the idol.  And that's funny. &lt;br /&gt;Go Erik!  (unless you've already been voted off, I'm not sure b/c I don't watch the show).  But here is his Survivor profile, if anyone is interested in learning about my fellow Furmanite....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.survivor.com/survivor-15-china/erik-huffman/survivor.2007.08.21.html"&gt;Erik&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RxkccMZOq-I/AAAAAAAAAIE/mskVN4RJwoI/s1600-h/photo_erik.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RxkccMZOq-I/AAAAAAAAAIE/mskVN4RJwoI/s200/photo_erik.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5123157321799609314" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-7317703062314260509?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/7317703062314260509/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=7317703062314260509' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7317703062314260509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/7317703062314260509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/10/survivor-china.html' title='Survivor China'/><author><name>loc</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://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RxkccMZOq-I/AAAAAAAAAIE/mskVN4RJwoI/s72-c/photo_erik.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-5920349535582476805</id><published>2007-10-17T13:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-19T16:02:46.539-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't like carrying shit...</title><content type='html'>and I had to carry it for 3 miles yesterday.  I took my new doggie friend on a run yesterday.  His name is Okin.  He lives around the corner from me.  He decided he had to go right when I was turning around to head back.  So like a good citizen, I pulled out my plastic bag (prepared for this very situation) and scooped it up.  But there wasn't a trash can where I could dispose of said poop until the very end of my run.  Gross.  And I had to run by a high school PE class that was out for a run.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went swimming this morning.  (I know I didn't expect myself to say that either).  Now I have water in my ear.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ummmmm... you need to check this out.  i think it might be my new favorite tv show even though I haven't seen it yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.vh1.com/shows/series/salt_n_pepa/splash.jhtml?source=globalnav"&gt;Salt N Peppa&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RxZkgcZOq9I/AAAAAAAAAH8/JjeYZuuRyyw/s1600-h/014.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RxZkgcZOq9I/AAAAAAAAAH8/JjeYZuuRyyw/s200/014.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5122392134721121234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doesn't it sound amazing....&lt;br /&gt;Whatta Manhunt&lt;br /&gt;Pepa has a long history of dating bad boys, while Salt has a long history of criticizing Pepa for dating bad boys.  In this episode of The Salt-N-Pepa Show, Salt teams up with a professional matchmaker to find Pepa the perfect man.  After interviewing a number of potential suitors, Salt disregards the matchmaker's choices and finds her own date for Pepa.  How will Pepa react when she finds out that her much-anticipated blind date is a youth pastor?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5920349535582476805?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5920349535582476805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5920349535582476805' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5920349535582476805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5920349535582476805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-dont-like-carrying-shit.html' title='I don&apos;t like carrying shit...'/><author><name>loc</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://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RxZkgcZOq9I/AAAAAAAAAH8/JjeYZuuRyyw/s72-c/014.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-3614907175895540242</id><published>2007-10-12T14:33:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-12T16:19:58.520-06:00</updated><title type='text'>unexpected guests</title><content type='html'>These men have surrounded my house and are waving big yellow metal sticks over the ground.  They woke me up from my 2 hour nap.  Not appreciated.  It kinda reminded me of when I was living with Christina in Chattanooga and the night painter would come.  He was painting the outside of her house, but only under the cloak of darkness.  He would shine huge spot lights on the side, prop his ladder up and climb so he could see right over the curtains that covered the bottom half of her floor to ceiling windows.  Then he would just say there for 30 minutes, having a full view of Christina's apartment and whatever we were doing.  We debated whether to leave the room, or stake our ground and continue doing whatever we were doing before he joined us.  Do you acknowledge someone when they do that?  Wave from the couch?  Try to carry on a conversation with him through sign language?  Or just stare at him until he feels so uncomfortable that he gets off his ladder?  &lt;br /&gt;He ran us out of the apartment a lot.  We would go out to dinner just to get away from the night painter.  Or Christina would come home from work late just to find me in a bad mood stuck in the kitchen because he was in the living room. &lt;br /&gt;His finished work was not the best quality, as you can expect from someone who just paints in the dark.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3614907175895540242?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3614907175895540242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3614907175895540242' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3614907175895540242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3614907175895540242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/10/unexpect-guests.html' title='unexpected guests'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-1169917008579610436</id><published>2007-10-02T14:06:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-02T14:13:19.430-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I have to see a man about a horse...</title><content type='html'>I did.  I was over in Victor in my old neighborhood.  I was driving down the road and this horse is just walking along the side.  So my old landlord (who was in the car in front of me) and I pulled over and came up with a game plan.  She was going to try to catch the horse, while I went and tried to find whose horse it was.  Although we were both unsuccessful in our mission.  She didn't catch it and I never found out whose horse it was.  But there was another woman on the case too.  So we decided that we could probably leave and the situation would be under control.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-1169917008579610436?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/1169917008579610436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=1169917008579610436' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1169917008579610436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1169917008579610436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-have-to-see-man-about-horse.html' title='I have to see a man about a horse...'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-1953804216276195008</id><published>2007-10-01T16:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-01T16:58:05.158-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It's God...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RwF7HMZOq6I/AAAAAAAAAGc/CcmKChXBWBo/s1600-h/IMG_0177.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RwF7HMZOq6I/AAAAAAAAAGc/CcmKChXBWBo/s320/IMG_0177.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116506015185939362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;conducting the mountains.&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;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RwF538ZOq4I/AAAAAAAAAGM/enLRg0gQarM/s1600-h/IMG_0176.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RwF538ZOq4I/AAAAAAAAAGM/enLRg0gQarM/s200/IMG_0176.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116504653681306498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went climbing yesterday.  It was a beautiful fall day.  The aspens where, as Will put it, "on fire"  or maybe he just said they were "glowing".  Actually I'm not sure how he put it, but the gist of it is the "aspens are pretty."  &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;Here is a picture of buffalo and the moody mountains.&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RwF6acZOq5I/AAAAAAAAAGU/7u6eF713zeA/s1600-h/IMG_0183.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RwF6acZOq5I/AAAAAAAAAGU/7u6eF713zeA/s200/IMG_0183.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116505246386793362" /&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;I secretly cooked today.  I'm having Sue (a cook) and Christian over for dinner tonight.  Kinda intimidating.  I didn't want them to see me cooking, so I did everything before hand.  hehehe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-1953804216276195008?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/1953804216276195008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=1953804216276195008' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1953804216276195008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1953804216276195008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/10/its-god.html' title='It&apos;s God...'/><author><name>loc</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://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RwF7HMZOq6I/AAAAAAAAAGc/CcmKChXBWBo/s72-c/IMG_0177.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-5513384514740002835</id><published>2007-09-24T12:30:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T12:32:11.122-06:00</updated><title type='text'>ummm...</title><content type='html'>SNOW!!!!!  There's snow on the mountains...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5513384514740002835?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5513384514740002835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5513384514740002835' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5513384514740002835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5513384514740002835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/09/ummm.html' title='ummm...'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-3213779973483597310</id><published>2007-09-22T19:38:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-23T17:53:48.039-06:00</updated><title type='text'>That's not my stuff in that room...</title><content type='html'>I just moved to Jackson.  Into a house of 2 Exum Mountain Guides.  I rented the place for October, November, and December, but the couple left for a 2 month road trip and said I could move in once they were gone - which is today.  Although after having moved all my stuff in, I have this feeling that they will show up and actually haven't left and think it's weird that I've already moved in.  Like they just ran to the grocery store for something and I moved in while they were gone.  So I keep looking out the window - although I have no idea what good that is going to do.  It's not like I can pull all my stuff out of the drawers and sneak out the back.  I guess I could just hide in the closet and wait until they are asleep and then sneak out.  Or behind a curtain.  Hopefully it won't come to that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3213779973483597310?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3213779973483597310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3213779973483597310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3213779973483597310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3213779973483597310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/09/thats-not-my-stuff-in-that-room.html' title='That&apos;s not my stuff in that room...'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-2653369778063630890</id><published>2007-09-21T17:43:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-22T09:58:43.598-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sushi, spiders, and bears</title><content type='html'>I spent the better part of the day trying to reach my little toe.  It has a splinter in it that is very intriguing.  But I couldn't.  It's a sign that I should do yoga.  Or at least start stretching...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My apartment and the lack of cell reception is very annoying.  It drops calls all the time in middle of conversations or just makes it so the other person can't hear me.  So I find myself yelling parts of the conversation over and over again with the person confused.  "Sushi." "What?"  "SUSHI" "What?"  "SUUUUSSHI"  "Peas?"  and the conversation continues like this until the phone cuts us off.  Or the phone will just cut out with no warning.  Then I call back and the person will still be talking to me on the other line, apparently tell me to hold on, and then beep over to me on the other line.  This really confuses them and it's kinda funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A really cute spider has just started building his web, attaching my arm to the table.  I don't think that it will be a very effective web seeing as how I'm not going to sit here all day.  But to help him out I feel that I should.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and now the complete Bears Don't Care poem.  One of my masterpieces...&lt;br /&gt;Bears Don't Care&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bears don't care if they meet a hare,&lt;br /&gt;Bears don't care if their meat is rare. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bears don't care if there is a fair, &lt;br /&gt;Bears don't care if we are out of air. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bears don't care if there is a new king,&lt;br /&gt;Bears don't care about anything.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-2653369778063630890?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/2653369778063630890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=2653369778063630890' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2653369778063630890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2653369778063630890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/09/sushi-spiders-and-bears.html' title='Sushi, spiders, and bears'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-5034095990604467484</id><published>2007-09-20T13:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-20T14:22:53.008-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bears don't care...</title><content type='html'>This could be the prettiest day ever.  It's fall, all the trees are a bright yellow.  The sun is shining and the wind is blowing.  I love it.  I went on a run this morning to see my cows.  As I was running down the road a car pulled up next to me and the man informed me that there was a bear down the road.  I thanked him and abruptly turned around.  So I actually had to vary my running route.  But on this route I saved a snake - got him out of the middle of the road, and saw a Great-horned owl sleeping in a tree.  He was beautiful.  So beautiful I had to turn off Dr. Dre and just enjoy the sleeping owl.  &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RvLTfCfgrXI/AAAAAAAAAE8/p5uiBiQUYA0/s1600-h/sky.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RvLTfCfgrXI/AAAAAAAAAE8/p5uiBiQUYA0/s200/sky.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112381057217375602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and I got to hold a baby and play with the cutest two year old. - not on the run.  That was before the run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also left a successful message, which rarely happens.  Also not on the run.  After the run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did laundry today and when I was hanging it on the line, it disturbed me.  All my clothes are the same.  I hung a navy blue tank top, navy blue short sleeved shirt, navy blue long sleeved shirt, a black long sleeved shirt, a black tank top, gray shirt....  it's sad.  I think I need to vary my wardrobe.&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RvLWLyfgrZI/AAAAAAAAAFM/ghCn_VrYGfo/s1600-h/clothes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RvLWLyfgrZI/AAAAAAAAAFM/ghCn_VrYGfo/s200/clothes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5112384025039777170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5034095990604467484?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5034095990604467484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5034095990604467484' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5034095990604467484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5034095990604467484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/09/bears-dont-care.html' title='Bears don&apos;t care...'/><author><name>loc</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://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RvLTfCfgrXI/AAAAAAAAAE8/p5uiBiQUYA0/s72-c/sky.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-4846083638683547621</id><published>2007-09-16T17:49:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-17T10:55:07.705-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Why would you wipe my spittle away?</title><content type='html'>I can't spit.  I've tried - lots.  It's gross.  I just end up having to stop running and stand on the side of the road with a long string of spit connecting my mouth to the ground.  And it just stays there - not moving.  So I have to manually disconnect it to get rid of it.  This takes the whole satisfaction of spitting out of the equation.  Any tips?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm moving to Jackson soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-4846083638683547621?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/4846083638683547621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=4846083638683547621' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/4846083638683547621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/4846083638683547621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/09/why-would-you-wipe-my-spittle-away.html' title='Why would you wipe my spittle away?'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-3901491741770558346</id><published>2007-09-11T10:04:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-11T10:11:59.646-06:00</updated><title type='text'>is that a photograph?  oh, no it's a painting...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rua8vaYOwwI/AAAAAAAAAE0/veq96iGC5No/s1600-h/11siegelman.2.190.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rua8vaYOwwI/AAAAAAAAAE0/veq96iGC5No/s200/11siegelman.2.190.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108978350019232514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This photograph appeared in the New York Times today.  I couldn't help but to notice the likeness of the portrait behind this man.  Incredible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;new favorite music - Beth Orton&lt;br /&gt;the elk are on the move in the park.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3901491741770558346?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3901491741770558346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3901491741770558346' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3901491741770558346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3901491741770558346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/09/is-that-photograph-oh-no-its-painting.html' title='is that a photograph?  oh, no it&apos;s a painting...'/><author><name>loc</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://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rua8vaYOwwI/AAAAAAAAAE0/veq96iGC5No/s72-c/11siegelman.2.190.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-2246869250548622663</id><published>2007-09-10T23:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-19T16:04:13.024-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Aperture website</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://aperture.org/store/about-workscholar.aspx"&gt;Aperture&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RuYlo6YOwvI/AAAAAAAAAEs/CIte5cdNHIM/s1600-h/workscholarlow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RuYlo6YOwvI/AAAAAAAAAEs/CIte5cdNHIM/s200/workscholarlow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108812212094288626" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, some times  I get stopped on the street because people recognize me.  Usually they just want my autograph&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RuYlhaYOwuI/AAAAAAAAAEk/qwKcqisX0tI/s1600-h/intern6lowres.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RuYlhaYOwuI/AAAAAAAAAEk/qwKcqisX0tI/s200/intern6lowres.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5108812083245269730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Alex Webb talk was boring.  I think I was thinking, "bend your knees so you don't pass out" the whole time he was talking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-2246869250548622663?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/2246869250548622663/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=2246869250548622663' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2246869250548622663'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/2246869250548622663'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/09/httpaperture.html' title='Aperture website'/><author><name>loc</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://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RuYlo6YOwvI/AAAAAAAAAEs/CIte5cdNHIM/s72-c/workscholarlow.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-1366470587648855674</id><published>2007-09-07T21:14:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T23:15:36.027-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Have you seen my dicky?</title><content type='html'>Just thought I would share this incredible find with everyone.  http://www.dakotamainstreet.com/dickiepage.html&lt;br /&gt;"No matter how you spell it, dickeys are practical and comfortable in the summer and winter.  They keep a cold draft from blowing down your neck, and they keep that itchy sweater away from your face.  If you suddenly find yourself too warm, they are easy to remove.  Use them to accent your skin tones.&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RuIUhaYOwtI/AAAAAAAAAEc/M3iSWK_AzL0/s1600-h/dickies2.JPG.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RuIUhaYOwtI/AAAAAAAAAEc/M3iSWK_AzL0/s200/dickies2.JPG.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5107667491640754898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost everyone looks good in a black turtleneck."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dicky Testimonials:&lt;br /&gt;Hi Rick, I ordered from you in 2004 and I have gotten a lot of use from my dickeys.  I would like to order a few more in some different colors... Thanks,  Carmen&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Hi, Rick, Got them yesterday - SUPER - thanks much man - You are a life saver - I wore one today - what a difference -&lt;br /&gt;My neck thanks you too - thanks again - Constantine (in Moldova)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I received the Dickies yesterday. I LOVE them. They are exactly what I want in a dickey. I have a thick neck and the 15 in. is great without feeling like an ace bandage. Plus they are very soft and not scratchy. So I now want to order more. Joni.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-1366470587648855674?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/1366470587648855674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=1366470587648855674' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1366470587648855674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1366470587648855674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/09/just-thought-i-would-share-this.html' title='Have you seen my dicky?'/><author><name>loc</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://4.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RuIUhaYOwtI/AAAAAAAAAEc/M3iSWK_AzL0/s72-c/dickies2.JPG.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-1923995179214705616</id><published>2007-09-03T00:47:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-09-03T01:00:00.938-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank you officer....</title><content type='html'>The cop who stopped me tonight said I must be a pretty good driver because I have no previous record.  I almost asked him if that meant the the speeding ticket I got last year was off the record then.  But quickly decided that that was not the best idea.  So I agreed with him.  I have a burnt out headlight.  I agree with him on that matter too.  Don't worry, Mr. Nice Cop told me where to get a headlight to replace it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not going to Chile.  And that's the word (as my good friend Steven Colbert would say).  Did I tell you I made eye contact with Steven Colbert when I went to a taping of his show, because I did.  I also made eye contact with Tim Gunn.  And I would have made eye contact with Bill Murray if he didn't have a 15 foot fence around his property.  That way I could have thrown a dog over and then have to go chase it around his yard.  I think this would have resulted in eye contact with Bill.  I also made eye contact with the actor who plays Meg Ryan's brother in the movie Kate and Leopold.  Oh and George Hincapi and Lance Armstrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-1923995179214705616?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/1923995179214705616/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=1923995179214705616' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1923995179214705616'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1923995179214705616'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/09/thank-you-officer.html' title='Thank you officer....'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-3567752771492577379</id><published>2007-08-29T23:09:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-29T23:33:18.479-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sherpa anyone?</title><content type='html'>I had my first portering job today.  Portering is Sherpa-esque in the fact that you hike up a mountain and carry other people's stuff for them.  Christian asked me if I would do it for his clients camped up at the base of Mount Owen.  And me, being the expert on that mountain in particular, agreed.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which meant...getting up at 3 in the morning, driving and hour to the park to start hiking at 4:45 - alone, in the dark, alone, dark...alone.  Mind you this was also the very trail that Daisy, Sarah and I encountered a bear a couple days back.  So I set on my jolly way freezing cold, guided by the moon because it was so bright.  I would walk a ways, then stop to see if I heard any movement in the bushes.  Then keep on going, then stop.  But it was actually one of the coolest things I've done.  I've never heard silence so (I'm going to use the adjective silent here - I think it only appropriate) silent.  And I got to watch the sun rise.  And all the birds wake up.  So I stayed on the trail for 5 miles, then veered off the trail into a boulder field.  This is where it became tricky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried to take the path of least resistance.  That is, the path were I wouldn't get stuck in between two boulders or get stuck on top of a boulder with no where to go but to jump off, or step on the little boudlers and go sliding down hill.  Unfortunately the path of least resistance was sort of down hill.  So I proceeded down until I looked up, and realized what I had done.  And with Tom Petty's "Oh my my, oh hell yes" song in my head (don't ask me why this song came to me this morning.  I haven't listened to it in years, years I tell you) I had to remind myself to go up.  I did the by saying out loud.  Go up.  And when I came to a cross roads of which way to go in the field, I said "up", and up I went.    So I picked my way through the boulder field until I reached camp and the 3 merry men eating their breakfast.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We packed up camp, I put most of their stuff in my pack, and we headed back down the boulder field.  It was much easier this way because Christian was picking the path, all I had to do was follow.  So now I know exactly how the Sherpas feel when carrying people stuff up Mount Everst.  I know all the emtions they go through, their physical exursion, and their devotion to the job.  I know what it's like....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3567752771492577379?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3567752771492577379/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3567752771492577379' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3567752771492577379'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3567752771492577379'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/sherpa-anyone.html' title='Sherpa anyone?'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-964884143024772361</id><published>2007-08-24T16:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-25T13:30:22.793-06:00</updated><title type='text'>cupa joe...</title><content type='html'>I spent this morning on a coffee kick.  After three cups of coffee I was totally worthless.  I kept on bumping into things, not being able to hold anything still, dropping things.  I tried to eat a lot to soak up some of the coffee in my body.  It didn't help.  So then I went to go do ceramics.  Not the best decision, but I think the coffee was affecting my decision making abilities.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to glaze all the pots that I made.  This was a process.  With over 60 combinations of glazes to choose from, the scene played out as such - crazy shaky girl, splashing glazes all over the floor, murmuring to herself and standing and staring at one spot on the floor while trying to remember the exact combination of glazes that she just did to recreate it again with another bowl.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in the library now on the home stretch of grant writing - I hope.  I just tried to hold in a sneeze.  It ended up making a really weird loud noise that didn't sound like a sneeze at all.  I think I scared the girl next to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-964884143024772361?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/964884143024772361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=964884143024772361' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/964884143024772361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/964884143024772361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/cup-of-joe.html' title='cupa joe...'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-791692218416962741</id><published>2007-08-23T17:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-23T18:27:37.333-06:00</updated><title type='text'>This last week...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rs4f-KYOwbI/AAAAAAAAABs/TsUwnb97qUg/s1600-h/bufflo.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rs4f-KYOwbI/AAAAAAAAABs/TsUwnb97qUg/s200/bufflo.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102050580655686066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the past week I've learned...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;buffalos burp. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  Baby bears are scarier than grown bears when you don't see the mother around.  It's a bear, I promise...&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rs4cF6YOwZI/AAAAAAAAABc/c0SL6B7LJQk/s1600-h/bear.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rs4cF6YOwZI/AAAAAAAAABc/c0SL6B7LJQk/s200/bear.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102046315753161106" /&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;Nothing can replace good friends - not even the latest issue of US Weekly.  I've already gotten it, and it's not helping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rs4gkqYOwcI/AAAAAAAAAB0/fpmZzJbHW7Q/s1600-h/sarah+and+me.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rs4gkqYOwcI/AAAAAAAAAB0/fpmZzJbHW7Q/s200/sarah+and+me.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102051242080649666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember who your audience is, especially when you're telling your friend that you "just want to burp" her while patting her back.  This scene didn't go over well in front of people we didn't really know.  They thought it was weird - I don't know why.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hard to name all 50 states. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's hard to remember if there are 50 or 52 states.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's possible to remember every line in Waiting for Guffman and work them in to everyday conversation.  But refer back to the lesson of "remember who your audience is"...  This one could be tricky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My feet are fascinating.  Especially because everyday they shed more and more layers.  Disgusting, but fascinating.  Daisy described me as "over there like a true debutant picking at her feet".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-791692218416962741?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/791692218416962741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=791692218416962741' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/791692218416962741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/791692218416962741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/over-past-week-ive-learned.html' title='This last week...'/><author><name>loc</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://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/Rs4f-KYOwbI/AAAAAAAAABs/TsUwnb97qUg/s72-c/bufflo.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-5117779592797741172</id><published>2007-08-16T09:52:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-16T11:10:42.244-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Counter Balance - We don't know what it is, but we have it</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RsSBiqYOwVI/AAAAAAAAAA8/0J-_nnc8sM4/s1600-h/thegrand.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RsSBiqYOwVI/AAAAAAAAAA8/0J-_nnc8sM4/s200/thegrand.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099343110581698898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah G and I went backpacking in the Tetons the other day.  We went to a glacier lake right under the Grand.  Right when we arrived at our little lake it started raining, but with the sun out.  So we stood under a tree and waited for it to stop.  Then we set up camp.  It took 45 minutes to hang the bear bag.  It was a lot of granny throws, rocks being flung in all directions, rocks flying out of the rope that we tied around them, rope getting tangled - but perserverance pays off and we finally hung the perfect bear bag - with counter balance.  Then we sat down for a nice dinner for burnt pita pizzas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RsSC9KYOwWI/AAAAAAAAABE/cSWnhVSYKE0/s1600-h/backpacks.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RsSC9KYOwWI/AAAAAAAAABE/cSWnhVSYKE0/s200/backpacks.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099344665359860066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I almost hit a moose the other day that ran into the road right in front of me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told a hot guy that I didn't need to eat any more fiberous food because I was regular.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RsSEyKYOwXI/AAAAAAAAABM/DjlDbTnQ01o/s1600-h/backsweat.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RsSEyKYOwXI/AAAAAAAAABM/DjlDbTnQ01o/s200/backsweat.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5099346675404554610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah and I have figured out the perfect way to find our way around Jackson.  Go into a hotel and ask for directions.  They automatically pull out a map and highlighter and highlight the path for you.  It's wonderful.  Now we have a collection of maps with little paths layed out for us.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5117779592797741172?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5117779592797741172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5117779592797741172' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5117779592797741172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5117779592797741172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/counter-balance-we-dont-know-what-it-is.html' title='Counter Balance - We don&apos;t know what it is, but we have it'/><author><name>loc</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://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RsSBiqYOwVI/AAAAAAAAAA8/0J-_nnc8sM4/s72-c/thegrand.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-5487456192495412658</id><published>2007-08-11T19:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-11T19:27:01.504-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mini golf pros...</title><content type='html'>I was a participant in the first and last annual Jackson Hole minigolf tournament.  My team, the only all girls team, dominated.  Well, that is to say our score card was pretty stellar.  And our style points were not to be rivaled.  Do-overs were abundant.  Obstacles on the course were easily avoided.  Strategic standing (for blocking purposes) was in high demand.  Random cheers so we were to give the illusion of a great play, happened often.  And hot pink lipstick was applied by all.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If anyone has an opinion on whether or not I should move to Chile for 6 months, I would love to hear it.  This topic is up for debate from August 11th to the 14th.  I will take your points into consideration, but make no promises on the final decision.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, if you are an adult (that is, not a teenager - funny how adult is defined), and are interested in going to Chile yourself for 2 weeks to do service projects in Torres del Paine National Park, let me know.  Apparently I'm in charge of putting a trip together.  The trip would happen sometime in April.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5487456192495412658?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5487456192495412658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5487456192495412658' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5487456192495412658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5487456192495412658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/mini-golf-pros.html' title='Mini golf pros...'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-3498974960090258353</id><published>2007-08-09T18:29:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-09T20:27:27.847-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Do America?  Stop saying that Mr. Knopfler...</title><content type='html'>Likes and dislikes...&lt;br /&gt;I strongly dislike Mark Knopfler right now, especially his song "Do America" which my computer seems to favor.  But I do like Amy Winehouse's "Rehab" song, which I just bought off itunes.  And of course Justin's "Bringing Sexy Back".&lt;br /&gt;Photoshop.  Why is it so expensive and why can't I get it for free?&lt;br /&gt;My Chacos.  They are making my feet smell really bad.  I mean REALLY bad.  I can smell them just sitting down.  But I do like the smell of Tide, which is on the table right next to me.  &lt;br /&gt;I do like Dennis Haskin's new billboard campaign for veggie's in Tennessee.  "Ocra rings my bell" I believe he is saying while holding ocra.  And I do like the fact that Dennis Haskin's yelled at me when I was leaving his talk that I had to photograph for Furman a year ago.  I got all the pictures I needed so I left the front row with my huge camera and he didn't like it.  So he stopped his talk and yelled at me for leaving.  So everying Mr. Belding is a like.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found a friend yesterday.  Literally, I found him.  I lost him three years ago when I left Yosemite, but I found him in Jackson yesterday.  In the ceramics studio.  That's right my friends, last night I had dinner with 3 other people my own age.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-3498974960090258353?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/3498974960090258353/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=3498974960090258353' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3498974960090258353'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/3498974960090258353'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/do-america-stop-saying-that-mr-knopfler.html' title='Do America?  Stop saying that Mr. Knopfler...'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-5282328039756221322</id><published>2007-08-08T11:00:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-08T11:30:52.857-06:00</updated><title type='text'>not a girl, not yet a woman...but definitely not a man</title><content type='html'>Well it happened again.  I was confused for a man.  I walked over to Christian and Sue's to say hello and they were outside talking to one of their friends who had just dropped Mariela off.  The man looks and me then looks at Christian and says, "Is this a daughter or a son?"  To that, I just raised my eyebrows and didn't say anything.  I don't think Christian heard the "or a son" part and answered that I was a cousin.  Sue heard and rolled her eyes and mumbled something under her breath.  Stupid man.  He had to deal with me throwing daggers with my eyes for the rest of the conversation.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went on a bike ride yesterday.  My chain fell off my bike in the middle of no where.  So I had to sit there and fix it as all these cars zoomed by.  And right when I broke down a little rain cloud came and rained on me.  Then when I got it fixed, the rain went away.  I think it was a representative metaphor for my mood.  When I finally got going again dogs started chasing me - uphill.  Then once I shook the dogs a huge wind storm came that was blowing all my facial features to the side and trying to push my bike into traffic.  Interesting ride.  I think I'll go on another one today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5282328039756221322?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5282328039756221322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5282328039756221322' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5282328039756221322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5282328039756221322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/not-girl-not-yet-womanbut-definitely.html' title='not a girl, not yet a woman...but definitely not a man'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-1053207964564091590</id><published>2007-08-05T20:43:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-08T11:30:03.271-06:00</updated><title type='text'>That mountain ain't got nothin' on me...</title><content type='html'>Today I bounded up the Snow King Mountain.  This was a  hike that I did two weeks ago.  On that hike by the 134th switchback  I was drenched in sweat, bent over with my hands on my knees, and used the expression "Holy shit".  This time I was feeling good.  I even passed a mountain biker while he was struggling to keep his uphill momentum going.  The only thing that put a damper on my hike was a little kid coming down the trail asked  me if I had been running. "Why do you ask, you little twerp?  No, I just sweat like a man in all situations, thank you very much."  But after that unfortunate encounter, it was smooth sailing.  Well, until I had to pull the dollar (to ride the gondola down) out of my sports bra and it was soaking wet.  I had to wait a minute and let it flap in the wind before I felt comfortable giving it to the attendant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I researched grants today for the non-profit I now find myself in charge of.  It's hard because in the grant database these grants are so specific, and they all sound like worthy causes.  So by the end of my search, I had changed the mission of the Global Community Project (youth leadership, environmental, international exchange) to a woman's studies, disabilities, health care, AIDS research, homeless, Jewish, economically disadvantaged program.  I think I can really make an impact with the new mission of the Global Community Project.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My left arm is numb.  Is that weird?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-1053207964564091590?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/1053207964564091590/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=1053207964564091590' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1053207964564091590'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/1053207964564091590'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/that-mountain-aint-got-nothin-on-me.html' title='That mountain ain&apos;t got nothin&apos; on me...'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-6570929295016862265</id><published>2007-08-04T18:50:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-04T19:32:40.400-06:00</updated><title type='text'>interaction</title><content type='html'>I have made a big transition.  I have gone from a city of 8 million people to a town of about 800.  I have gone from having Bill Murray as a neighbor, to having horses and cows as neighbors.  From seeing hundreds of people a day, to just a couple a day - if I'm lucky.  I have to be careful of this one.  If it gets to be late in the day and I haven't had any social interaction, I have to go to the grocery store, stand in front of the peaches and try to have a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt;.  "Ummm... gotta love those Washington peaches, eh?" If that doesn't work, I have to buy a peach so I can have a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt; with the cashier.  "Yep, just one peach please.  Gotta love those Washington peaches, eh?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My social interaction yesterday was yoga class.  It was taught by Janet, who sounded like Martha Stewart.  Which is actually quite nice for a yoga teacher to sound like.  If this job Martha has ever falls through, she could always market a yoga tape.  I think I did really well because of my yoga pants.  It made it look like I knew what I was doing.  Well, until the end when we were having our nap time.  Everyone was sitting up, while I was still in my fetal position.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-6570929295016862265?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/6570929295016862265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=6570929295016862265' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/6570929295016862265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/6570929295016862265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/interaction.html' title='interaction'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-9174196111571141759</id><published>2007-08-02T15:14:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-02T21:36:34.918-06:00</updated><title type='text'>random thoughts today...</title><content type='html'>Never buy a stack of cheese without the paper separators again.&lt;br /&gt;Who was the main singer in the backstreet boys?&lt;br /&gt;Zack Braff &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;is &lt;/span&gt;just doing what every other single male in new york is.  He's not a player or a man whore.&lt;br /&gt;Where the hell is my computer? - Oh Salt Lake City. Only 5 hours away. Come on USP delivery man. I'll be sitting on the front porch waiting for it tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;What sandwich did Elvis like? BLT? No it had something to do with peanut butter. Peanut butter and banana? Did he die from that? No, that was Mama Cass. He died on the crapper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and the quote of the day.&lt;br /&gt;"I'm taking the intern to clean the toilet....  Consider yourself on latrine duty."&lt;br /&gt;And believe you me, it was disgusting. He took the hose sprayed everything down. Took an old broom, cleaned the INSIDE of the latrine first scraped all the crap off the side, then cleaned the toilet seat. He was flinging that thing all around. From now on, you will find me using the bathroom outside of the latrine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-9174196111571141759?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/9174196111571141759/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=9174196111571141759' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/9174196111571141759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/9174196111571141759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/random-thoughts-today.html' title='random thoughts today...'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-5796536934157936851</id><published>2007-08-01T14:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-08-01T14:36:14.886-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Volume 29 Issue 183</title><content type='html'>I have taken to reading the Jackson Hole Daily.  Only volume 29 issue 183.  I haven't remembered to pick the new one up when I am in town.  But because of that I have become very well versed in this issue 183.  Need a job?  I know where you can find one.  If you speak perfect English I can tell you who to call for light house keeping duties.  I know, I know.  I got excited too at first.   I had my finger on the button to call.  But it's light housekeeping duties, not lighthouse keeping duties.  Darn it.  I know, I thought it was crazy that Idaho had a lighthouse too, but I wasn't going to argue. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also think I'm going to go to the Hoback firefighters picnic.  This guy last year saw a girl there that he hopes is there again (and it was a year ago, so I'm sure he doesn't even remember what she looks like.)  He says in the "personals" section, "sure there were lots of other beautiful women with sticky fingers and rib sauce smiles.  But, during the auction you seemed to shine surrounded by voluptuous desserts.  Maybe I'll see you again this year Aug. 18th.  I'm going to buy a raffle ticket....I hope I'll get lucky."  I can smear bbq sauce on my face and act voluptuous around desserts.  Oh wait, well I can shine around voluptuous desserts too.  I can do both at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I might even be able to earn $800 a day on my own candy route!  Who knew that Jackson had so many opportunities?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5796536934157936851?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5796536934157936851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5796536934157936851' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5796536934157936851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5796536934157936851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/08/volume-29-issue-183.html' title='Volume 29 Issue 183'/><author><name>loc</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-6412878021426315442</id><published>2007-07-30T21:07:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-07-30T21:21:32.088-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Holy cow</title><content type='html'>I herded cows today. Not intentionally. I was on a run. I looked down the road and this cow was staring back at me half in and half out of the barbed wire fence. Then with one more pull, she freed herself from the fence and stood on the road. 20 cows came pouring out after her. They were all freaked out running all over the place. By this time I was in the middle of the frantic herd. They kept on running and falling all over the place. 6 cows got in front of me and I ran with them a while down the road. Then I figured I probably shouldn't separate these cows from the others. So I started running in the other direction, but I just freaked the other cows out, who busted through the fence on the other side of the road. Phew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to the fair yesterday with Mariela and Christian. Mariela told me we didn't see any of my friends there because I didn't have any. Perceptive little 5 year old.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-6412878021426315442?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/6412878021426315442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=6412878021426315442' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/6412878021426315442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/6412878021426315442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/07/holy-cow.html' title='Holy cow'/><author><name>loc</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-9108746716262835567.post-5503617595464409095</id><published>2007-07-28T21:48:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-07-28T22:05:00.278-06:00</updated><title type='text'>"big girl" decision</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RqwPvLB0NUI/AAAAAAAAAAU/TQQx4OV7kR0/s1600-h/lenox+lounge+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RqwPvLB0NUI/AAAAAAAAAAU/TQQx4OV7kR0/s320/lenox+lounge+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5092462581737862466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss...&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;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brigid told me today that I had to make a "big girl" decision. So I did. I'm not living with her. And I hope when she lifts the box, she doesn't lift with her knees. No, that's mean. One should always lift with the knees when moving heavy objects.&lt;br /&gt;So I think I have successfully made enemy #1 in Victor.&lt;br /&gt;But I get an apartment all to myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5503617595464409095?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5503617595464409095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5503617595464409095' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5503617595464409095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5503617595464409095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/07/i-miss.html' title='&quot;big girl&quot; decision'/><author><name>loc</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://3.bp.blogspot.com/_W2mLVyOQ9es/RqwPvLB0NUI/AAAAAAAAAAU/TQQx4OV7kR0/s72-c/lenox+lounge+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9108746716262835567.post-5666637992852839048</id><published>2007-07-27T21:17:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-07-27T21:34:10.775-06:00</updated><title type='text'>the life of a 5 year old</title><content type='html'>It's 9:15.  45 minutes 'til bedtime and I can't wait.   Yesterday people were in my room, which also functions as the living room, at 10:30 and I got mad.  Well, not mad, but annoyed that they didn't respect my bedtime.  I even contemplated getting in my jammies and lying down on the futon that is spread out in the middle of the floor.  But then I figured that it would be weird.  So I just became mute and stared at my bed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mariela, my cousin -she's 5, calls me Jessica because she can't remember my name.  Christian calls me Christina because he met my sister before me.  Sue calls me Jessica because she thinks it's funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Whitney (she's 4) asked me the other day what I was going to be for Halloween.  I started to think really hard about it.  I totally zoned out of our conversation and was trying to think of a really good ironic costume that I can never seem to create at Halloween.  Then I realized that she was waiting for an answer.  So I said vampire.  She said that she was going to be a witch. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder how long it is going to take Brigid to move the box out of the room in her house so I can move in?  So far it's two weeks and counting.  Do you think she's trying to make a statement.  No, it's probably just a really awkward box to carry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent a lot of the day peeling the sunburn off my arms.  It's really entertaining - kinda addicting.  I can't stop. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15 more minutes until bed.  I have to go get ready...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/9108746716262835567-5666637992852839048?l=ocooke.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/feeds/5666637992852839048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=9108746716262835567&amp;postID=5666637992852839048' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5666637992852839048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/9108746716262835567/posts/default/5666637992852839048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ocooke.blogspot.com/2007/07/life-of-5-year-old.html' title='the life of a 5 year old'/><author><name>loc</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></feed>
