<?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-2921687146324631725</id><updated>2012-02-16T10:53:11.200-08:00</updated><category term='I smile....sometimes.  Your taxpaying dollars at work :)'/><category term='See'/><title type='text'>The World According to Emily...</title><subtitle type='html'>A journey from Point A to Point B (sometimes both literally and figuratively) when points C through Z seem to be scattered somewhere in the middle...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>65</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-2709558576397979030</id><published>2007-10-30T06:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-30T06:21:39.935-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Of All the Times to Forget the Camera</title><content type='html'>This weekend's trip to New York City was amazing.  Unfortunately, I don't have any pictures to document it.  I realized that the camera was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;sitting&lt;/span&gt; on my desk at home, and Ben's was on his dresser right about the time the plane started to taxi out to the runway.  In my defense, the sun wasn't up at that point, and wouldn't be until we landed in Atlanta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, I digress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As with any trip that Ben and I take, there is always some little snag that has the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;opportunity&lt;/span&gt; to become a huge snag if we let it.  This time it was the torrential rain on Friday night.  On Friday night, we went to go see Les Miserables at the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Broadhurst&lt;/span&gt; theater.  So, of course, we got all dolled up in some of our nicest clothes, I did my hair, and I even wore heels (shocking, I know), and we left our room ahead of schedule.  If we didn't make it to the theater by 5 minutes before showtime, our tickets would become null and void.  We figured that by leaving an hour to go 10 blocks, we would be able to catch a cab and make it to the theater in plenty of time...boy were we wrong.  It took nearly 40 minutes to catch the cab...and once we did, we were in gridlock.   Somewhere around 41st street, we bailed out of the cab and started to run.  Somewhere around 43rd street, I took off my shoes and ran in my stockings, in my little black dress, through the pouring rain.  We made it on time though, and enjoyed a fantastic show!  After the show we had some of the best pizza I think I have ever tasted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Saturday, our first order of business was to get me up to Yankee Stadium.  I know, it seems &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;sacrilegious&lt;/span&gt; for a Red &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Sox&lt;/span&gt; fan to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;adamant&lt;/span&gt; about a visit to Yankee Stadium, but I wanted to see it before they tear it down.  Now I have, and I continue on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;despising&lt;/span&gt; the Yankees into eternity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After our visit to the Bronx, Ben took me to Rockefeller Center so I could see where they put the tree.  If it hadn't been raining, we would have gone ice skating.  After our visit there, we went to Saint Patrick's Cathedral, at the suggestion of my friend Sam.  What a beautiful church.  The architecture and the stained glass were amazing.  I have to admit it was a little awkward to be at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; wedding with a bunch of tourists gawking at the church (what a way to ruin a ceremony...with a bunch of people you don't even know talking throughout your vows), and the gift shop set up in the cathedral was not the classiest thing I've ever seen...but my goodness what a beautiful church.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After our visit to Rockefeller Center and the church, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Ben&lt;/span&gt; and I went to Times Square.  I still can't get over the sheer number of people there.  I have never seen so many people in one place!  It was a really neat thing to see.  We capped of our visit to Times Square with a walk through the biggest Toys R' Us that I've ever witnessed.  Three floors of toys!  And a Ferris Wheel!  We made it out with our wallets intact, and headed back to the hotel.  I needed a nap before the World Series game :)!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was quite an experience to watch the Red &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Sox&lt;/span&gt; pummel the Colorado Rockies while sitting in Yankee Territory.  the funny thing is, I'm not the only one who was cheering for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Sox&lt;/span&gt; in that bar!  We went to a place called &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;O'Haras&lt;/span&gt;, less than a block from the World Trade Center site, and sat at the bar beside a group of Englishmen.  What a fun group of guys!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the game ended, it was time to head back to our room.  My trip was pretty much over.  However, it was a really good trip.  Things between Ben and I are getting much better.  Not everything is 100 percent yet.  However, if this trip did anything, it was to remind us what we are fighting so hard for.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-2709558576397979030?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/2709558576397979030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=2709558576397979030' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2709558576397979030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2709558576397979030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/10/of-all-times-to-forget-camera.html' title='Of All the Times to Forget the Camera'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7100599282120053080</id><published>2007-10-25T06:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T06:58:13.226-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When Titles Are Superfluous...</title><content type='html'>This month has been a bad month, and it's not even over yet. I know that I promised to write more...it's just that I have had a hard time finding things that I'm comfortable writing about in my life right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started a second job when Ben left...and proceeded to quit it three weeks later because I hated it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ben and I have been having some serious problems (I hate admitting that on the Internet where you can all read it, but, it is what it is). Serious enough problems that I almost moved out last weekend. Disturbing enough that they've rocked me to my core, and destroyed some of the best memories of my adult life, replacing them with anger and hurt. But, we've agreed to commit ourselves to trying to fix it. Therefore, I leave for New York City tomorrow at 6 a.m. to see him as the DALLAS moors. When he comes home, we will go into counseling to try to save all that we have created here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And...the hardest thing of all...I have admitted that I am depressed. For this, I am seeking help and counseling. I want to be the person I used to be. The one who could climb any mountain that was put in front of her without batting an eyelash. I'm tired of being sad and scared, and always looking behind me, waiting for fate to kick me in the ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far, I think it's helping. Wish me luck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7100599282120053080?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7100599282120053080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7100599282120053080' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7100599282120053080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7100599282120053080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/10/when-titles-are-superfluous.html' title='When Titles Are Superfluous...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8170626870921992028</id><published>2007-10-08T05:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-08T05:59:10.480-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Old College Try (Whatever That Is)</title><content type='html'>A few weeks back, Ben asked me why I stopped blogging. I really didn't have an answer to tell him. I could say I've been too busy. I could say I didn't have anything tow rite about. Those would be lies though. During this last &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;inport&lt;/span&gt;, we've been to California (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;yay&lt;/span&gt;, San &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Francisco&lt;/span&gt;!). We went home to Massachusetts to visit &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Fenway&lt;/span&gt; during a Yankees series (the ultimate pilgrimage to Baseball Mecca if you ask me). We bought a new mattress. I've taken a second job. Katelyn came to visit (Double &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;YAY&lt;/span&gt;!). There have been plenty of things to write about. I've actually written several blog entries, but haven't posted them because I didn't like them and thought I would go back and edit them later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just haven't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess part of it might be that I just don't feel like writing lately. Work is bothering me a LOT lately. Ben and I have gone through some serious growing pains in the last couple of months. My car is acting up, and I'm just NOW beginning to start making friends (of course, because I'm leaving in six months).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd be lying if I said that I don't feel isolated out here. I can count the friends I have on one hand, with fingers to spare. I'm hoping that I can make some more friends while &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;waitressing&lt;/span&gt;, and maybe then have SOME kind of social life. That's one of the things that drove Ben nuts during this last &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;inport&lt;/span&gt;. I had no social life, so I wanted him to hang out with me...constantly....to a point that I can admit I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;probably&lt;/span&gt; being overbearing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I'm trying something new. I'm going to try to come out of my shell, and actually make friends. Also, I'm going to try to post more often (I know I said this LAST time too).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8170626870921992028?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8170626870921992028/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8170626870921992028' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8170626870921992028'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8170626870921992028'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/10/old-college-try-whatever-that-is.html' title='The Old College Try (Whatever That Is)'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-9046269992667147445</id><published>2007-08-27T06:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-27T08:15:48.882-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Appreciating What You Have</title><content type='html'>I know that my postings have been sporadic to say the least. Sometimes it's because I don't feel like writing. Sometimes it's because I don't want to write about things that may not be going well. Other times it's just because I'm too busy, or I just don't have anything tow rite about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today there are plenty of things I can write about. I could write about the trip that Ben and I took to California. I can write about the recent &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;re-shaving&lt;/span&gt; of my dog. Or maybe the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bike ride&lt;/span&gt; that Ben and I took this weekend (lots of fun, a bike is a great way to see Folly Beach).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, those I'll write about in a&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;nother&lt;/span&gt; post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, on my way to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;WalMart&lt;/span&gt; this morning, I was involved in something that made me cry (yeah, I know, big shock), and really thank the Heavens for everything that I have. You see, sometime during the night, someone hit a dog out on Folly Road, and left him for dead. As I was just passing the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Piggly&lt;/span&gt; Wiggly, I noticed a shape in the "suicide lane." Another woman, driving the other way noticed it as just about the same time. Realizing that it was a dog, both of us stopped, and ventured out into the middle of the road like lunatics. As the other woman (I believe her name was Tracy) called the veterinarian listed on the dog's Rabies tag, I got down on my hands and knees to see if he was still breathing. Maybe it's the optimist in me hoping and praying that we weren't too late, but I swore I saw some shallow breaths raise his tummy JUST a little bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I was getting ready to help Tracy (?) lift the dog and put him in her van (he wouldn't have fit in my car), another woman pulled up in a little Mercedes. She pulled out a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;trash bag&lt;/span&gt; to wrap around the dog, and in her business suit and heels ran out into the middle of the road, mascara streaming down her face, to help us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dog died before we could get him into Tracy's van. As I knelt there on Folly Road with my hand on a stranger's dog's chest, feeling what I think was his last breath, I cried. Actually, I bawled. But I know I did the right thing by stopping. The strange dog, having lain there for Lord only knows how long - in the rain no less - died surrounded by the love of three strangers. Not only that, but Tracy was still going to bring him to the vet so that his family could claim him if they wished.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All I could think of was my Coda-bear at home, sitting there on the kitchen floor, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;probably&lt;/span&gt; staring at the door waiting for his momma to come home. I could just imagine the fear he would feel if he were that dog, and hope that somebody would stop and help him too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll post again later, and I promise, it will be happier...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-9046269992667147445?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/9046269992667147445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=9046269992667147445' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/9046269992667147445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/9046269992667147445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/08/appreciating-what-you-have.html' title='Appreciating What You Have'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-5499550164870946048</id><published>2007-07-30T05:19:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-30T05:34:56.243-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Almost Home</title><content type='html'>We're almost there. It has been quite possibly the longest two months of my life, but Ben will be home in 48 hours. More importantly, this time tomorrow I will be well on my way to Jacksonville to meet the ship. I will be riding the ship back to Charleston on what is called a "Tiger Cruise." It is a opportunity for some of the crew members to bring their family on board for a short while. I am so excited. How could I not be with a chance to see Ben a day early?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also excited for myself. Another chance to get offshore on a Coast Guard cutter, does it get any better than that? Sometimes, especially right now, I don't think so. You see, a cutter is it's own microcosm. It is interesting watching all of the social and professional dynamics at work. Then there is my desire to just get back to seeing the stars, and ONLY the stars in the night sky. I used to make fun of the deck watch officers who could see 360 square miles of water from the bridge and nothing else...now I would give my right arm to see that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And tomorrow night I will see that...and get to keep my arm in the process.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-5499550164870946048?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/5499550164870946048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=5499550164870946048' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/5499550164870946048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/5499550164870946048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/07/almost-home.html' title='Almost Home'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8213782173866087887</id><published>2007-07-28T21:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-28T21:49:10.410-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When You Don't Have Anything Left To Give</title><content type='html'>A good friend of mine has often told me that I give too much of myself to others, especially in friendship. He is constantly warning me to follow the popular maritime axiom "one hand for yourself, one hand for the ship," and apply it to any friendship or relationship that I enter. I have had a very hard time doing that. It many cases, such as with Ben and many of the friendships that I have been fortunate to have over the years, ignoring that advice has been the best course. However, many failed romances (BELIEVE me, many of my friends and family STILL won't let me live some of them down) and friendships later, I think I'm starting to learn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having your generosity of spirit and compassion taken advantage of is not fun. In fact it is very painful. I always try to go by the Golden Rule, treating others as I would hope to be treated. If that means having a hug, or a shoulder to cry on, or a waiting ear when things go bad, then so be it. If that means being ready with the confetti when things go well, I'm all for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But how much is too much? When does giving all that you have (and then some) turn into not enough? What happens when you aren't willing to give up everything in order to help someone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In some cases they understand that you can't go any further. You've already undermined what's best for you enough that sometimes you forget that you need to take care of yourself too. Unfortunately, in others they get angry and lash out at you, expecting you to give that last bit that would destroy you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I feel like the stump from the Giving Tree. However, unlike that stump, I won't let anyone sit down on top of me. I need to have SOMETHING left. In fact, I'm not even going to give up my trunk. I'm hoping to grow back some branches and leaves so that I can enter into other friendships down the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm tired of worrying about others so much it makes me sick. I'm tired of sleepless nights, worrying that I haven't given the right advice or enough of my time or helped a friend out enough. I'm tired of doing things that I really don't WANT to do, just because they bring a smile to someone else's face. What about the frown, heartache, and anguish that it brings to me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've given as much as I can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think now it's time that I worry about me for a little while.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8213782173866087887?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8213782173866087887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8213782173866087887' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8213782173866087887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8213782173866087887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/07/things-that-make-you-go-grrr.html' title='When You Don&apos;t Have Anything Left To Give'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7039378541872669338</id><published>2007-07-28T07:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-28T07:46:46.784-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Go West Young Man (and Woman)</title><content type='html'>So, in the inevitable wisdom of the Coast Guard, it has been decided that Ben needs to go to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;TRACEN&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Petaluma&lt;/span&gt; for a week...immediately following the ship's return to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;homeport&lt;/span&gt;...to go through Leadership and Management (LAMS) class again.  Yes folks, that's right.  They are sending him to California for a week, immediately following patrol.  This equals no &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;standdown&lt;/span&gt; for Ben, and no time for us to get to know each other again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, how are we going to solve this problem?  I'm going on vacation, taking a week off to fly out to California with Ben while he is in training.  Back to my old stomping grounds that I was itching to leave.  Now, under any other circumstances, I would not be too excited about his...but strangely enough, I AM!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, I have been homesick for California for a while.  I miss Katelyn, I miss Rosie, I miss Tiffany, and I miss Andy.  I miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Sephora&lt;/span&gt; and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Rosenblum&lt;/span&gt; Cellars.  I miss cool nights when I can wear a sweatshirt, even though it is August.  I miss driving along the coast just to watch the sun set, knowing there's a good chance I won't be able to see anything because the fog has already rolled in.  I miss all of those things that were familiar to me for better than three years, and that I find myself pining away for right now, as I'm here without Ben in Charleston.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, I love South Carolina.  It is beautiful, the people are wonderful.  I'm sure come January, I'll be glad that I don't have to scrape ice off my windshield.  I haven't really put my roots down here yet though.  I don't have a friend base like &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Ben&lt;/span&gt; was hoping I'd make (outside of Sam and Goose, I really don't have any friends here at all).  As nice as most of the guys are at work, I really don't want to hang out with them outside the terminal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another good thing about going to California again is that it will give Ben and I a chance to go back to our beginnings.  That is where we began.  That is where a lot of our best memories are.  A couple of romantic nights in San Francisco?  Then a week up on the edge of wine country?  I'm all over it.  Ben and I were talking about taking a vacation somewhere that we wouldn't have to worry about Ceres, the Coast &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Guard&lt;/span&gt;, the dog, and anything else.  Just some time to spend &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;reacquainting&lt;/span&gt; ourselves and getting back to the basics.  Well, we've fulfilled almost all of those requirements with this upcoming vacation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;California, here we come!  I can already taste the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Ghirardelli&lt;/span&gt; ice cream down on Fisherman's Wharf...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7039378541872669338?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7039378541872669338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7039378541872669338' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7039378541872669338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7039378541872669338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/07/go-west-young-man-and-woman.html' title='Go West Young Man (and Woman)'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-1352455981168543768</id><published>2007-07-25T12:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-25T12:25:31.558-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What Happens When There Are No Easy Answers</title><content type='html'>For the last couple of weeks, I've watched a friend go through Hell, and there has been nothing that I can do to stop it.  What do you do when there is nothing that you can say to make someone feel better?  How do you cope when there is nothing that you can do to ease that person's mind?  How do you comfort yourself when you are helpless to help someone, and you know it, and it is the worst feeling in the world?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last two weeks have been a roller coaster for me.  Just when things seem to get better, the whole world crashes.  I have to watch someone who I grew to know as a very strong and dependable person just disintegrate before my eyes.  The next day though, things are fine again, and it's like nothing ever happened...yet, I wait for the implosion that I know is inevitable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure that most people would say that I have allowed myself to care too much.  At the first sign of trouble, I should have walked - no RUN- away as fast I possibly could.  I can't do that though.  I don't know if this is something that can be considered a flaw, or what.  I mean really, how is it that people can just walk away when they see someone else suffering?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Truly, sometimes I just wish that I could.  I'm sure it would hurt a lot less.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-1352455981168543768?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/1352455981168543768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=1352455981168543768' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1352455981168543768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1352455981168543768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/07/what-happens-when-there-are-no-easy.html' title='What Happens When There Are No Easy Answers'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-3013075752453184052</id><published>2007-07-14T09:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-25T12:26:34.575-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day Completely Off</title><content type='html'>Today I took the day off. I know, some of you are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;probably&lt;/span&gt; saying, but you've had a FEW days off from Ceres, what do you need another day off for? However, I don't mean a day off from work. I took a day off from...everything. This morning when I woke up, I knew that I should go to work at a side job that I have picked up, fixing boats for a friend of mine from the waterfront. I knew that my phone would ring some time between 0900 and 1000, and that it would be Goose telling me that I can't make any money sleeping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I finally opened my eyes this morning though, I felt like crap. I had a stomach ache, and even though I had slept nine hours the night before, I was still tired. Anyone who knows me well knows I don't sleep past eight most mornings unless I REALLY put an effort into it (or I've worked the night before). When I finally extracted myself from beneath the blankets, it was 0930.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I had to go digging in Ben's dresser to find a clean T-Shirt to go walk the dog, I knew I needed to take some time for myself and just be. I looked around our bedroom, and then the apartment itself, and realized that it was a wreck. This is abnormal, considering that usually (especially when Ben is not around) I am a self-confessed neat freak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, this morning I told Goose that I was under the weather and I wouldn't be joining him today, even though it meant giving up a pretty good chunk of change. Instead, I put a load of laundry in the washing machine, grabbed all of the stuff to clean the bathrooms, and went to town. In a matter of an hour, I was feeling a little bit better (not to mention my bathrooms were sparkling). I tossed in another load of laundry, and went to work on our bedroom. It is amazing the crap that just piles up on the dressers. Half the time, I don't even know how it got there. I even dusted. Where does all of the dust come from? I mean seriously...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By the time my kitchen was clean, I was in a downright great mood. My stomach was still upset, but my house was clean. Although I felt guilty for bailing on Goose (who had already called me, asking me again to come out to work on a boat with him), I knew I had made the right decision.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After vacuuming the floors, I did something that I haven't done since Ben left over a month ago. I sat down &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;by&lt;/span&gt; myself and watched TV, not just turning the TV on for background noise or to catch a baseball score. I sat on our couch, kicked out the recliner, and turned on the "boob tube." As luck would have it, "While You Were Sleeping" was on - one of my favorite movies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what the rest of my day holds in store. I may go sit down by the pool for a while (providing that the thunderstorms that are in the area break up for a little while. Maybe I'll read a book.. Who knows, maybe I'll read a book down by the pool! I have a puzzle here that I've started to put together twice now, and never finished...maybe I'll do that. Maybe, if I get bored, I WILL call Goose and see if there's any work that he needs me to do this afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the main point of this entry is this - so often, I try to keep myself busy because I'm afraid of what will happen when I slow down. If I keep moving, I can't think about how much I miss Ben, or how much I miss my family. I don't have to worry about what will happen if I can't find something to do in the next ten minutes. I don't have to think about how I really want to go back to school, or how Ben might be in Bahrain this time next year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, while I've been running from all of these things, I've forgotten the simple joy of doing absolutely nothing - and just how wonderful it can be....and if you will excuse me, there is a swimming pool that is just screaming my name.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-3013075752453184052?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/3013075752453184052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=3013075752453184052' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3013075752453184052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3013075752453184052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/07/day-completely-off.html' title='A Day Completely Off'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-2936692575719646431</id><published>2007-07-04T18:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-04T19:21:41.597-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Freedom Is Definitely Not Free...In Fact, It Can Be VERY Expensive</title><content type='html'>Tonight as I sat on the front balcony with my neighbor "Ms. G" and her husband Ed watching the Folly Beach fireworks, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;discovered yet&lt;/span&gt; another level of pride for the country that I live in, have served for, and would serve for again if given the chance.  You see, Ben is in port tonight, celebrating the Fourth in yet another Third World country, just counting the days until he can come back home.  When Ms. G asked me where "my man" was for the holiday, I explained to her that he was still at sea, but they had pulled in for a couple of days. Conversation turned, as it always does, to where the ship is moored.  When I told Ms. G where they were, I noticed Ed puff up with pride.  He informed me that he spent more than a few holidays in this port as well, not to mention the births of two of his three sons.  Ed was in the Navy for several years during and following the Second World War.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Ed started reminiscing about his days at sea, I couldn't help but listen with rapt attention.  You see, tonight was the first time that I've ever met Ed.  He doesn't come out often because he is getting on in years.  However, as he talked of his service in the Navy and the pride he still has for the organization to this day, it seemed that the years faded away.  It was as if he was transforming in front of my eyes, and the grumpy old man that was sitting there ten minutes before was gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again, I thought of my Ben, serving his country on this day, far away from me and his family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought about all of our soldiers over in the Middle East (the ones I know, and the tens of thousands that I don't know), serving faithfully to protect others in a war that has little support from their countrymen.  They are putting their lives on the line, protecting the ideals that we hold dear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought of my uncles who served in Vietnam, in a very similar situation as our men that are fighting today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought of my own service to my country, and how proud I am to have completed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Most importantly though, I thought of the meaning of this day.  For anyone that is not an American, July 4&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; is just another day throughout the rest of the world.  For Americans though, it is a celebration of our independence and our right to rule ourselves; a giant birthday party if you will.  It is a celebration of the rights we have as Americans, whether we chose to fully grasp their importance or not.  Most importantly though, it is also a celebration of the victories won and the battles lost -both on the battlefields of the world and off - in the fight to preserve our way of life as Americans. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a &lt;a href="http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/06/big-2-7.html"&gt;previous post&lt;/a&gt;, I discussed the importance of birthdays both as a chance to reflect on the events of the year gone by and as a day to reflect on the year to come.  Normally politics is not something that I would be comfortable blogging about.  After all, aren't we free to all have our own opinions?  Isn't that what was fought for back in 1776?  However, as I listened to Ed talk and reflected on the sacrifices that are being made all over the world to maintain the freedoms that we as a country take for granted, my thoughts always came back to one simple idea.  As Americans we ALL need to do our part, be it serve in the Armed Forces or just voting for what we believe in.  After all, the freedom that we enjoy is not free.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Birthday America.  I hope that you enjoy many more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-2936692575719646431?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/2936692575719646431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=2936692575719646431' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2936692575719646431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2936692575719646431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/07/freedom-is-definitely-not-freein-fact.html' title='Freedom Is Definitely Not Free...In Fact, It Can Be VERY Expensive'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8073162948414000347</id><published>2007-07-01T19:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-01T19:35:42.555-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='I smile....sometimes.  Your taxpaying dollars at work :)'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='See'/><title type='text'>Another Day on the big blue...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/Rohjl2fdO7I/AAAAAAAAAAs/c1IjWLbRa74/s1600-h/100_2085+(Medium).JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082421681421368242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/Rohjl2fdO7I/AAAAAAAAAAs/c1IjWLbRa74/s320/100_2085+(Medium).JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/Rohiv2fdO6I/AAAAAAAAAAk/iTzrxtEkVlU/s1600-h/100_2079+(Medium).JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082420753708432290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/Rohiv2fdO6I/AAAAAAAAAAk/iTzrxtEkVlU/s320/100_2079+(Medium).JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These pictures are for all those people who do not think I smile...Emily??...or that I don't enjoy myself at sea.  As you can clearly see, I have posed for the camera..willingly...and I have a smile on my face.  No, that is not a muse.  The Operations Department on USCGC DALLAS is in good hands, you can see my leadership in action.  I'm also setting a fine exampe by showing everyone what a real baseball team is.   GO BRAVES!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8073162948414000347?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8073162948414000347/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8073162948414000347' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8073162948414000347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8073162948414000347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/07/another-day-on-big-blue.html' title='Another Day on the big blue...'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04733835224535067327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/Rohjl2fdO7I/AAAAAAAAAAs/c1IjWLbRa74/s72-c/100_2085+(Medium).JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-5974081594778714722</id><published>2007-07-01T18:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-01T18:18:01.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fast Times on Folly Beach...</title><content type='html'>It has been an extremely busy week.  I know, it doesn't make up for the lack of postings that we have been experiencing here at "The World According To Emily...", but hopefully, you all will forgive me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents came into town this week to visit me.  They like to see where it is that I'm living every time that I move.  That is the only way that my mom can be comfortable with me living in a new place.  My dad likes to see where I work.  That way he is comfortable knowing that I have a job in a place he can visualize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was able to cater to both of them this weekend, even though I had to work while they were here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While they were here, Mom and Dad got to see Morris Island Light, the Folly Beach Fishing Pier, Fort Sumter, and the IMAX theater at the aquarium.  We also went to Kiaweh and Seabrook Islands (snooty doesn't even BEGIN to describe it...they wouldn't let us into their towns because we weren't registered residents...we came back to Folly Beach to come hang out on the beach here with normal folk), and they went out to Sullivan's Island.  All in all, it was a pretty productive visit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss them already.  I can't wait until they come down again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-5974081594778714722?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/5974081594778714722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=5974081594778714722' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/5974081594778714722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/5974081594778714722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/07/fast-times-on-folly-beach.html' title='Fast Times on Folly Beach...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7044828921945327023</id><published>2007-06-22T12:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-22T12:40:54.343-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Faery PIctures!</title><content type='html'>So, today I got copies of the pictures that Trish took when she came down for the photoshoot! She sent me copies in the mail, including a disk of digital pictures that she took! I asked her if I could post them on my website (you know, do some more shameless advertising for a friend). She was of course ecstatic with the idea. These pictures were taken to be displayed and sold at a showing that will conicide with the release of the last Harry Potter book. The showing will be held at the Starbucks Cafe at Barnes in Noble located in Wilton Square, Saratoga Springs, New York. &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Please remember that all of these pictures are copyrighted by Trish. The link to her business website is located on the bottom right-hand side of my blog.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So without further ado, here are some of the pictures that will be featured during "Faery Tales - An Enchanting Photographic Experience." &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078973667690320530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RnwjpCY-kpI/AAAAAAAAAW0/NJAri3y1tHo/s320/postcard.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078974376359924386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RnwkSSY-kqI/AAAAAAAAAW8/M70PoZma0EY/s320/bwbrdg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5078975712094753458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RnwlgCY-krI/AAAAAAAAAXE/ac_McB4KAxc/s320/wallglb.jpg" border="0" /&gt;I'll post more of the pictures later on, but I have to run.  Enjoy these!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7044828921945327023?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7044828921945327023/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7044828921945327023' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7044828921945327023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7044828921945327023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/06/faery-pictures.html' title='Faery PIctures!'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RnwjpCY-kpI/AAAAAAAAAW0/NJAri3y1tHo/s72-c/postcard.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-2696597798442600875</id><published>2007-06-19T17:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-19T19:15:39.186-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Importance of Friends</title><content type='html'>Today was a good day for me. I got to hang out with my friend Sam for most of the day, taking her and her daughter out to lunch (her husband is out of town for a few days), and then going to do a little shopping (which neither of us could REALLY afford, but it is always fun to do when you have another woman around to do it with), and looking at her wedding album (because I'm still trying to put faces with the names in the stories I keep hearing).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Sam and I get together, it is always a good time. Ben always jokes that he has to get out his "Staten Island-Boston Language Dictionary" because he can't understand us when we talk. It's true...my Massachusetts accent comes out like you wouldn't BELIEVE when I get around Sam, and her Staten Island accent gets thicker...AND we both start talking with our hands. It's great. She understands things that I miss from home...good bagels, good potato chips (I can't TELL you how excited I was to find Cape Cod potato chips at the Piggly Wiggly), Drake's Cakes (kind of like Little Debbie). She understands how I miss the "hurry up" atmosphere of the Northeast. She knows what it's like to be a long way from the place you grew up, knowing that it will never be home again like it once was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hanging out with Sam makes me think of "my girls" back in California (Tiffany, Steph, Katelyn and Meg), Kim back home in Massachusetts, and of Trish up in New York (who I actually met in Hawaii), and makes me think of how fortunate I am to have the friends that I do. Being in the military has allowed me to move around, and even though I don't get to make a whole lot of friends, the ones that I do make are usually the kind that I keep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a long time the phrase "friends I can count on, I can count on one hand" really rang true to me. It has always been difficult for me to get to know people, especially when I know I'll be leaving sooner than later. I am proud to say though that now I need two hands to count the friends I can count on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's amazing the things that you miss when you leave friends behind. I miss my old life in Alameda, knowing that I could walk down the hall to talk to Katelyn at 2 a.m. if I needed to, or call Meg if I was lonely. I miss watching Joey and Parker (Steph's and Meg's little boys) grow up. I miss knowing that any trip to the movie theater with Katelyn and Meg involved either a trip to BevMo or Fuddruckers. I miss going to Weight Watcher's with Steph (it is so much easier to do something like that with a buddy). I miss just watching movies on the couch in our sweats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, it is an honor to know that I am the one that they call when they need someone to talk to, no matter what time of night it is. I am proud to say that I would get on a plane and fly anywhere for any of my close girlfriends, not caring what the cost is, just knowing that they needed me. Maybe even more importantly, it's a comfort knowing that they would do the same thing for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Kim lost one of her students in a tragic accident (she's a high school teacher), I talked with her for hours about it...and it was what she needed. She always tries to make sure that I'm okay wherever it is that I am. She is the only friend from high school that I've really kept in touch with, and I can't imagine life without her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Meg went through a hard time recently, she always knew that no matter what time it was I would always pick up the phone and let her talk. Sometimes that is the most important thing that you need, is just to talk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katelyn and I went through our own personal hells together, both leaving the Coast Guard under similar circumstances, trying to find new jobs, and trying to forge new identities. It was brutal, and there were times that we didn't always like each other...but the important part is that we knew we could count on each other when the chips were down. Katelyn became a sister to me, and I miss her terribly now that I can't just walk down the hall when I need a hug.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's amazing how things change as time goes on. Meg is moving to Connecticut. Steph is moving to Ohio. Katelyn is staying in Cali. Tiffany wants to go travel Europe in a catamaran. Lord only knows where Trish is headed to next. One thing remains the same though - we may be scattered all over the country, but there are ties that bind, and those ties remain strong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ladies, thank you for being my family during the last nine years. I couldn't have made it without you.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077962933036552834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RniMYiY-koI/AAAAAAAAAWs/6zdlVqaDPtc/s320/DSCF0216.JPG" border="0" /&gt;(Tiff, Katelyn, Meg, and I on our last Girls Night Out at the Cheesecake Factory in San Fran)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-2696597798442600875?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/2696597798442600875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=2696597798442600875' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2696597798442600875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2696597798442600875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/06/importance-of-friends.html' title='The Importance of Friends'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RniMYiY-koI/AAAAAAAAAWs/6zdlVqaDPtc/s72-c/DSCF0216.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-1380344726890226193</id><published>2007-06-17T20:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-17T20:42:55.855-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Another Day on Patrol....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/RnX-8vSIy3I/AAAAAAAAAAc/3Kr_V_2ai3M/s1600-h/100_1929.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077244474368248690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/RnX-8vSIy3I/AAAAAAAAAAc/3Kr_V_2ai3M/s320/100_1929.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/RnX9TfSIy2I/AAAAAAAAAAU/GOOsxGdtNwY/s1600-h/100_1895+(Large).JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077242666187017058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/RnX9TfSIy2I/AAAAAAAAAAU/GOOsxGdtNwY/s320/100_1895+(Large).JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/RnX9EvSIy1I/AAAAAAAAAAM/DTP_KRVuz5A/s1600-h/100_1867+(Large).JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5077242412783946578" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/RnX9EvSIy1I/AAAAAAAAAAM/DTP_KRVuz5A/s320/100_1867+(Large).JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-1380344726890226193?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/1380344726890226193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=1380344726890226193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1380344726890226193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1380344726890226193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/06/another-day-on-patrol.html' title='Another Day on Patrol....'/><author><name>Ben</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04733835224535067327</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_4yrL3Nz7pZQ/RnX-8vSIy3I/AAAAAAAAAAc/3Kr_V_2ai3M/s72-c/100_1929.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-6937538299031662995</id><published>2007-06-17T16:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-17T18:45:24.112-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Courage Is Not the Absence of Fear, But the Presence of Faith.</title><content type='html'>Coming from a girl who decided to forego Church this morning in favor of sleep after working a 26 hour shift, maybe discussions of faith aren't my best bet tonight....but here goes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For a month, every time I walked to the Post Office here in Folly Beach, I passed a sign that had the title quote of this entry on it. Every time I saw it I thought, gee, that is really a great quote. When I walked by today on my way to get the mail, I saw that the quote had been changed ( it now says "Some things are worth getting up early for"), and I felt a small twinge of sadness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night before I started my new job, my nephew Dylan called me, telling me "not to be shy, but be brave Auntie Em." He told me not to be frightened, but be nice to everybody and make friends. Pretty sage advice from a three year old, huh? It was just what I needed though...Dylan gave me courage to step out into the real world again the next day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Courage is not the absence of fear, but presence of faith.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I read those words, I think about myself. I wonder, am I courageous? I've done things that others would say are courageous...joining the Coast Guard, going to sea and saving lives, entering a profession that is completely male dominated. But really, has that taken courage or have I just been lucky?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course the first thing that I think of when my train of thought derails on this tangent is my faith in God. Although it isn't something that I discuss often, my faith in the Lord above is profound. I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason, and we meet everyone in our lives for a reason. We just have to trust in God to help, save, and protect us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next thing I think of is my faith in Ben and our relationship. When Ben asked me last year to move to South Carolina to be with him, I said yes without a single moment of hesitation. In truth, I barely knew him. Although we had been dating for several months at that point, it had been mostly long distance and would remain that way (in some ways, it still IS that way, especially now when he is at sea). Also, it went against some of the beliefs that I truly held dear. However, in my heart I had faith that it was the right decision. With that, I put my faith in the relationship that Ben and I had already built, and continue to build even now, and never looked back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also think of the faith I have in my own abilities. I have never believed anyone when they have told me that I can't do something. That just does not register in my mind as being possible.  In fact, being told that I can't do something only makes me want to do it more.  I really and truly believe that if I put my mind to a task at hand, I will be able to accomplish it. That doesn't mean that it would not be hard and SEEM impossible at times, but I have faith that if I want to do something bad enough, I can. So far, I haven't betrayed that trust in myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hardest thing for me to get my arms around is my faith in the good that I feel MUST exist in everyone. No one can be truly evil can they? I like to think not anyway. I still believe in the Golden Rule, and like to think that others do too. If I treat others kindly, I have faith they will treat me with kindness in return. Unfortunately, at times people prove my faith in them wrong. However, the number of good people I know in life heavily outweighs the bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I look at the things I've put my faith in, sometimes the sheer magnitude of trust that I've had in these different forces stupefies me. For me, the term "blind faith" is an extremely accurate description of the trust I place not only in myself, but also in the people and the world around me. While it allows me to be hurt more often then I would like when trust is misplaced, I really would not change that for the world. I have to believe in the good things in life...after all, where would we be without them?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, with all of this being said, I would like to propose a couple of questions. Is courage the presence of faith, or the presence of trust? Is there a difference between the two?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-6937538299031662995?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/6937538299031662995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=6937538299031662995' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6937538299031662995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6937538299031662995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/06/courage-is-not-absence-of-fear-but.html' title='Courage Is Not the Absence of Fear, But the Presence of Faith.'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-1244813314046516412</id><published>2007-06-13T16:35:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T16:55:04.798-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Big 2-7</title><content type='html'>So, originally I didn't plan on posting about Ben's birthday.  As I said in last night's post, I would wait until I was completely out of things to talk about.  I'm sure tonight I could have found something else to blog about.  It was my day off today, and I enjoyed it to the very fullest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something was nagging on my mind though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the last email that I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;received&lt;/span&gt; from Ben, he wrote the following about why he dislikes birthdays:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You wonder if we don't have better things to do then celebrate someone getting older...How about why we go to such lengths to celebrate someone getting older...I mean where did that start.  Congratulations..you are closer to death then you were before."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kind of a pessimistic view if you ask me, and a way I had never thought of birthdays before.  I've sat and thought about Ben's view of birthdays for more than a day, trying to reconcile it with my view. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The kicker of it is though, I can't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The way I see it, a birthday celebration isn't just for YOU when you've had a birthday.  Of course you get gifts, and people sing you Happy Birthday.  More often than not, there are cake and ice cream involved.  You really haven't done anything more than exist for this celebration to happen though.  I could do nothing but sit on the couch for the next ten years, and every March 20, my birthday will be celebrated.  You see, rather than celebrating the fact that you've taken up space for one more year, your birthday is a celebration of the wonder that you bring into the lives of the people you touch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Contrary&lt;/span&gt; to Ben's belief, I believe that your birthday is an extraordinary thing.  You have existed on this earth for exactly one year more, continuing to be a miracle to your parents, family, and friends.  You have made them laugh, you have made them cry, and certainly you have made them just shake their heads in bewilderment.  Your birthday is a celebration of the milestones that you have accomplished in this last year, whether or not you see them as important or not.  The fact that you were there to accomplish them is the important thing.  Your birthday is a celebration of the light that you bring into other people's lives, just by existing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your birthday is also a celebration of the things that are to come.  Every year that you celebrate, you are reaching another milestone.  From this point, the possibilities are endless.  There is so much that can happen in a year.  In Ben's case, this time next year he may be in command of his own ship.  We could be living someplace TOTALLY different than Folly Beach.  He may be looking at attending grad school.  The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;possibilities&lt;/span&gt; are endless.  There is no limit to what can happen in the next year. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now tell me, isn't that something to celebrate?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Birthday my love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-1244813314046516412?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/1244813314046516412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=1244813314046516412' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1244813314046516412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1244813314046516412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/06/big-2-7.html' title='The Big 2-7'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8059072602150959041</id><published>2007-06-12T17:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-04T19:29:50.606-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And I Didn't Even Have to Click My Heels.</title><content type='html'>A funny thing happened this evening when I was taking the dog for a walk down to the beach. I realized that I am happy. I feel like I belong. I'm home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I'm sure most of you are sitting there, reading your computer screens and saying "huh? has she lost her mind?" Let me explain, and bear with me. I promise there is a point to this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At seven o'clock this evening, I sat in my desk chair wondering what in the world I was going to blog about. The weather? Nah...the fact that it's hotter than blazes during the South Carolina summer (and it's only June) wouldn't come to a surprise to anyone. Food? Definitely not...who really cares about my new found love of Charleston She-Crab Soup? Ben's Birthday? It has possibilities, but he didn't seem as excited about his 27th birthday as I was...maybe I'll have a discussion on why we celebrate birthdays on another day, when I'm REALLY hurting for material.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, still with no topic of discussion, and dusk approaching, I decided that walking the dog down to the beach so that he could play in the water was the thing to do. As Coda and I crossed the causeway and headed into Folly Beach proper, I realized that I felt no stress whatsoever. Anyone who knows me knows that NEVER happens. I'm ALWAYS stressed out over SOMETHING. I looked to my left where there were kids using nets to catch crabs out of the Folly River, and then I looked to my right where the man taking his boat out of the water at the public ramp actually stopped what he was doing, just to smile and wave. Beyond him the sun was setting, all pink and fiery red behind the sailboats that tie up at Mariner's Cay. All was right with the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Coda and I continued on our way down the main drag. As I tell Ben almost every time we walk into Folly, it seemed like Kenny Chesney's song "I Go Back" should be playing in the background...and this time, it WAS! The singer at Woody's Pizza (who makes a great White Pizza by the way...but we're not talking about food tonight) was actually halfway decent. Coda and I stopped to listen and sing along for a few minutes, and then continued on our way. As always, Coda tried to go into the bathing suit store on the way down the beach (no, my dog is NOT gay) to go see the nice lady that owns it (and always has a treat for him when he walks by). We were on a mission though...to get to the beach before all of the light faded away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we got down to Snapper Jack's, Coda started getting really excited. As we got closer to the Holiday Inn parking log, he started turning himself inside out. You see, the ocean is just beyond the Holiday Inn. Upon moving to the East Coast where the water is warm and the waves aren't gigantic, Coda has discovered that he loves to play in the ocean. It's even better when I remember to bring a ball with us. Any day that Coda gets to go down to the water is a good day in his book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Coda ran and wagged his tail, and acted like the dog he loves to be, I got to thinking about the people that I've met here. Matt, Sharon, and John took care of me the night that Tropical Storm Barry rolled through, handing me a beer and inviting me to my first "Hurricane Party" of the season (and of my life). The guys at work all smile, wave, and ask if I'm getting along okay. At first I was a little suspicious of their kindness...but then I realized that is just the way that they are. They really want to see me do well. I thought of Lonnie (complete with the biker tattoos, shaved bald head, and goatee) puffing up proudly to inform me that he thinks of himself as a father-figure, making sure I'm safe while I'm working down on the docks (his little girl is 27 too). Shaune, Scottie, Terry, Larry, Jill, Diane, Karen...the list goes on. These people have all accepted me. Even more, they have embraced me and made me part of "the crew." For the first time in my life, I even have a real nickname that people call me (I'm known as Cricket at work).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After running on the beach, chasing the waves, barking at the water, flirting with the ladies (Coda, not me), and doing all of those things Coda loves to do, he decided that it was time to go home. And so, we made our trek back up the road to home, past the Wine Bar, and the Sand Dollar, through the crowds outside the Taco Boy. Coda was gentle and friendly, and the highlight of a little girl in a stroller's day when she reached out to pat him and he stopped for her. We stopped to listen to the singer at Woody's again for a few minutes, and then took our time walking back over the causeway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Halfway back across the causeway, I stopped for a minute, turned around, and looked back on this little beach town that I've come to call home. Until I moved here in April, I had no idea what the term "Low Country" referred to, or that when someone says "Bless your heart" it isn't a good thing. This time last year, Ben and I rolled into town for the first time, and I thought that it was the beginning of the end. No way could we make it work from 3,000 miles away with two patrol schedules competing against each other at times. There is no way that I could have fathomed that it was the beginning of something bigger than I could have ever imagined. During my last visit out here in January, before I moved here to be with Ben, I remarked to him as we drove home from the airport that even then in felt like I was coming home. Ben and I like it so much here that we've even talked about the possibility of buying a house here and coming back to stay when he's done in the Coast Guard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I wouldn't complain...after all, I would be coming home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8059072602150959041?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8059072602150959041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8059072602150959041' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8059072602150959041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8059072602150959041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/06/and-i-didnt-even-have-to-click-my-heels.html' title='And I Didn&apos;t Even Have to Click My Heels.'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-1153248420641212417</id><published>2007-06-11T17:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T17:58:15.481-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What exactly is it that you DO here...</title><content type='html'>So lately, I feel like I'm living in the movie "Office Space," complete with the saga of finding and hoarding the only working stapler on the terminal.  Every time I talk to someone, whether it is on the terminal or off, the question &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;inevitably&lt;/span&gt; is asked, "what exactly is it that you DO?"  It's like "the Bob's" are following me around (and if you've never seen "Office Space," you will have no idea what I am talking about).  Some days I'm working "on the deck," standing in as a longshoreman, making sure boxes go in their assigned spaces.  Other days I'll be standing out on the dock, observing the man that's working "in the lead," ensuring that the boxes are going on the ship in the correct order.  I do these things to prepare me for the job I've been hired to do, and give me some experience out on the docks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was hired on as a Vessel Superintendent for Ceres Terminals.  They are a holding of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;NYK&lt;/span&gt; Lines out of Japan.  When a container ship is scheduled to call at our terminals, it is my job to go in and do what is called a "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-stow."  When I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;pre-stow&lt;/span&gt; a ship, the first thing that I look at are the cargo manifests of what is going to be discharged from the vessel.  Anything that is hazardous or refrigerated has to be segregated from the rest of the cargo.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Usually&lt;/span&gt; I "send these boxes to chassis."  What that means is that these containers are discharged onto a chassis that can leave from the yard, as is.  The rest of the containers are "sent to ground," which means that they are sent to a field of stacks, usually four boxes tall and about five boxes wide.  The discharge of cargo from the ship is actually an easy thing to plan for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After discharging a ship on the computer, that is when things get interesting.  We serve several different shipping lines.  When cargo is going to be exported from our terminal, each of these lines will send us a manifest telling us what containers will be going to which port, whether they are hazardous materials (and if so, what kind of material is contained inside), or if they are refrigerated.  Once all of these manifests are collected, we run a "load list" from the computer program that we use (that has already been imported to our system from our headquarters in New Jersey from what is called a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;BAPLIE&lt;/span&gt; file), and compare the manifests to this list.  This is called "bumping the load."  If containers don't match the number on the list, or the bills of lading are incorrect, we either correct the numbers or "roll the load" to the next ship that will be taking that route.  Sometimes we have to do this when an entire shipment of containers hasn't arrived, or there are discrepancies that can't be fixed in one day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once the list has been "bumped," we are ready to stow the containers &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;on board&lt;/span&gt;.  Planners for the ships will send us a stowage plan, indicating where they would like cargoes to be placed.  Hazardous material boxes are placed specifically in places to keep them &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;separated&lt;/span&gt;.  "Reefer boxes," or boxes that are refrigerated, are stowed in places that have plugs to run the compressors that are attached.  The rest of the containers are "block stowed," typically by port and by container type.  It is my job to ensure that the correct containers stowed in the correct place.  When doing this, I need to worry about the weight of the containers, their heights, and their construction.  Not all containers are the same size.  Heavy containers must be stowed as low as possible (preferably in the hold).  Structures call "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;flatracks&lt;/span&gt;" (flatbeds that have walls on each end, but not on the sides or top to allow for awkwardly shaped cargo) must be stowed in places that are appropriate for whatever cargo is being transported.  On top of these things, I also have to consider where the containers are coming from within the container yard when stowing a ship.  If I mess that up, it will make for a very long night as the longshoremen work to find the containers and dig them out of the stacks (this can add hours of frustration when finally working the ship if I don't plan well).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the ship has been completely &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-stowed, I then wait for it to come to the dock.  A copy of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-stow plan is brought up to the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Cheif&lt;/span&gt; Mate of the ship so that he can review it, and make any necessary changes to the plan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The process of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-stowing a ship in itself can take upwards of six hours (sometimes even more if there are problems with the stow plan that has been sent).  But wait, there's more.  When a Vessel Superintendent has done the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-stow of the ship, it is expected that they will also "work" the ship, managing the yard crews and longshoremen that will be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;discharging&lt;/span&gt; and loading the cargo.  That can take anywhere from 5 to 15 hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the time that a ship is working, the Superintendent will often talk to the Chief Mate several times about what cargo is going where.  They are in charge of the safety of the operation, ensuring that all of the proper paperwork is filled out, preparing and submitting accident and damage reports, and just generally supervising operations.  It can be very tiring, and makes for some very long nights (and days).  Most ships that I've worked have docked in the evenings, making for an all night evolution.  It is not unheard of for me to work a 20 hour shift.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now for the answers to the questions that are often asked after I give my explanation of my work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do I enjoy it?  For the most part, yes.  Definitely for the first 12 hours of a shift&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is it hard work?  Some days, it is extremely hard work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Will I make a career of it?  I really don't know...stay tuned.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-1153248420641212417?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/1153248420641212417/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=1153248420641212417' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1153248420641212417'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1153248420641212417'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/06/what-exactly-is-it-that-you-do-here.html' title='What exactly is it that you DO here...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-3140615333054400837</id><published>2007-06-10T05:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-10T06:16:37.236-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back by Popular Demand</title><content type='html'>Hi...it's me again. Remember me? The one who started this blog...yeah, sorry I've been so remiss for almost a month now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;These last few weeks have been pretty busy.  There's been a dog shaving (yeah, talk to Ben about THAT one):&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074423596516807234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rmv5YCY-kkI/AAAAAAAAAWM/PHsjAAeJxao/s320/DSCF0275.JPG" border="0" /&gt;A photoshoot:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074418846282977794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rmv1DiY-kgI/AAAAAAAAAVs/abCV_mNSF1o/s320/IMG_0142%5B1%5D.JPG" border="0" /&gt;A dependent's cruise on DALLAS:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074421251464663586" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rmv3PiY-kiI/AAAAAAAAAV8/VXBsGcQ-ve0/s320/dep+cruise.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Ben getting underway to go to sea, a crazy work schedule, and a Tropical Storm Barry... these are really poor excuses though, I know. The main reason that I haven't been writing is because I haven't felt up to it. Remember about three months back, I wrote about how &lt;a href="http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/writers-block.html"&gt;I have a hard time blogging when things aren't going my way&lt;/a&gt;? How I don't like to write about the bad things because I didn't want to seem like I was complaining? There have been a lot of adjustments in the last month that make it very hard for me to come out of my shell.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will make a better effort at posting...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-3140615333054400837?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/3140615333054400837/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=3140615333054400837' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3140615333054400837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3140615333054400837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/06/back-by-popular-demand.html' title='Back by Popular Demand'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rmv5YCY-kkI/AAAAAAAAAWM/PHsjAAeJxao/s72-c/DSCF0275.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7727265548039112182</id><published>2007-05-18T13:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T18:07:48.417-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why NASCAR is still the greatest...</title><content type='html'>I know this post is a little late, but a little late is better than never isn't it? Ben and I went up to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Darlington&lt;/span&gt; International Raceway last weekend to see the Dodge Avenger 500. Although it was rained out Saturday night, they still ran in on Sunday. What a great time! We had tickets two rows off the raceway (yes, that means we had rubber in our beer), right at the Start/Finish line. As we were sitting there Saturday night, wearing our $5 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;trash bag&lt;/span&gt; ponchos, I couldn't help but think about how cool &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;NASCAR&lt;/span&gt; fans really are. In most sports, even the THOUGHT of a rain delay would cause many fans to run for the dry warmth of home. Not us though. We sat in the rain (literally sat in the rain) for about an hour before the lightning started striking around us, driving us under the bleachers. It was there that Ben and I stood with about 5,000 other people waiting for them to call the race.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074977505564070498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rm3xJyY-kmI/AAAAAAAAAWc/8c3tvKiwQic/s320/DSCF0268.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Ben and I drove 60 miles back to Columbia just to find a room to stay in for the night. For the record, that was the scariest Ramada I have ever seen (and Ben wonders why I am a hotel snob...). Sunday morning dawned bright, beautiful, and warm...in Columbia anyway. As we got closer to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Darlington&lt;/span&gt;, the clouds got darker, and it looked like it was threatening to rain again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, luck was on our side, and the race was run promptly at one o'clock. Of course, driver introductions were beforehand. Ben and I were less than 75 feet from the stage, and we got to see everything. what a great experience! Never in my life did I even imagine that I would be that close to Dale Earnhardt, Jr.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5074978162694066802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rm3xwCY-knI/AAAAAAAAAWk/2L-gwRP3XJc/s320/DSCF0271.JPG" border="0" /&gt;The race itself was fantastic. Lots of competition, and several lead changes, combined with very few wrecks. There were several caution flags for debris on the track, but they only served to make the race more competitive I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dale Jr. didn't win unfortunately, but he did make the Top 10. Jeff Gordon won (again). With that, Ben and I headed back out to the parking lot, and then back home...until next year...or this autumn...we'll see :).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7727265548039112182?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7727265548039112182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7727265548039112182' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7727265548039112182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7727265548039112182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/05/why-nascar-is-still-greatest.html' title='Why NASCAR is still the greatest...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rm3xJyY-kmI/AAAAAAAAAWc/8c3tvKiwQic/s72-c/DSCF0268.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-6303590109255377394</id><published>2007-05-04T06:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-04T06:55:46.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>When is too much of a Good thing bad?</title><content type='html'>When I left the Coast Guard, I knew that I needed some time off too spin down. I was a nervous wreck, completely stressed out, and about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;THISCLOSE&lt;/span&gt; to losing it at times. I needed a change of scenery - STAT (I've always wanted to use that word in a real &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;sentence&lt;/span&gt;...). However, the idea of taking time off just to take time off was a bit daunting to me. To me it seemed like a colossal WASTE of time. It was also a bit scary. After all, what if I started to LIKE all of this time off?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, I never really relaxed during that time off. There were so many things that needed attention, between moving, paperwork that needed to be finished, fixing my car, and a myriad of other little things that popped up along the way. I got to a point that I couldn't stand being at home alone anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I got a job, as was part of the plan that Ben and I had (although he told me to take off as much time as I needed). A job that shows a lot of promise. One that when I get to work in the morning, I'm excited about what it is I will be doing that day. I am so busy learning and working that I even lose track of time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it that before I get there, and at night before I go to sleep, I want to cry then? Why does the thought of working a long shift make me want to curl up in my covers and never get out of bed again? Why do I actually START to cry when Ben is leaving the house in the morning, and he doesn't quite know what to do with the sobbing mess sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These questions, and more, I am still trying to answer. You see, I got this great job. It is exactly what I was looking for - something where I can work outside, have responsibility for a job that has tangible and visible results (i.e., can the ship get underway on time, did all of the containers make it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;onboard&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;), and dress casually everyday (I do believe I will be issued coveralls here before long).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something just doesn't seem to fit. I don't quite know what it is though. Maybe it is just because I haven't quite learned the ropes yet, and that it is something 180 degrees from anything that I've ever done. I have to worry about time equalling money now, as well as the consequences of getting fired if I screw up. They CAN just fire me on the spot now...and conversely, I can just quit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being part of the real world is scary. Part of me really wants my old life back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-6303590109255377394?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/6303590109255377394/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=6303590109255377394' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6303590109255377394'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6303590109255377394'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/05/when-is-too-much-of-good-thing-bad.html' title='When is too much of a Good thing bad?'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-2539618206627273498</id><published>2007-04-28T19:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T18:12:53.501-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Postcards From the Edge Aren't Always Pretty</title><content type='html'>Earlier this week, as I was talking to my friend Eric, he jokingly commented about how I never mention my "really cool friend Eric" on my blog. I promptly apologized for being so remiss, and that I'd talk about him sooner than later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry Eric, today is not your day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning's post is a somber one, one that I've been trying to get my arms around writing for a day now. I finally caught up with my friend Kimberly on Saturday evening. Of all of the people that I went to high school with, Kim is the only one that I really still talk to on a regular basis (i.e. more than just Christmas and Thanksgiving). I was a little irked at Kim earlier this week. I had been IMing her routinely, trying to talk to her about how great things are here, between my new job and all of the life changes that I've been through. Little did I know that Kim was stuck in a personal hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kim has always been one of those people who gives unselfishly of herself, and always has. She's the kind of person who, even though she might not know how to make something better, will do everything she can think of to try. She's smart, funny, caring, and dependable. It is a combination of these traits that make teaching a great profession for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After graduation Kim went to college to become a history teacher, and upon receiving her Masters and Teaching Certificate, returned to Leicester High School to take a position. Kim took the place of Mr. Chase, an old favorite at LHS and teaches, among other things, a Civics class that I can remember slogging my way through beside her as Seniors. Every time I talk to Kim, her voice lights up when she talks about her job, and especially her students.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kim lost one of those students this week in a horrible car crash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone has been so caught up in the Virginia Tech shootings (as they probably should be), that things like this slip under the radar. An article about this accident was actually posted on cnn.com, a site that I read daily...and I missed it. When I asked my mom about it, she told me she had forgotten about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A car full of teenagers, two from Leicester, three from surrounding towns crashed last weekend on River Street in Leicester. Four of those teenagers were killed, one still remains in a coma. One of the deceased was a student in Kim's class. A sibling of the other teenager from Leicester killed is also in one of Kim's classes. All four that were killed were wearing their seat belts. Drugs and alcohol were not factors. The teenagers had gone out to dinner, and were racing home to try to beat curfew. When I talked to Kim, the teen that was in a coma still didn't know her friends were dead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If only they had slowed down. I've driven the road where they were killed, most times at a rate of speed way beyond safe, usually with a car full of friends, often including Kim, trying to get everyone home for curfew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kim is one of those teachers that looks at her students as HER kids. She often refers to them in that manner, saying "you wouldn't believe what my kids did this week." Usually she goes into bragging about their intelligence and drive. She has hope for the future, and wants to pass it on. This accident, and the loss of one of her "kids" has hurt her badly. Yet, she is once again a pillar of strength, standing tall for those who need her, who feel like they've been left behind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can only hope that I have the strength that Kim has when faced with something like this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please, if you have a moment, say a prayer for Nathan (the boy who was killed), his friends, his mother, and his family - and include Kim too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-2539618206627273498?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/2539618206627273498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=2539618206627273498' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2539618206627273498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2539618206627273498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/04/postcards-from-edge-arent-always-pretty.html' title='Postcards From the Edge Aren&apos;t Always Pretty'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-5293172890900376215</id><published>2007-04-26T05:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-26T05:47:49.636-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Workin' 9-5, what a way to make a living...</title><content type='html'>Or maybe it's 8-4, or I'm not really sure WHAT time I need to show up at work...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, the important thing is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;I HAVE A JOB!!!!  A REAL ONE!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes people, I've rejoined the ranks of the employed, having accepted a position as a Vessel Supervisor with one of the major shipping lines here that uses Charleston as one of their cargo ports.  So I'm sure you're asking (and even if you aren't, I'm going to tell you anyway), what exactly does a Vessel Supervisor do?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the coolest things about this job?  I get to wear jeans to work.  Granted, I have to wear steel-toed boots and a hardhat too, and possibly coveralls (if I have to go &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;onboard&lt;/span&gt; the ships and talk to the chief mate about stowage and stuff), but I DON'T have to wear a skirt and heels...and I'm extremely excited about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to be "that guy (person?)"  in charge of loading containers onto those behemoth container ships that you see transiting in and out of port.  I'll have 40-60 workers operating two or three of those giant cranes you see in container ports working for me at a time.  I have to make sure that the containers headed for Shanghai in two months don't get stacked on top of the ones that are destined for Tampa in two days, and that the heavy stuff gets loaded on the bottom, and the containers for different ports get &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;separated&lt;/span&gt;, and...well you get the idea.  I'm kind of like an industrial size supermarket grocery &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;bagger&lt;/span&gt;, making sure the canned goods don't squish the eggs and bread.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But yes, I have a job, and I start Tuesday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank God, because I'm getting about as stir crazy as it gets.  Even the dog doesn't want to be around me.  I caught myself TALKING to the dog yesterday (not that I expected an answer or anything, but just the sheer action of doing it kind of freaked me out) like he was comprehending what I was saying. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, just four more days of golfing, working on my tan, and relaxing...and I am going to make the best of it, starting now.  Too bad it's cloudy outside...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-5293172890900376215?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/5293172890900376215/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=5293172890900376215' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/5293172890900376215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/5293172890900376215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/04/workin-9-5-what-way-to-make-living.html' title='Workin&apos; 9-5, what a way to make a living...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-3800011510301750051</id><published>2007-04-19T03:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T18:20:47.684-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And I'm spent...</title><content type='html'>I keep telling Ben that next week I'm going to take some time to just relax. I have come to the conclusion however, that my saying that is something akin to the "Free Beer Tomorrow" signs that hang in the windows of the bars down on Folly Beach. It just seems like it's never going to happen. It seems like there's just always something else that HAS to be done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This last week has been exceptionally busy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First off, Ben and I went out and bought a couch. Not just ANY &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;couch&lt;/span&gt;, but a leather couch. It was necessary, and a decision that had been made long before I changed any addresses. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055097817331540786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidQrormIzI/AAAAAAAAATs/1yiV5ZIH4Z4/s320/DSCF0253.JPG" border="0" /&gt;He hated my wonderful, lovely, comfortable green couch (something about it being too short to actually lay down on, and too fluffy). I couldn't stand his awful, scratchy, ugly, and a little TOO broken in couch (that he bought used anyway). So...we compromised. I sold Katelyn my couch, and we gave Ben's couch to the Salvation Army...as well as his armchair (that matched the couch), his old TV, his kitchen table (that I'm not quite &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;convinced&lt;/span&gt; has EVER been assembled), and a couple of other small &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ikea&lt;/span&gt; chairs he had. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On Friday, the movers came and unleashed the torrent of my stuff on this apartment. I never realized I STILL had so much stuff (even after giving away most of it!). As they brought things up the three flights to our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;apartment&lt;/span&gt;, I worked like the Tasmanian Devil to get them out of the boxes so that I wouldn't be left with a mountain of cardboard and a lot of empty promises that they would come back and get it (I'm not dumb...I've been through this three times now). It was nice to see my things again...my kitchen table, my desk, my computer. However, it would also have been nice to see my headboard (which is rumored to exist now somewhere in Ohio). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So four days of busting my butt to unpack and find a new home for everything (including most of Ben's stuff that was already here), and two job interviews later (which I will post about when I have a job lined up...which will &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;probably&lt;/span&gt; be VERY soon), I present our home:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055100050714534738" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidStormI1I/AAAAAAAAAT8/E99SPRaZadM/s320/DSCF0254.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Welcome to our kitchen. You would never know it, but there are enough coffee mugs to serve a battalion, two sets of silverware, two sets of pots and pans, and enough kitchen gadgets to make Rachel Ray jealous hidden in here. Not to mention a washer and dryer in the pantry (which isn't visible in this picture...it's a tiny &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;cubby&lt;/span&gt; hole next to the refrigerator) and enough food to feed a small army (provided that they like chicken...we went a little crazy at Costco).&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055101880370602850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidUYIrmI2I/AAAAAAAAAUE/KjZ90f0tCVI/s320/DSCF0251.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055102485960991602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidU7YrmI3I/AAAAAAAAAUM/Q4KjZOUXSjg/s320/DSCF0252.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Our dining area/living room is a little cramped to say the least. But, it is clean and cozy. As you can see, I didn't get rid of ALL of Ben's stuff. We still have his end tables flanking the couch (for now...we both want to get rid of those), and his TV and TV stand (yet another piece of furniture we ALSO want to replace sooner than later). I did however add my kitchen table, LA-Z-Boy (which Ben originally protested, but has now decided that he really likes it), and bookshelf.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055103954839806850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidWQ4rmI4I/AAAAAAAAAUU/cPMTmjzutIY/s320/DSCF0255.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055105080121238434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidXSYrmI6I/AAAAAAAAAUk/ERcFc_1sccI/s320/DSCF0257.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055104556135228306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidWz4rmI5I/AAAAAAAAAUc/TGteH-N_us0/s320/DSCF0256.JPG" border="0" /&gt;It's a really good thing that the Master Bedroom in this apartment is large. It's also a really good thing that I got rid of a LOT of stuff and only had my dresser and some other small furniture to move in there. All of our stuff fits, even if it doesn't match (but that's really not all that important anyway). The closet isn't even that full...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055107085870965682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidZHIrmI7I/AAAAAAAAAUs/cgQF8n0UJiI/s320/DSCF0258.JPG" border="0" /&gt;And then there's the master bath, complete with a "Finding &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Nemo&lt;/span&gt;"-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt; shower curtain (which, for the record, I did not buy).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055108348591350722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidaQormI8I/AAAAAAAAAU0/ObSO93dOly0/s320/DSCF0259.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055111063010681858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidcuormJAI/AAAAAAAAAVU/pNJlEzO_Hgk/s320/DSCF0262.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055110341456176114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidcEormI_I/AAAAAAAAAVM/0lFb8hMmMLI/s320/DSCF0260.JPG" border="0" /&gt;My office is the only part of the apartment that is still a mess. I'm still trying to figure out some of the paperwork I have in here, and find homes for some of the leftover stuff. but I got our "we love us" walls hung (you know, the ones we all have with diplomas, plaques, and awards), the bed made, and most importantly the computer up and running.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And so, that is what I've been doing (mostly) for the last four or five days (like I said, there was some job interviewing thrown in there, as well as some getting my car fixed). Hopefully this afternoon I'll get some good news, and then I can move on to the important stuff...relaxing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh yeah, by the way, check out this view from my living room. I keep telling my mom about it. Isn't it pretty?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RideY4rmJBI/AAAAAAAAAVc/EBclexsSur4/s1600-h/DSCF0264.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055112888371782674" style="WIDTH: 295px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 215px" height="224" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RideY4rmJBI/AAAAAAAAAVc/EBclexsSur4/s320/DSCF0264.JPG" width="305" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidfIYrmJCI/AAAAAAAAAVk/vhXYlRHiT0Q/s1600-h/DSCF0263.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055113704415568930" style="WIDTH: 286px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 215px" height="229" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidfIYrmJCI/AAAAAAAAAVk/vhXYlRHiT0Q/s320/DSCF0263.JPG" width="300" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-3800011510301750051?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/3800011510301750051/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=3800011510301750051' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3800011510301750051'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3800011510301750051'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/04/and-im-spent.html' title='And I&apos;m spent...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RidQrormIzI/AAAAAAAAATs/1yiV5ZIH4Z4/s72-c/DSCF0253.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-9149770418514591589</id><published>2007-04-12T05:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-26T06:09:01.409-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes...</title><content type='html'>Day four of waking up in a new apartment that is all mine (well, partially mine) in a new place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that these circumstances are any different from the changes that I seem to make every two years anyway (when I was rotating to a new duty station on time), but this time it is infinitely different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, the first and most important difference - Ben is here. That means watching Braves games in the evenings, someone to go grocery shopping with, and knowing that under no circumstances will there ever be any seafood in my refrigerator. One thing that has remained constant though, he freaks out every morning when the alarm clock goes off (almost as badly as I do) so whether I want to wake up at 0530, I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Important difference number two - the people here. I can't get over how nice the people in Folly Beach and the Charleston area have been. Between our landlord, who has got to be one of the most laid back people in the universe, and the strangers I just meet on the street that say hello whether they need to or not, it is a total culture shock from living in California.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Important difference number three - the pace of life. It is slow. People don't rush anywhere...and it is a wonderful thing. There is no need to hurry, there is no stress of someone riding on your bumper just because they can. People just back off, wait their turn, and are courteous - provided that you do the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really do think I'm going to like it here. I'm starting to unwind from the time that I spent in the Coast Guard. Even I can tell I'm becoming a totally different person; one who is more patient, nicer, and just happier overall. I can't tell you how excited I am about that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-9149770418514591589?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/9149770418514591589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=9149770418514591589' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/9149770418514591589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/9149770418514591589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/04/changes-in-latitudes-changes-in.html' title='Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-3342259454075456457</id><published>2007-04-11T07:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-11T18:19:33.414-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Under the Weather (Part Two of the Adventure)</title><content type='html'>So, yeah. It's truly amazing what a little stomach virus can do...like lay you out on the couch for two days. I guess it really is true that Ben and I will start to share everything...including stomach bugs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry for the bit of "too much information"...back to our story already in progress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ben and I spent Thursday night at his parents' house in Canton, Illinois. Every time I go back there, I like it even more. It's a great little town where I just feel comfortable. It may also have something to do with the fact that I really like his parents and his family. Coda got to meet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Azera&lt;/span&gt; (Ben's parents' dog), and did well relatively speaking. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Azera&lt;/span&gt; is a puppy (just barely a year old), and Coda's getting to the point of being geriatric. Coda was able to keep up with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Azera&lt;/span&gt; for a while, but starting getting stiff and sore eventually. I think he really enjoyed the interaction with another dog though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While in Canton, we went out to dinner with Ben's parents, his sister Amy, brother-in-law Josh, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;niece&lt;/span&gt; Emma. What a great time. I have no idea what the name of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;restaurant&lt;/span&gt; was that we went to, but what I do know is that I had some of the best pizza I've had in a long time there...and I don't even LIKE pizza as a rule (although that rule keeps getting broken as I've known Ben longer). After that we went for ice cream, and then the Barnes and Noble. That place is dangerous for Ben and I. both of us would spend our life savings in there if you let us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall, we had a great time in Canton. It is a very comfortable place to go. When I'm there, it's like it should be. I feel like I'm with family.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052181809945305058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rhz0lqp63-I/AAAAAAAAATk/NJumFSf4w7o/s320/ben+and+emily.jpg" border="0" /&gt;From Canton, we headed home. Charleston was only sixteen hours away from Canton, and we had thrown the idea of driving all night to get there. However, that was something that we gave up pretty quickly. After a much needed stop in a small Ohio town, Ben and I had a great (and extremely necessary) new addition to the passenger seat - a massage pad. Both of us were having a hard time getting comfortable because our backs were sore. Alas, we soldiered on, and made it to Kentucky before running into a snowstorm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 150 miles north of Knoxville, Tennessee Ben and I stopped for dinner at Denny's (our first mistake) because the snow was so thick I was having trouble driving (and I was hungry anyway). So, we went in, sat down for a while, and waited for the snow to lighten up. When we got back in the car, and Ben cranked the engine, the "Service Engine Soon" light came on. Always a good time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rather than handle the situation in the traditional Emily fashion (freak out and find a mechanic RIGHT NOW because God only knows what's going to happen if we don't), we handled it in the Ben fashion (wait until we get to Charleston or there is something &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; wrong with the car). Ben drove on...until the next part of the snowstorm hit. By then we were in Lake City, Tennessee, and even HE couldn't see the road in front of us and was fed up. We pulled off the highway and took one of the last rooms at one of the hardest to find Super 8 motels I have ever had the luck to find, and decided to wait out the storm until morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we got up, it was clear as a bell out...and colder than anything I had experienced in a long time. Even the dog didn't want to go outside. But, we soldiered on, and headed south. For 500 miles, I don't think a word was spoken (at least, nothing that required more than two syllables and grunt in response).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At approximately 3:30 pm (1530 for you military types), we arrived at our home - and promptly went inside to take a long, much deserved nap and to watch the Braves game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is so good to be home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-3342259454075456457?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/3342259454075456457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=3342259454075456457' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3342259454075456457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3342259454075456457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/04/under-weather-part-two-of-adventure.html' title='Under the Weather (Part Two of the Adventure)'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rhz0lqp63-I/AAAAAAAAATk/NJumFSf4w7o/s72-c/ben+and+emily.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7486274573198906439</id><published>2007-04-08T17:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-08T18:33:42.956-07:00</updated><title type='text'>...and we're back (Part One of the Adventure)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ummm&lt;/span&gt;...Hi. It's been a while, hasn't it. Yeah, we're in South Carolina now. So much for me "posting my way across the country," huh? Finding &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Wi&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Fi&lt;/span&gt; was a challenge. Getting Ben's computer to boot up and connect, an even BIGGER challenge. So, adding that frustration on top of the frustration of driving for about 600 miles a day, uphill, both ways, through the snow (no, really, I'm not kidding about that) just wasn't happening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;On Sunday, after church Ben and I left Alameda. I went to church and said goodbye in my own way – by crying through communion. Then I went home (where Ben had packed the car for me while I was at church), stood in what used to be my kitchen with Katelyn, and cried some more. Needless to say, I had mascara all over my face by the time I left (but I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;didn&lt;/span&gt;’t figure that out until I got to the Carl’s Jr just north of Bakersfield and took off my sunglasses). Our original plan was to take the Pacific Coast Highway down to Ben’s Uncle Dick’s house. However, by the time we got on the road, I knew I just wanted to get there as soon as possible, so it was I-5 south yet again. Getting down to Long Beach was actually much less painful than I thought it was going to be. The hotel that Ben booked was very nice, and Coda was very comfortable there (as were we). &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051222781454657074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RhmMW3H3JjI/AAAAAAAAAS0/bAu-Td_NfHY/s320/DSCF0220.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Ben’s Uncle Dick and Aunt Judy were a lot of fun. I really enjoyed eating dinner with them. The more members of his family I meet, the more I like them. Uncle Dick and Aunt Judy took us out to the Yucatan Grill, which was quite conveniently right across the street from our hotel. Two orders of guacamole, two enchiladas, and a pitcher of margaritas later, we went out to their house so that they could give me the tour. What a beautiful home. Dick and Judy live in a quaint little gated community right on the ocean. After the tour of their home, we went and walked along the beach for a little while.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;From Uncle Dick's house, we set out on Monday to our proposed stop of Flagstaff, Arizona so that we could visit the Grand Canyon the next day. Our trip brought us through Phoenix so that we could visit Ben's sister Lara. She works in the Arizona Cardinals’ front office. When we got there Lara showed us around the University of Phoenix Stadium, where the Arizona Cardinals play. We got to see the different seating areas, the press box, the audio/video room (where the game tapes and all of the broadcasts are produced), the locker room area, the field, and the area where the field moves to when it is rolled into the building. It was so neat to get to walk out the tunnel that the players walk out of when they take the field. Lara really gave us an extensive tour, and then let us shop at the team store using her discount. Thanks Lara!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Of course, I managed to forget the camera in the car. That's okay though...I will definitely remember it when I go back for a football game later this year :).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After our tour of the stadium, Lara referred us to a lawn where we could let Coda out to run for a few minutes. Ten minutes of ball playing in the Phoenix heat later, Coda was showing us the way back to the car. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051227007702476370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RhmQM3H3JlI/AAAAAAAAATE/picuccmp7uc/s320/DSCF0219.JPG" border="0" /&gt;From Phoenix, we headed north to Flagstaff to go visit my friend Sarah. Sarah was my roommate at the Coast Guard Academy for a year before she left. On our last trip through, Ben and I stopped there for lunch. This time we had dinner with Sarah at the Olive Garden, and headed on our way to Williams, Arizona. Williams is where one of the main roads to the Grand Canyon crosses the 40. It saved us about half an hour of driving the next day. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A really interesting part about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Willams&lt;/span&gt; is that it is on the old Route 66. Of course, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;driving&lt;/span&gt; the Interstate 40 across the United States, we encountered a lot of things commemorating the old route, seeing as it parallels the 40. On Tuesday morning, Ben and I got up early and went to breakfast at the old diner across the street. What a neat place! It was decorated in 50's memorabilia, and the waitresses were all older ladies. Doris (our waitress) was so nice I swear I thought she was going to hug me as we left.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051228609725277794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RhmRqHH3JmI/AAAAAAAAATM/Qf-6ryMsYsk/s320/DSCF0223.JPG" border="0" /&gt;The Grand Canyon was something that I never really appreciated, having only read about it and seen pictures. I always just thought of it as a giant hole in the ground. To actually see it though is positively amazing. As my friend Andy put it, you can be 100 feet away from a 5000 foot drop, and never know it. Then you come through the woods, and there one of the most beautiful sights you could ever want to see is spread out before you. To appreciate the canyon, you really do have to see it.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051230495215920754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RhmTX3H3JnI/AAAAAAAAATU/yRb5fnXfaG0/s320/DSCF0226.JPG" border="0" /&gt;From Arizona, things got a little boring. There are only so many miles of desert that you can look at. Even Coda got tired of looking out the window. We stayed in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Tucumcari&lt;/span&gt;, New Mexico that night. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Tucumcari&lt;/span&gt; is one of those towns that you see posted on highway signs, and expect to see at least a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;lume&lt;/span&gt; on the horizon at night when you look at it on the map. Nope. None of these things. I don't know where they could have possibly hid the town, but the only thing we found was a string of hotels...and a post office.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5051233561822570114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RhmWKXH3JoI/AAAAAAAAATc/ARfyf66B8kk/s320/DSCF0247.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Driving through Texas and Oklahoma after a night on a really uncomfortable mattress is something that I can imagine the sixth circle of Hell may be like. Ben and I left &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Tucumcari&lt;/span&gt; by about 0730 on Wednesday. We were both ready to just get going. While Ben napped that morning in the passenger seat, I drove into the sunrise. Apparently, I drove a little too fast into the sunrise, because before long I had the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;opportunity&lt;/span&gt; to speak with one of Texas's finest. Yeah, I was speeding...but the guy that passed me as a hit the brakes to fall in behind the cruiser was DEFINITELY going faster than me. Fortunately though, I was let off with a warning.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;That night we stayed in St. Louis. We didn't go into the city at all (after all, we were both exhausted), but we did add that to the list of places that Ben wants me to see. Maybe we'll have to fly into St. Louis and catch a baseball game at Busch Stadium on the way to visit his parents next time (because I can guarantee you that we won't be driving).&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;After crossing the Mississippi River, we knew we were in the home stretch. Only three more days left, and a stop at Ben's parents' house that night...thank goodness...that I will talk about tomorrow... &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7486274573198906439?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7486274573198906439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7486274573198906439' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7486274573198906439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7486274573198906439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/04/and-were-back-part-one-of-adventure.html' title='...and we&apos;re back (Part One of the Adventure)'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RhmMW3H3JjI/AAAAAAAAAS0/bAu-Td_NfHY/s72-c/DSCF0220.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8244396335673197715</id><published>2007-03-30T14:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-30T15:00:15.307-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Curtain Falls</title><content type='html'>As I write this, I am sitting at my desk in the "Secret Squirrel Room," waiting for my information from my computer to burn onto a CD.  Three &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;years&lt;/span&gt; of work, and it will be reduced to a compact disk.  I have already changed my voicemail greeting, indicating that I no longer work for District Eleven.  My "Out of Office Assistant" is already on, alerting people that I am no longer &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;receiving&lt;/span&gt; email at this address.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I woke up this morning, I felt a sense of dread, mixed with a sense of excitement.  Today was my last day as an active duty Coast Guard officer.  I start what is called "terminal leave" tomorrow.  That sounds rather &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;foreboding&lt;/span&gt; doesn't it? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For exactly one third of my life, I have identified myself as a member of the United States Coast Guard.  Nine Years.  I don't care how old you are, that is a long time.  Now, I am moving on.  Granted, I am being offered a Reserve Commission, which I will take.  I may actually be called back to Active Duty &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;under&lt;/span&gt; Title Ten.  But, I may also do the whole "one weekend a month, two weeks a year" thing for a while too.  I don't know.  I have a second interview set up two weeks from yesterday with a company that is very excited about the prospect of hiring me.  Yesterday I heard from another company who is also very interested in me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things really seem to be falling into place.  Why then do I feel so lost?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will miss the familiarity of Alameda, and the routine of putting on a uniform every day.  I will miss my friends and the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;camaraderie&lt;/span&gt; that I have with people here - even the people I don't get along with.  We are all part of the same Coast Guard family &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;after all&lt;/span&gt; aren't we?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now, it is time for me to see the rest of what is out there.  Look out world, here I come (but I can't help but look back over my shoulder at what I am leaving behind...)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8244396335673197715?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8244396335673197715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8244396335673197715' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8244396335673197715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8244396335673197715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/curtain-falls.html' title='The Curtain Falls'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7109551267870684819</id><published>2007-03-28T07:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-28T08:03:56.938-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Still waiting</title><content type='html'>Well, everything is all boxed up, and I'm waiting for the movers...again.  I have never had it take two days for movers to pack my things.  Ironically, this time I have much less stuff than I have ever moved with before.  Katelyn is keeping a couple pieces of my furniture, and a LOT of my clothes and knickknacks have gone to Goodwill or were sold.  The moving inventory that I have of boxes is a page shorter than the one I had moving here from Hawaii, and they packed me out in less than four hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah, I don't understand why it is taking two days.  Either way though, I don't care as long as it all gets on a truck and to South Carolina, preferably right around the time that I do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7109551267870684819?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7109551267870684819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7109551267870684819' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7109551267870684819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7109551267870684819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/still-waiting.html' title='Still waiting'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-97585177767840835</id><published>2007-03-27T08:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-27T09:19:48.402-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's that time of the year again...</title><content type='html'>The day the movers will be here to pack up my things for the journey to South Carolina has finally arrived. I'm waiting for them to knock on the door and send Coda into a frenzy. Right now he is so discombobulated that I don't think he knows what end is up. Tomorrow they will actually load everything on the truck. I can't believe it. I'm actually moving to South Carolina!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, as I was separating all of my stuff from Katelyn's, washing all of my linens, and packing my bags that are going to travel across the country in the trunk of my car, I came to an interesting realization. When I drive out of California this weekend (OH MY GOD, I CAN'T BELIEVE IT IS THIS WEEKEND) I will be moving for the seventh time in five years. I feel like quite the nomad. You would think though that it would get easier the more I do it. Unfortunately, I don't think moving is something that will ever get easier for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, I'm kind of like a plant. I put down roots when I am left in one place for too long. When I left Massachusetts for California the first time, it was like someone ripped my heart out. As long as I live, I will remember the sight of my parent's house disappearing in my rear view mirror, and look on my dad's face when he realized that it was time for me to go. Heartbreaking doesn't even begin describe it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I left California for Hawaii, it was sad because I didn't want to leave Josh and Cassandra. However, I knew I had to go. It was time for me to move on, even though it had only been six months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hawaii was the first place I really put down roots outside of Massachusetts. I had my first address (that I paid the rent for) that I lived at for more than a year, as well as a circle of friends that I was very close to. I was in a job that I enjoyed, and I could not imagine living my life any other way. When I moved out of my apartment on Kulewa Loop, I cried for days. Although, as I think about it, I really DON'T miss the cockroaches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During this stint in California, I have had three addresses. I lived in the "ghetto apartment" on Crolls Garden Court, the cute duplex on Central Ave, and my current home on Barbers Point Road. The first apartment was scary...no doubt about it. That's the first and LAST time I rent an apartment through classifieds. The Central Ave apartment was nice, quaint and homey...but expensive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My house here on Barber's Point Road is my favorite place that I have lived so far. Moving in with Katelyn out here was one of the best decisions I think I have ever made. The rent was cheap, and the company was good. Granted, we had our squabbles, but for the most part, it was fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the big difference with this home versus the other two I have lived in during this stint in California is that it actually FEELS like a home. From the first night I moved in, I have felt like I am coming "home," not just back to the place that I'm paying somebody to let me live in. It's warm, inviting, and friendly. I know this sounds cheesy, but I'm a big believer that homes have a spirit to them. Some places feel cold when you walk it, no matter what the heat is turned up to. Some places set you on edge, no matter how comfortable the furniture and interior design may be. Some places have no feeling at all, and it's confusing. From the first time Katelyn and I walked into this house when we were looking for apartments, it has felt warm and comfortable. I will miss my home very much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of this being said, I can't wait to walk through to door in Folly Beach, and have that sense of relief that comes when you know you are not a guest some place. Instead, you belong there. Not that I have ever felt like a guest in Ben's apartment, or that I didn't belong, but I've always known that it was temporary and I would have to go back to California in a week or so. The next time I put my key in the door though, I will be home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I cannot wait.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-97585177767840835?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/97585177767840835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=97585177767840835' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/97585177767840835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/97585177767840835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/its-that-time-of-year-again.html' title='It&apos;s that time of the year again...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-4927289788292682945</id><published>2007-03-24T17:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-24T17:29:24.301-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Roughing it</title><content type='html'>Last night Katelyn, her boyfriend Jimmy, and I went camping up in Bodega Bay. On one of my trips to the Coast with Andy I found this great campground right on the beach in the Doran Beach State Park. They don't take reservations though so it's first come, first served. When I called they had one site left, but wouldn't hold it. So, yesterday after training (which thankfully let me out VERY early), Jimmy and I beat feat up to the Coast, and Katelyn followed as soon as she left work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was definitely worth it. The view from our campsite was positively wonderful. We were just off the break wall into Bodega Bay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045648992721354914" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgW_BqB2wKI/AAAAAAAAASQ/nlmOttSK5iY/s320/DSCF0214.JPG" border="0" /&gt;So, we got there, set up camp, and proceeded relax. It was great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045650564679385282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgXAdKB2wMI/AAAAAAAAASg/l7VZMTs_vJ4/s320/DSCF0213.JPG" border="0" /&gt;We built a fire and roasted Polish Sausages, drank some wine, and remembered what stars look like without light pollution to ruin it.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045648576109527186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgW-paB2wJI/AAAAAAAAASI/igWAblkh3hQ/s320/DSCF0211.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Even the dog got into it, and enjoyed himself. He was the only one who was brave enough to go into the water. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5045651689960816850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgXBeqB2wNI/AAAAAAAAASo/qDJHLescmDc/s320/DSCF0212.JPG" border="0" /&gt;We opted to go camping to commemorate my last weekend in California, rather than throw a party like we originally planned. This was definitely a much better option, and infinitely less stressful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;It was just what I needed. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-4927289788292682945?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/4927289788292682945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=4927289788292682945' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/4927289788292682945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/4927289788292682945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/roughing-it.html' title='Roughing it'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgW_BqB2wKI/AAAAAAAAASQ/nlmOttSK5iY/s72-c/DSCF0214.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8758461243295774613</id><published>2007-03-21T07:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-21T08:04:52.987-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's the Final Countdown...</title><content type='html'>Seriously, I feel like wherever I go, Europe's "The Final Countdown" should be playing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have ten calender days left in the Coast Guard before I go on "terminal leave."  That means only 8 working days.  I'll be in training for three of those, and moving during 2 of those...so that means only three days left!  This is something that I find both exciting and a bit scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every night I get an email from Ben with a countdown in the subject line.  We've already done the extent of the planning that I think we'll do for the trip, determined our route, and figured out where we plan on stopping (his uncle's house, the Grand Canyon, and his parent's home).  Coda's all caught up on his shots, and I even got him a new dog bed to travel with.  The car's been to the mechanic twice, and I had a moving sale to sell off the stuff I don't want to move with me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm ready.  Let the games begin!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8758461243295774613?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8758461243295774613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8758461243295774613' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8758461243295774613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8758461243295774613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/its-final-countdown.html' title='It&apos;s the Final Countdown...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8108670047869994599</id><published>2007-03-20T20:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T21:02:24.025-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday to Me (Part 2)</title><content type='html'>Tonight, some of my "California Family" threw me a birthday party - complete with balloons:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044221689189548114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgCs5qB2wFI/AAAAAAAAARo/m3hcQgESajo/s320/DSCF0203.JPG" border="0" /&gt; flowers: &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044222024196997218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgCtNKB2wGI/AAAAAAAAARw/Z9w9XuWkJVg/s320/DSCF0202.JPG" border="0" /&gt;party favors:&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044222488053465202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgCtoKB2wHI/AAAAAAAAAR4/8kq77druVeI/s320/DSCF0206.JPG" border="0" /&gt; and cake!&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5044222921845162114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgCuBaB2wII/AAAAAAAAASA/Hmzh6QxSRtc/s320/DSCF0204.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks guys.  This was a memorable birthday.  I will miss you all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8108670047869994599?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8108670047869994599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8108670047869994599' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8108670047869994599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8108670047869994599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/happy-birthday-to-me-part-2.html' title='Happy Birthday to Me (Part 2)'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RgCs5qB2wFI/AAAAAAAAARo/m3hcQgESajo/s72-c/DSCF0203.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7195173595508646967</id><published>2007-03-20T07:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-20T07:20:30.775-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday to ME!</title><content type='html'>Twenty seven years ago today in a Worcester, Massachusetts hospital, new life was brought into this world at 8:20 am.  That new life was me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom had me on the first day of Spring in 1980.  To hear her tell it, the day was absolutely beautiful.  The sun was shining, it was warm, and the trees were getting ready to bud new leaves.  The next day of course, there was a snow storm :).  Typical New England weather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning, I didn't want to get out of bed.  It is damp and raining here in the Bay Area.  But, I did, like I do every morning.  This morning though, I treated myself to a cup of tea and a fruit salad from a coffee shop down the street as a birthday present.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earlier in this patrol, Ben and I discussed it and decided that we would celebrate BOTH of our birthdays when he gets back.  Mine will be belated, his will be early.  He will be at sea for his during the next patrol.  He keeps reminding me though that he got me something really nice for my birthday...but won't give me any hints about what it is ;).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night before she went to sleep, Mom wished me a Happy Birthday.   This morning as I was standing outside my office, locked out with the rest of my co-workers, my Dad called me too.  my sister sent me a HILARIOUS e-card.  Last night Katelyn and I decided that we'd go camping this weekend to celebrate my birthday.  My friend David emailed me this morning to wish me a Happy Birthday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is nice to be thought of, especially on your birthday.  My friends and family really came through for me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks guys.  I really appreciate it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7195173595508646967?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7195173595508646967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7195173595508646967' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7195173595508646967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7195173595508646967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/happy-birthday-to-me.html' title='Happy Birthday to ME!'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-3431257490614145216</id><published>2007-03-15T09:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-15T09:50:41.394-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Photo Theme for Thursday</title><content type='html'>It's interesting, since posting my blog on BlogHer.org Tuesday, I've already been given some really neat ideas for postings. The Daily Meme is a website that poses different ideas to write about every day, one of which being the &lt;a href="http://www.spunwithtears.com/thursday.html"&gt;Thursday Challenge&lt;/a&gt;. The challenge is to find a really interesting picture to illustrate the topic for the week. The challenge for this week is "Water." Over the last nine years I have DEFINITELY had exposure to some neat pictures of water, in all of it's forms... &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5042193501619427026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rfl4RmjPFtI/AAAAAAAAARY/VFmfxoO3Dr0/s400/Bering+Wave.JPG" border="0" /&gt;This was taken during a winter storm in the Bering Sea...the waves were about 30 feet tall that day. The ship is almost 400 feet long. By the time we came through the storm, the deck nets around the gun had been ripped off the ship by the force of the water...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-3431257490614145216?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/3431257490614145216/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=3431257490614145216' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3431257490614145216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3431257490614145216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/photo-theme-for-thursday.html' title='Photo Theme for Thursday'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rfl4RmjPFtI/AAAAAAAAARY/VFmfxoO3Dr0/s72-c/Bering+Wave.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-2937087280593347815</id><published>2007-03-14T20:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T21:49:24.086-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome to the Outside World</title><content type='html'>Today I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;received&lt;/span&gt; my first comment from someone that is not in my circle of family or friends. Last night I listed my blog on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;BlogHer&lt;/span&gt;.org, a website for blogs written by females. Today I was tagged with two more"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;meme's&lt;/span&gt;" by &lt;a href="http://www.zandria.us/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Zandria&lt;/span&gt; M&lt;/a&gt; from outside Washington D.C.. In &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;blogspeak&lt;/span&gt;, a meme is an idea that is shared and passed from blog to blog, like a question posted in one blog and answered in many other blogs. Usually it is expressed as a list of questions about yourself, to be answered in such a way that others can learn more about you. My first entry in this blog was a "meme" about Six &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Weird&lt;/span&gt; Things About Me. So, without further ado, here's are MY answers to the "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;meme's&lt;/span&gt;" that were posed by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Zandria&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Meme #1&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things That Scare Me&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Thunderstorms.&lt;br /&gt;2. Being the center of attention in a crowd&lt;br /&gt;3. Crowds and lots of commotion&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 People Who Make Me Laugh:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Ben&lt;br /&gt;2. Andy&lt;br /&gt;3. Bernie&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things I Love:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Watching &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;NASCAR&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;2. The ocean&lt;br /&gt;3. My family and friends (does that count as two?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things I Hate:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Being Late for ANYTHING.&lt;br /&gt;2. Ambiguity of any sort&lt;br /&gt;3. Bugs (especially Cockroaches and Palmetto Bugs).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things I Don’t Understand:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Stereo Instructions&lt;br /&gt;2. Why people around here are so anti-military (not just anti-war). Don't they understand that we are also there to (God Forbid) protect them?&lt;br /&gt;3. Homophobia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things On My Desk:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. At home I have a printer, a lamp, and mug of pens.&lt;br /&gt;2. At work I have a picture of Ben, a philodendron, and a phone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things I’m Doing Right Now:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Answering email from Ben&lt;br /&gt;2. Checking news on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;foxnews&lt;/span&gt;.com&lt;br /&gt;3. Watching "Jericho"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Go back to Alaska&lt;br /&gt;2. Help as many people as I can while I am here&lt;br /&gt;3. Write a novel (no, really, I want to)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things I Can Do:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Make pancakes from scratch&lt;br /&gt;2. Complete maintenance on my car (I just choose NOT to anymore)&lt;br /&gt;3. My own taxes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things I Can’t Do:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Be outgoing with strangers (I am SUCH an introvert).&lt;br /&gt;2. Come up with a "comeback" when it's appropriate (usually by the time I think of one, it's long past the time it would even be remotely funny or applicable)&lt;br /&gt;3. Skydive (although Andy keeps telling me I should)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things I Think You Should Listen To:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. (I can't believe I'm saying this) Your Parents&lt;br /&gt;2. Your gut&lt;br /&gt;3. The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Pachelbel&lt;/span&gt; Cannon&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things You Should Never Listen To:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Anyone who ever tells you that you "can't."&lt;br /&gt;2. Hypocrites&lt;br /&gt;3. Rap music so loud I can hear it a block away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Things I’d Like To Learn:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Spanish&lt;br /&gt;2. How to drive a stick-shift confidently&lt;br /&gt;3. Glass Blowing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Favorite Foods:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Red Curry Chicken (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Toomie's&lt;/span&gt; Thai Red Curry is good, but I prefer my own).&lt;br /&gt;2. Fish tacos&lt;br /&gt;3. Creme &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Brulee&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;3 Shows I Watched As A Kid:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Sesame Street&lt;br /&gt;2. Mr. Rogers Neighborhood&lt;br /&gt;3. Reading Rainbow&lt;br /&gt;(I stole those answers from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Zandria&lt;/span&gt;...mine were the same)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;***************************************************&lt;br /&gt;Meme #2: &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;strong&gt;The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Wikipedia&lt;/span&gt; Edition.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Instructions: Pull up &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Wikipedia&lt;/span&gt; and search for your birthday. Find three notable historic events that occurred on that day, two notable births (besides yourself), one death, and one holiday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On March 20:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Notable historic events&lt;/em&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;1760 - The "Great Fire" of Boston destroys 349 buildings&lt;br /&gt;1922 - The USS Langley is commissioned as the first United States Navy aircraft carrier&lt;br /&gt;2003 - 2003 invasion of Iraq: In the early hours of the morning, the United States and three other countries begin military operations in Iraq.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Notable births&lt;/em&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;1928 - Fred Rogers (from Mr. Rogers Neighborhood)&lt;br /&gt;1948 - Bobby Orr (of the Boston Bruins!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Notable Death:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1727 - Sir Isaac Newton&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;One Holiday&lt;/em&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;The Vernal Equinox&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So...now you know me a little bit better...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-2937087280593347815?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/2937087280593347815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=2937087280593347815' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2937087280593347815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2937087280593347815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/welcome-to-outside-world.html' title='Welcome to the Outside World'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-1569781504198456752</id><published>2007-03-13T20:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-13T20:58:39.386-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Writer's Block</title><content type='html'>If there was one thing that I didn't plan on when I started this blog, it was writer's block - both the traditional type and the self-imposed type. You see, when things are going well, I love to talk. I have things to talk about for &lt;em&gt;days&lt;/em&gt;. When things are not going well though, it's a totally different story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not a huge fan of talking about what is going wrong in my life. I prefer to talk about what is going right. When things start to go bad, I start to clam up. When things go from bad to worse, some people don't hear from me for days. All I can think about are the things that aren't working (take my car for example, which is now after three visits to the mechanic in five days is finally working), and just like I'm pretty sure you don't want to &lt;strong&gt;hear&lt;/strong&gt; me talk about these things, I'm pretty sure you don't want to &lt;strong&gt;read&lt;/strong&gt; about it either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So...as I'm sure you've been able to tell, I've been having a pretty rough couple of weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;You see, I'm getting frustrated. This "holding pattern" is getting really old. Toss in being sick, car troubles, a sick dog, and some bad news about my seperation from the Coast Guard, and I can confidently tell you that I'm ready to land.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;On a positive note though, yesterday was Andy's last day in the Bay Area before meeting his ship in Peru. Therefore, we took his new Supra out to the Coast. Our intention was to see a sunset and eat at some obscure little restaurant. We made it to the coast, and we ate at an obscure little restaurant (one that made amazing fried oysters and calimari). Unfortunately, work, fog, cows, and a hill got in the way of the sunset. No, really, I have pictures to prove it (well, at least of the hill and the cows).&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5041623241631667810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RfdxoGjPFmI/AAAAAAAAAQg/WSZLbZhmuZ8/s320/DSCF0175.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5041624422747674242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rfdys2jPFoI/AAAAAAAAAQw/XfdsQg9jmy0/s320/DSCF0176.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-1569781504198456752?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/1569781504198456752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=1569781504198456752' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1569781504198456752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1569781504198456752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/writers-block.html' title='Writer&apos;s Block'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RfdxoGjPFmI/AAAAAAAAAQg/WSZLbZhmuZ8/s72-c/DSCF0175.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-6228587794166482510</id><published>2007-03-11T10:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-11T13:23:48.727-07:00</updated><title type='text'>They Say Everything Comes in Threes ...</title><content type='html'>Yesterday started out fantastic. I woke up feeling great for the first time in days. Yeah, I had a bit of a nagging cough, but it is going away, and well, I didn't have a fever. I counted that as a major victory.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, armed with that major victory, 100 rounds of ammunition, and Andy's 12-gauge shotgun, we went skeet shooting yesterday. It was a really great time. I haven't shot a gun in a long, LONG time, so my aim wasn't very good. But, eventually I started getting it. The feeling I had when that first clay exploded as my shot hit it was priceless. I want a gun now. I almost bought one on my first drive across the country after graduation, but I decided not to. I think this time, I may actually do it. It was so much fun.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040717501748418082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RfQ53GjPFiI/AAAAAAAAAQA/7FqZCBIBaiY/s320/DSCF0171.JPG" border="0" /&gt;So after all that, Andy dropped me off at tire place where I left my car that morning to get new tires on the front and an alignment, and I went down the freeway to get some new jeans.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;On the way home from Target is when the real fun started. At 75 miles an hour on the 880 heading northbound, the Serpentine Belt on my engine disintegrated. I lost power steering and power brakes. Every light on my dashboard lit up like a Christmas tree, telling me that "Houston we have a problem."&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Fortunately, Andy was able to come wait withe me for the tow truck, and give me a ride home after the truck dropped my car off in front of the Chevy dealership here in Alameda, where it will sit until Monday morning when they have agreed to fix it.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-6228587794166482510?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/6228587794166482510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=6228587794166482510' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6228587794166482510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6228587794166482510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/they-say-everything-comes.html' title='They Say Everything Comes in Threes ...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RfQ53GjPFiI/AAAAAAAAAQA/7FqZCBIBaiY/s72-c/DSCF0171.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8848538175763782732</id><published>2007-03-08T20:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-08T21:31:40.683-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Family (of a sort)</title><content type='html'>I think my fever has broken (I am knocking on wood as I type this...no really, I am).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night was frightening. I woke up in the middle of the night shaking so badly I could not move. I was so cold...as I should have been with a fever of 103 degrees Fahrenheit. The scariest part was that I was alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't go to work today. My boss called twice to make sure I was okay though. It was incredibly considerate of him. My friend Rosie stopped by after work to drop off some candle's I'd bought from his wife. When he saw how sick I was, the first words out of his mouth were "How can I help?" Last night I was supposed to go to the movies with Meg. When I told her that I was too sick to go, she also told me that I could call if I needed anything. When she found out how sick I was last night she scolded me for NOT calling her. My friend Andy offered to make me chicken soup last night...tonight I took him up on his offer. He also made me cheesecake. What a guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of this has gotten me to thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of the biggest complaints that I've had since getting my commission has been the distance I've been from my family. I've often felt that I've missed out on the most important things in their lives - birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, promotions, all of those things that families are supposed to celebrate together. I've also felt abandoned at times when I have been lonely, or angry, or hurt, or like last night, sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I leave here, I will be leaving behind a family of sorts. Katelyn, Meg, and Stephanie have become like sisters to me. Rosie and Andy have become like brothers. When things have gone right we have been there to celebrate each others victories. When things have gone wrong, we've been there to prop each other up. In 23 days I'm going to have leave that behind...for now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have never left a duty station before and felt sad about it. When I left Alameda the first time, I was rejoicing in the chance to move on to bigger and better things. When I left Honolulu, I left with a sense of relief that I could leave behind all of the mistakes I had made, and hopefully start anew. When I leave here, although I am excited to begin a new life on the "outside" with Ben, I will leave some of the best friends I have ever made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just hope I can always remember the ties that I've made here, even as we all move around the country. To all of my friends and "family," thank you so much for all of your support. I will miss you more than you will ever know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8848538175763782732?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8848538175763782732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8848538175763782732' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8848538175763782732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8848538175763782732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/family-of-sort.html' title='Family (of a sort)'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8721697996457371569</id><published>2007-03-07T18:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-07T18:43:27.470-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I shoulda gotten a flu shot...</title><content type='html'>Today I came down with the flu.  Just typing hurts.  At the moment I have a temperature of 102 degrees Fahrenheit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why did I have to be so stubborn about getting that stupid shot ? :(&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8721697996457371569?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8721697996457371569/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8721697996457371569' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8721697996457371569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8721697996457371569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/i-shoulda-gotten-flu-shot.html' title='I shoulda gotten a flu shot...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7806150098056174605</id><published>2007-03-06T13:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-06T22:57:54.600-08:00</updated><title type='text'>In a Holding Pattern</title><content type='html'>I have been lax on my postings lately. This is something that I feel a little sheepish about, but there just isn't very much going on right now. I'm in a holding pattern. All of my paperwork is finished for me to leave, and all of the arrangements have been made. Now all I have to do is be patient and wait. Just ask Ben though, patience is not one of my stronger virtues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The only thing that really needs some firming up is employment for me on the other end. I won't be homeless, and I won't be destitute (I have 60 days of paid terminal leave and administrative absence coming to me). However, I know that after about a week of relaxing I will become very bored. So, I want to know that I have something else to look forward to. I've had preliminary interviews, and some of the leads have been promising. I'll just have to wait and see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;While I've been in a holding pattern, Ben on the other hand has been extremely busy. Every night I get emails from him, telling me about things things that are going on. The nature of my job right now also fills me in on what is going on in his neck of the woods. Ben is getting ready to assume a whole lot more responsibility with transfer season coming up, so he's been working hard to make sure he doesn't get TOO bogged down in work. Fortunately though, Ben has been able to send me some pictures from this patrol to share what he has been up to. So without further ado, or any amplifying information that tells TOO much, here are some of the pictures:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038927937270926882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Re3eQvXTTiI/AAAAAAAAAPI/NH4uCpL-3e8/s320/DALLAS-HMS+LANCASTER(Small).JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038928469846871602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Re3evvXTTjI/AAAAAAAAAPQ/sgfhFJjtR7U/s320/DALLAS-French+COMAR-LANCASTER(Small).JPG" border="0" /&gt;These pictures are from their first port call, when they got to work with British vessel HMS LANCASTER. Ben was up to his eyeballs in administrative work, so he didn't even get to enjoy the brief stop. He was able to get out for a wardroom function with both ship crews though.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038929367495036482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Re3fj_XTTkI/AAAAAAAAAPY/YueMb-BXYjk/s320/100_1472+(Small).JPG" border="0" /&gt;The next port call, Ben was able to get off the ship for some down-time, thankfully. I got so see some pictures of the beaches where he was, and I was insanely jealous (of course). But he got to golf and got to go shopping (which always bodes well for me...he he he), and just relax. The relaxing is the most important part if you ask me. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038931871460970114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Re3h1vXTToI/AAAAAAAAAP4/HD7p2CMuzuk/s320/IMG_0038+(Small).JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Re3g7vXTTmI/AAAAAAAAAPo/eEusC6nX2is/s1600-h/IMG_0045+(Small).JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5038930875028557410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Re3g7vXTTmI/AAAAAAAAAPo/eEusC6nX2is/s320/IMG_0045+(Small).JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And of course, being OPS comes with some serious perks, including getting to do really cool stuff like fly in helicopters...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;That's all I have for updates from Ben about this patrol. As I get more pictures, I'll post them to let you know what he's doing and how things are going.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7806150098056174605?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7806150098056174605/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7806150098056174605' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7806150098056174605'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7806150098056174605'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/in-holding-pattern.html' title='In a Holding Pattern'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Re3eQvXTTiI/AAAAAAAAAPI/NH4uCpL-3e8/s72-c/DALLAS-HMS+LANCASTER(Small).JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8642772822543737262</id><published>2007-03-03T19:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-03T20:39:03.982-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My San Francisco</title><content type='html'>Today I went to San Francisco for what may be the last time in a long, LONG time. My friend Andy came with me to keep me company, and also to help me take pictures so I wouldn't have to ask strangers. We went to my favorite places, and he showed me some places that I wish I had known about before. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037915644513179410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepFli-XVxI/AAAAAAAAAMo/qYvUrggkE7c/s320/DSCF0123.JPG" border="0" /&gt;So, Andy met me at my house and we took the early ferry over to the city. From there we took the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Muni&lt;/span&gt; train out to the coast, where I really wanted to start my trip. We rode the Judah train to the end of the line, getting off at Ocean Beach. Ocean Beach was a great place for me to start today because it is a place that my parents know well and love. They spent their 20&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; and 25&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; anniversaries in San Francisco, and would go down to Ocean Beach to walk and collect Sand Dollars. My mom made those Sand Dollars that she collected into Christmas ornaments...which my dog Holly promptly ate off the Christmas tree.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037909949386544786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepAaC-XVpI/AAAAAAAAALo/pqX7df_pxg0/s320/DSCF0125.JPG" border="0" /&gt;From there we went up to the windmill in Golden Gate Park. For years I have heard &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;about&lt;/span&gt; what are supposed to be amazingly beautiful tulip gardens around the windmill. I have yet to see a single tulip in bloom. Today was no exception.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037910430422881954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepA2C-XVqI/AAAAAAAAALw/SH0kwfJPSI0/s320/DSCF0130.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037911748977841858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepCCy-XVsI/AAAAAAAAAMA/JMgtvuKb3Ok/s320/DSCF0127.JPG" border="0" /&gt;There were beautiful poppies there today though, so it wasn't all for naught, and we managed to walk the entire length of Golden Gate Park. I've never actually done that before. I got to see things in the park that I didn't know existed. Did you know that there is a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;man-made&lt;/span&gt; waterfall on an island in the middle of a pond there? And that from that island in the middle of the pond, you can see the entire peninsula of San Francisco, in every direction? That's me in the upper right hand corner of the picture...I climbed the rocks beside the waterfall.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037912865669338834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepDDy-XVtI/AAAAAAAAAMI/h8x0fSKMYPs/s320/DSCF0142.JPG" border="0" /&gt;After exploring the island, we went to the Japanese Tea Garden, one of my favorite places in Golden Gate Park. It is so peaceful there that I could spend hours just wandering through, sitting looking at the interesting sculptures, and drinking tea at the little pavilion they have set up there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037914076850116322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepEKS-XVuI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/ARTCz00Pfgo/s320/IMG_0885.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037916293053241122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepGLS-XVyI/AAAAAAAAAMw/i5RN-_VosTY/s320/DSCF0145.JPG" border="0" /&gt;One of my main objectives today was to get to the Conservatory of Flowers. That was the reason that Andy and I walked the entire length of Golden Gate Park (about 4 miles). It is on the far eastern side of the park...we started out on the western side at the beach. It was well worth the walk though. As soon as you walk in the doors, it is like being in a jungle...except this one has beautiful stained glass surrounding the main entry, and very few bugs. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037916941593302834" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepGxC-XVzI/AAAAAAAAAM4/uWmY5qBQHZs/s320/DSCF0147.JPG" border="0" /&gt;From that main entry way, you have your choice of four different rooms. One was full of orchids and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;rain forest&lt;/span&gt; plants. The next was full of aquatic and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;carnivorous&lt;/span&gt; plants. Both of these rooms were very interesting, but my favorite room was the one with the potted flowers and exotic plants. It smelled like heaven when we walked in. I could have stood there for hours...just breathing. But, of course, my stomach started telling me that I was hungry...it was time to move on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepHiC-XV0I/AAAAAAAAANA/TyNqdGrIz80/s1600-h/DSCF0154.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037917783406892866" style="WIDTH: 188px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 142px" height="145" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepHiC-XV0I/AAAAAAAAANA/TyNqdGrIz80/s200/DSCF0154.JPG" width="194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepIey-XV2I/AAAAAAAAANQ/gooWVdcseo4/s1600-h/DSCF0155.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037918827083945826" style="WIDTH: 191px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 142px" height="145" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepIey-XV2I/AAAAAAAAANQ/gooWVdcseo4/s200/DSCF0155.JPG" width="191" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037920961682691970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepKbC-XV4I/AAAAAAAAAOg/n0fX5YrOLLc/s200/DSCF0152.JPG" border="0" /&gt;From the Conservatory, Andy and I hopped a bus to the Palace of Fine Arts. It is a beautiful dome that was built in the early 1900s, and survives to this day with it's accompanying &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;colonnade&lt;/span&gt;. It is an awe inspiring and peaceful place for me walk around. We were only there briefly, but I couldn't leave San Francisco without going there just one more time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037921653172426642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepLDS-XV5I/AAAAAAAAAOo/oTQrm1C6QuA/s320/DSCF0163.JPG" border="0" /&gt;Our original plan after the Palace of Fine Arts was to catch a bus to Fisherman's Wharf and do some shopping there. So we walked...and walked...and walked...and didn't end up actually catching a bus. Instead we walked all the way through Fort Mason to Fisherman's Wharf. What a beautiful place. I had never actually been there before, and I am kicking myself for not taking the time to explore the city more during my time here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This evening I finally bought a piece of artwork that I have been looking at for months. It is a picture of the Golden Gate Bridge at sunrise, and it is absolutely stunning. It will look fantastic on the wall in our apartment in Folly Beach, right next to Ben's picture of New York City.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;With the day coming to a close, Andy and I headed for the Hard Rock Cafe so we could get a very late lunch before getting back on the ferry home to Alameda. He collects glasses from Hard Rock Cafes all over the world, but hadn't actually spent enough time in port to go there. So off to dinner we went, and we caught our ferry home.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037922907302877090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepMMS-XV6I/AAAAAAAAAOw/kGsSzdUCKwY/s320/DSCF0168.JPG" border="0" /&gt;I had a great time today, exploring San Francisco as a tourist. I wish I had done it more while I was here. Oh well. If Ben and I stay associated with the Coast Guard long enough, I'm sure we'll be back...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8642772822543737262?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8642772822543737262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8642772822543737262' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8642772822543737262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8642772822543737262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/my-san-francisco.html' title='My San Francisco'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RepFli-XVxI/AAAAAAAAAMo/qYvUrggkE7c/s72-c/DSCF0123.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-3891514973754509597</id><published>2007-03-01T20:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-03-02T07:32:31.263-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On my way</title><content type='html'>Today was another good day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I was able to pick up my final orders. These are the last set of active duty orders that I may ever get. They are my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;separation&lt;/span&gt; orders from the Coast Guard, indicating that my last day in the service is officially May 22, 2007 - five years exactly to the day from when I joined. What a long, strange, sometimes frustrating, but wonderful trip it has been.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my orders, the Yeoman that prepared them worked magic. I am getting all of the allowances that people normally on active duty get when changing duty stations. Those personnel separating from the service typically don't get those allowances. She was able to find a loophole for me, and the Coast Guard will give me enough money to pay for gas and lodging. I can't tell you how much that put my mind at ease.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My date to go on terminal leave is now official. My last day of work for the Coast Guard will be March 30, 2007. Ben now has an airplane ticket to fly out here March 31. We will leave for South Carolina after church on Sunday, April 1. I am so excited.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With my orders, I was also able to firm up a date for the movers to come get all of my things. They will be here March 27 and March 28 to pack my things up in a truck to move across the country. I can't believe this is all happening so fast!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, tonight to celebrate I went out to dinner with Meg and her little boy, as well as a friend of ours who is here on temporary duty. We went for Thai food at the best Thai restaurant in town. On the way home, I bought myself 15 roses and a bottle of wine to celebrate. I was aiming for tulips, but they were sold out at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Albertsons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, and the roses were on sale for less than ten dollars...they are pretty flowers though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this evening, I'm going to have a glass of wine, curl up with a good book and a cuddly German Shepherd, and enjoy my flowers to celebrate going home.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5037183975359469154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 233px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 322px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="352" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReesIy-XVmI/AAAAAAAAALM/JIy1HjnJd-c/s400/DSCF0120.JPG" width="233" border="0" /&gt;Here's to new beginnings!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-3891514973754509597?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/3891514973754509597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=3891514973754509597' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3891514973754509597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3891514973754509597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/03/on-my-way.html' title='On my way'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReesIy-XVmI/AAAAAAAAALM/JIy1HjnJd-c/s72-c/DSCF0120.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-4475927947653094361</id><published>2007-02-28T17:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-28T17:34:47.091-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Counting my Blessings</title><content type='html'>Today I went for my first mammogram. This wasn't a routine mammogram though. Those don't normally happen until after you turn 35. Today's event was scheduled for me by the doctor here on Coast Guard Island following my yearly physical three weeks ago. Everything in that physical was fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Except for one thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They found a lump, or what they thought might BE a lump in one of my breasts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After listening to my family history, it was determined that I needed to have it looked at by a professional. Given my short time left in the Coast Guard and the fact that on May 22 I will be losing my health care benefits it had to be done quickly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Originally they were going to make me wait more than a month, intending to schedule me for the end of April. Considering that I am planning on moving to South Carolina in 31 days, that was not going to work for me. It took a near melt-down on my part to get them to schedule me sooner. But, I prevailed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night was one of the longest nights that I can remember.  I tried everything to get my mind off of what was going to happen today.  I read a book and watched TV.  I cleaned my house and did laundry.  I hugged my dog.  Finally, I called Ben at 2 a.m. his time (they are in port right now), and had a good long cry.  I felt alone, angry, and frightened.  He listened and did his best to comfort me from 5,000 miles away.  He did a good job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I drove almost an hour to a clinic out in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Pleasanton&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. I don't remember most of the drive. In fact, I almost missed a very important turn, and probably would have ended up in Stockton before I realized it. I was scared. Very scared. In my family, there is a history of women having breast cancer at a young age. 27 in fact. I turn 27 in just over three weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After three long hours of waiting, mammograms, and ultrasounds the doctors informed me that everything looks good. They see no abnormalities at all.  Whatever was there three weeks ago is no longer present.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I have never been so relieved in my life.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-4475927947653094361?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/4475927947653094361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=4475927947653094361' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/4475927947653094361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/4475927947653094361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/counting-my-blessings.html' title='Counting my Blessings'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7040152409674088320</id><published>2007-02-26T18:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-04-26T06:35:43.561-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gentlemen, Start Your Engines.</title><content type='html'>The first time (and probably the ONLY time) I ever defied curfew I was 13. I can distinctly remember the "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!" answer that I got from my father when I told him I wouldn't be home until 2 a.m. My curfew at that time was 11 pm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was the first time I ever went to a stock car race. My best friend at the time's father had a Late Model race car, and Jason always talked about it. Finally, he asked me to go one weekend when we were in the 8th grade. From that night forward, I was hooked. That night we were racing in Stafford Springs, Connecticut. It was one of the biggest racing events of the year. The Modified cars (they look very similar to a go-cart, but with ridiculous amounts of horse power) were running that night. The Busch League North was going to be there for a 300 lap race. Big names in what used to be Winston Cup started off in this series, and some were going to be there again that night, just for old time's sake. If everything went according to plan, we would be racing that afternoon, watch the big races that evening, and be home by midnight. Everything was going great...until the rain showed up. Races got shuffled to accommodate sponsors during breaks in the weather, and by the time the Late Model Stocks could get out on the track, it was ten of midnight. We had to start our race BY midnight, or we wouldn't be able to get on the track because of noise ordinances. It was then that I remembered that I needed to call my dad and let him know where I was, and that I was going to be late...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once that racing bug bit me, I never stopped watching. President's Day weekend took on a whole new meaning for me (that is when the Daytona 500 is held every year). Every year from April until October, you could guarantee that on any given Thursday night, you would find me at our home track of Thompson International Speedway in Thompson, CT. It was there that we raced the Late Model Stock #69. We all wore black jeans and purple T-Shirts (because those were our car colors), and every single person that went had a job. We all had big purple jackets with a giant gold "69" on the back. My mom wouldn't let me wear mine anywhere but the track and to work...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036060531292914818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReOuXvsURII/AAAAAAAAAK0/hbkmyP3sgcY/s400/freddie.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first, I just handed Freddie (Jason's dad) and Jason tools to fix the car. As I started learning more and more about the car, the set-up, and racing in general, I got to do more. I learned why racers put "rounds of wedge" in the springs (tightening down on the rear springs), and why a spoiler was so important. Then I learned how to use a pop-rivet gun, and how to use a sledge hammer and two-by-four to "massage" the sheet metal back into place (meaning a lot of cussing and hard work to get the fenders to actually resemble fenders after a wreck). I learned how to adjust tire pressures to make the car handle better, and then became Freddie's "go to gal" to work out tire pressures before racing, and figure out what tires we would use that night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was invited to start joining the crew on Monday nights to work on the car at Freddie's garage. It was there that I got to learn more about the people I was spending my Thursdays and the occasional weekend with. My knowledge of engines and racing increased to a point that I was actually useful, and when I left for the Coast Guard I was sorely missed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I first started going racing, I remember how exciting I thought crashes were . Then, I saw witnessed my first racing death, up close and personal, when a racer we knew hit the wall at ninety miles an hour. His car disintegrated. To this day I still cringe whenever I hear about crashes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, there's nothing like standing in the infield at a race, watching the car that you helped put together run with the field. Every hit your driver gives and takes gives you a little jolt of excitement, but makes you cringe as well as you tally up how much work needs to be done that week. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036062159085520018" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReOv2fsURJI/AAAAAAAAAK8/BWo-WAV9P74/s400/img003.jpg" border="0" /&gt;The feeling of excitement that courses though your body as you stand in your pit box holding your hat in your hand while the National Anthem, waiting for the announcer to say "Gentlemen, Start Your Engines" is like nothing else. You feel it in your chest, as the waves of sound reverberate to your very core. The smell of racing gasoline is like none other...and it is absolutely fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;If you couldn't tell from this entry, I miss racing very much. Ironically, I figured that when I move to South Carolina I could get back into it, and maybe hook up with a local team out there. However, when I went looking to see where the nearest racetrack is, I discovered that there are no short tracks within 100 miles of Charleston. I couldn't believe it. Not even a dirt oval.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I guess this gives me more reason to start looking into tickets at the bigger Nextel Cup races...It's a good thing Ben's also a NASCAR fan. Daytona, Darlington, Charlotte, Atlanta,and Talledega, here we come!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7040152409674088320?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7040152409674088320/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7040152409674088320' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7040152409674088320'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7040152409674088320'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/gentlemen-start-your-engines.html' title='Gentlemen, Start Your Engines.'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReOuXvsURII/AAAAAAAAAK0/hbkmyP3sgcY/s72-c/freddie.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-1108788802048650802</id><published>2007-02-25T19:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-25T20:25:05.857-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Swimmin' with the fishes (well, maybe not SWIMMING)...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been stationed in Alameda twice, and until today I had never actually made it to the aquarium down in Monterey. My parents and I tried to go there when they came out, but were unsuccessful. Every time Glenn visited we said we would go, but never made it. Today I went to the Monterey Aquarium with a friend of mine and her little boy. What an amazing experience. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035692641574208610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJfxvsURGI/AAAAAAAAAJw/ljhltR7perI/s400/DSCF0110.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035687212735546370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJa1vsURAI/AAAAAAAAAJA/_luyRUx1ztM/s400/DSCF0088.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Being at an aquarium is such a great experience. It is so peaceful and serene. Even when you are surrounded by a crowd of people, it is easy to get lost in the life just beyond the glass. Just looking into the giant tanks, watching animals that you would never otherwise see reminds me of how small we really are in the great scheme of things. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035686796123718642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJadfsUQ_I/AAAAAAAAAI4/5XYqLQbMpIY/s400/DSCF0079.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035691889954931794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJfF_sURFI/AAAAAAAAAJo/gJ2gpb7nDwE/s400/DSCF0115.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There is nothing cooler though than watching a little one discover a world that just seems to be impossible. As I stood with my friend watching her son watch the fish, I was in awe a little bit myself. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035687569217831954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJbKfsURBI/AAAAAAAAAJI/uyHRm8F7gPM/s400/DSCF0096.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035690051708929090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJda_sUREI/AAAAAAAAAJg/WQq_cCRIlT8/s400/DSCF0105.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am so glad that I bought my digital camera. I took so many pictures today. I hope you enjoy the ones I post!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035687912815215650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJbefsURCI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/-5zkpzw08hw/s400/DSCF0102.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035689759651152946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJdJ_sURDI/AAAAAAAAAJY/6u6658QyMJE/s400/DSCF0065.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035693062481003634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJgKPsURHI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/yydqWvWmdN0/s400/DSCF0112.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-1108788802048650802?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/1108788802048650802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=1108788802048650802' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1108788802048650802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1108788802048650802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/swimmin-with-fishes-well-maybe-not.html' title='Swimmin&apos; with the fishes (well, maybe not SWIMMING)...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReJfxvsURGI/AAAAAAAAAJw/ljhltR7perI/s72-c/DSCF0110.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-3080410837140781614</id><published>2007-02-24T16:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-25T07:57:49.159-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The things they DON'T tell you about owning dogs...</title><content type='html'>While I was growing up, we always had a dog. We had Lottie, the Irish Setter. She was beautiful, but not very smart. We had Ben, the Newfie-Lab-Kodiak Bear mix, who was big and dumb, but as sweet as they come. He used to let me try to ride him for crying out loud! Then there was my boy Gus. The original Gus (not my brother's new Gus...who is great too). There was Holly, our Black Lab. The one we thought we were going to make into a hunting dog (even though no one in our immediate family hunts). Now my parents have Lily, whom they call "the baby."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lottie was hit by a car. We cried. Ben was shot by a hunter (who supposedly mistook him for a bear). We bawled. Gus died of complications from diabetes. I was absolutely devastated. Holly passed on from old age. We mourned. I STILL cry when I think of Gus. All of these dogs deserve to have their stories told, but for now I'm going to focus on Gus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had Gus for about nine years. He was a pointer mix of some kind. He looked like result of a Dalmatian meeting a Rottweiler, with some kind of hunting dog thrown in the mix...a real Heinz 57. One of the greatest things about him was that he didn't bark. The night my dad brought him home, I don't think my mom had any idea what was coming. You see, she was asleep, napping so that she could prepare for an 11-7 shift at Worcester City Hospital. All of the commotion downstairs woke her up. When she came down to see just what in the world was gong on, Gus yipped at her. She took one look at him, caught one whiff of him, and promptly deposited him in the bathtub. Gus never barked at her, or pretty much anything ever again...and he cowered whenever he saw that bathrobe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gus was one of the most fun dogs we had. He would go anywhere, and do anything. He loved to go for walks in the woods, he loved to chase flashlight beams, he loved to go canoeing of all things. The only thing he DIDN'T love was riding in the car. He was also the only dog that I have ever met that got drunk on purpose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gus used to love to steal beer can's off the back porch during the winter.  My dad would leave beer outside when my parents hosted parties so it would chill.  Gus used to steal the bear, poke holes in the cans with his teeth, watch them spin around while releiving the pressure inside...and then drink the beer.  Needless to say, after Gus drank an entire six-pack one night, my dad stopped putting beer outside.  The dog was hammered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One afternoon, when I was about 14, I couldn't find my dog (I had come to think of him as mine by then). I could hear him yelping and howling, sounding scared and confused, which was bizarre because it was a beautiful spring day. When I found him in the woods out of sight of the house, there was nothing outwardly wrong with him...but I didn't know what to do. He couldn't walk, so I picked him up (all 60 pounds of him), and carried him into the backyard. He drank water like he hadn't had any in days. He had been doing that a lot at that time. My mom, acting on a hunch and drawing from her nursing experience, gave him corn syrup, and he calmed down immediately. Gus had been hypoglycemic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, after another trip to the vet, Mom's hypothesis was confirmed. We had a choice. We could euthanize him, or we could support his diabetes. I thank God we went with the second option. That meant insulin shots twice a day, as well as special diets...just how you would treat a human being. Within a couple of weeks, my mom taught me how to perform the tests to check his blood sugar, how to determine the amount of insulin he would need, and how to give him the shots that he required. For two years, every morning and every evening, I took care of that dog better than I have ever taken care of anything or anyone. It got a point that he would not allow anyone but me to give him his shots. My mom is a phlebotimist, a good one at that, and he would even allow HER to do it. When he wasn't feeling well, Gus would find me, and I would take care of him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For two years, we went on this way. He was my dog that point. He still loved everyone else, but he was MINE. Slowly though, things started to deteriorate. He got cataracts, started needing more insulin, and other symptoms started to come back. He would get disoriented, and scared, and he was just getting old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it came time to make THE decision, it was only mine to make. I did what was best for my best friend. The night before, Gus and I sat down and we shared a steak...not just any stake but a sirloin. That night he slept with me, in my bed, something that was never allowed in the Bergman household.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next morning I carried him to the truck, and then helped him into the vet's office. Dr. Seremith cried. The vet techs all cried. When the time came, Dr. Seremith asked me to assist, not one of the techs. I stayed, and Gus thumped his tail as he faded away. I like to think he was telling me that it was okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why am I writing about this? That was 11 years and two dogs ago after all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I sat in a sunny spot in the dining room with Coda, clipping his nails. This is something that I never thought I would EVER do for a dog. A couple of times I cut his nails too short, and he bled a little bit. We've all done that to ourselves a time or two haven't we? You would have thought I cut off his whole paw the way he looked at me...not just the tip of his nail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to thinking about it, the things that I do for him that I NEVER imagined I would do for an animal. I never thought I would give a dog multi-vitamins, brush one's teeth (Ben bought him an electric toothbrush...yes his breath can be that bad), make one wear a seat belt on long drives (you laugh, Coda really has one), or run around with a plastic bag after him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never thought I would spend thousands of dollars on stitches, medications, orthopedic specialists, and just vaccinations. I sure as hell never thought I would ever drag a forty pound bag of dog food across the driveway, worrying that it wouldn't be enough to last the month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, this all got me thinking. Is it worth it, all of the money, the frustration, the aggravation, and the inevitable sadness that comes with having a pet?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I walk in the door, and Coda can't seem to keep his feet underneath him because he is so excited to see me, or he looks up at me with bright shining eyes, or he falls asleep sitting on top of me (he thinks he's a lap dog) with a big puppy smile on his face, I can only come to one conclusion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're damned right it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035278177651286226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReDm0xQuYNI/AAAAAAAAAH8/6iwwj4E5vxo/s320/untitled.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-3080410837140781614?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/3080410837140781614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=3080410837140781614' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3080410837140781614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3080410837140781614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/things-they-dont-tell-you-about-owning.html' title='The things they DON&apos;T tell you about owning dogs...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/ReDm0xQuYNI/AAAAAAAAAH8/6iwwj4E5vxo/s72-c/untitled.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-1561939247388570165</id><published>2007-02-23T22:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-23T23:27:41.328-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Beyond the Anger</title><content type='html'>Ben always tells me that one of the things that he loves most about me is my heart. He says I have one of the biggest, most compassionate, understanding, and forgiving hearts of anyone he has ever known.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I feel like a complete fraud when he tells me that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems like there is always going to be that one person that you cannot bring yourself to forgive. The one person that hurt you so badly, you can't even describe it. The one person that no matter how hard you try, no matter how hard you pray for the ability to forgive, you just can't do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight I had a run-in with that person. Not face-to-face mind you, but through a friend - someone that I had not talked to in a LONG time, that I did not know I was ever going to talk to again. But, this conversation was a good thing. I was caught up on parts of my life I had closed the door on; friends who I wrote off completely in an attempt to wrest my life away from the destruction I was running hell-bent for, and memories I made every attempt to erase from my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I think I came out the conversation better than I was when I went in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the mention of "that person's" name, I felt an urge to get sick. Then I felt rage. Then I felt...peace. No, I haven't forgiven this person for their transgressions. But, I discovered that I have moved beyond it. I don't necessarily think that they should burn in hell anymore.  In fact, I think that person has discovered hell on earth.  When you discover that you've risen above something that was previously holding you back, it is generally seen as a good thing, right? I must admit that I was ashamed at first. The reason I know I have moved beyond is because I can look back now on that time, see how pathetic that person is, and feel better because I know that I am no longer associated. But at first I was ashamed.  I was afraid that other people who knew me "way back when" might remember me as equally pathetic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure you are all wondering, just where in the world I am going with this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, this evening I finally acknowledged that I can't change the past. I made some stupid, STUPID mistakes. But I can't go back and change them. I can only move on, and up. Tonight I was also forced to look at all of the hurt, and the anger, and the distrust that I harbored - and refused to let go of. It is okay for me to be angry at these people that have hurt me. In some instances my distrust of some was warranted. That doesn't mean I have to distrust EVERYONE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may have made mistakes when I was younger, but believe it or not, I have actually LEARNED from some of them. Now it is my responsibility to apply those lessons, and to forgive myself for making the mistakes I did - and to get on with my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-1561939247388570165?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/1561939247388570165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=1561939247388570165' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1561939247388570165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1561939247388570165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/getting-beyond-anger.html' title='Getting Beyond the Anger'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-6640239222300223638</id><published>2007-02-23T19:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-23T22:43:59.530-08:00</updated><title type='text'>And so it begins...</title><content type='html'>This afternoon I posted an ad on Crag's List to start selling some of my bigger things that I won't have room for in South Carolina. For sale in my ad were my Bistro Set, my Papa San chair, my Brass Lamp, and my microwave. It was really hard for me to post the ad because the Papa San was my FIRST real piece of furniture in my FIRST apartment...along with the lamp. The Bistro Set was something that was a very special gift...and I thought it was absolutely beautiful. The Bistro Set is already gone. This is all becoming incredibly real to me incredibly fast...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034938321184121026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd-xuhQuYMI/AAAAAAAAAHw/612Ml6EkJ44/s320/DSCF0002.JPG" border="0" /&gt;I'm hoping to have the rest of the stuff I posted ads for gone by the end of the week. It's time for me to get my act in gear...but first I'm going to go hang out with Steph for a while :). We're doing a girl's night in (with little Joey of course ;) ).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-6640239222300223638?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/6640239222300223638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=6640239222300223638' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6640239222300223638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6640239222300223638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/and-so-it-begins.html' title='And so it begins...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd-xuhQuYMI/AAAAAAAAAHw/612Ml6EkJ44/s72-c/DSCF0002.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-2856255424699069300</id><published>2007-02-22T19:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T19:59:56.224-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Pictures</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So today, Ben asked me to post some more pictures so he can see what is happening out here while he's at sea...so without further ado, I post:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tonight Katelyn and I went out to dinner at a new Mexican Restaurant here in town. My friend and her little boy invited us to hang out with some old shipmates of hers. It was a good time. Of course, although we brought the camera, we didn't take any pictures. So, not being one to let a good hair day go to waste, Kate took pictures of me when we got home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034571797265014898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd5kYBQuYHI/AAAAAAAAAG0/m_hJ7MO14aE/s320/DSCF0032.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034572471574880402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd5k_RQuYJI/AAAAAAAAAHE/1MPHiETe1f8/s320/DSCF0033.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The other day we went hiking, and took some pictures then too. We went up to a really pretty nature preserve just north of here in Orinda. It never ceases to amaze me that if you drive north 15 minutes, it's like you're in a whole other world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034570766472863842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd5jcBQuYGI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/o7D1r77UULs/s320/Em+and+Coda+2.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd5jSBQuYFI/AAAAAAAAAGI/JaJnWcJEf0g/s1600-h/Em+and+Coda+2.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034573047100498082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="210" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd5lgxQuYKI/AAAAAAAAAHM/KiQRlc99AUE/s320/Picture+008.jpg" width="320" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034573386402914482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd5l0hQuYLI/AAAAAAAAAHU/cX_atVHvV8M/s320/untitled.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;div&gt;Other than that though, not much else has been going on here. I hope you like the pictures Ben.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-2856255424699069300?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/2856255424699069300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=2856255424699069300' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2856255424699069300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/2856255424699069300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/just-pictures.html' title='Just Pictures'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd5kYBQuYHI/AAAAAAAAAG0/m_hJ7MO14aE/s72-c/DSCF0032.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-4893369562187064967</id><published>2007-02-22T10:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T11:07:26.953-08:00</updated><title type='text'>More About the Daytona 500 (because you can never have too much!)</title><content type='html'>So my boss, who doesn't even LIKE NASCAR went to the Daytona 500 this year. He sat in Row 29 , Section E of the Weatherly tower. Right across from Pit Road. And the big Daytona sign in the infield. About 300 feet from the start/finish line. You know, the line that the 07 car crossed on fire ON IT'S ROOF?!?!? Talk about an exciting race!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, being the great guy that he is, Brian got me the official Souvenir Booklet AND took pictures on his cell phone. He even called me on lap 180 so I could hear the cars. So, without further ado, here they are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd3lxBQuX7I/AAAAAAAAAEg/u7sbzi1iq3w/s1600-h/Dale"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd3mFxQuX8I/AAAAAAAAAEo/iJ6Ewr73e5k/s1600-h/2.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd3pGRQuX-I/AAAAAAAAAFI/qXoA3MKPzJo/s1600-h/Dale"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034436252392120290" style="WIDTH: 169px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 122px" height="122" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd3pGRQuX-I/AAAAAAAAAFI/qXoA3MKPzJo/s400/Dale%27s+Car.jpg" width="211" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd3paRQuX_I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/WIGESh9YrSA/s1600-h/2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034436595989503986" style="WIDTH: 168px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 121px" height="121" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd3paRQuX_I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/WIGESh9YrSA/s400/2.jpg" width="171" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I mention that I'm jealous of HIM too?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-4893369562187064967?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/4893369562187064967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=4893369562187064967' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/4893369562187064967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/4893369562187064967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/more-about-daytona-500-because-you-can.html' title='More About the Daytona 500 (because you can never have too much!)'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rd3pGRQuX-I/AAAAAAAAAFI/qXoA3MKPzJo/s72-c/Dale%27s+Car.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-1409725055388632596</id><published>2007-02-21T17:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-22T11:08:56.455-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ready and Waiting...</title><content type='html'>Today was a pretty busy day during my TAPS class. We wrote new resumes and cover letters to send to companies we would like to interview with...but I'm sure you don't want to hear about that. That kind of stuff is boring...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm going to write about the stuff that I was daydreaming about today. All throughout the day (when I wasn't creating resumes and such), I daydreamed about travel. I thought about the places that I have already been, and the places that I would like to see again. The catalyst for this was very simple. My parents are going on a cruise next week. My brother and his girlfriend are going soon after, as are my sister and brother-in-law, and my aunt and uncle. As I am sure you can understand, I'm jealous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mom said something to me though that made me think. She told me to think about all of the times that I got to go to sea, and I left all of THEM behind wondering what interesting things I would see and neat adventures I would go on. They were jealous. Now it is their turn to go see new and exotic things, and have experiences that some will only ever read about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was right, I got to see all kinds of things all the way from Alaska to Japan to Panama. I would call my family and my friends from places that they had never even HEARD of. I have souvenirs from places that people only dream about. I have stories that awe people when I tell them, and sometimes I'm even asked to RE-TELL them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to learn how to do things that very few people get to do. I can start a diesel engine that is two stories tall and operate it. I could also affect repairs on it if necessary while I was using it. I can drive a ship almost 400 feet long, in the middle of high-stress operations, and do it well. I have been woken up at 2 am to help fight a fire on a ship. I have seen what 30 foot seas look like. I have seen what 12 tons of cocaine that will be destroyed instead of sold on the streets looks like. I have also seen the relief and thanks on the face of a man who would have died if we hadn't been there to help him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seen the stars at night, with no light pollution to make them fade. I have seen the moon shine so brightly that you would swear it was almost as bright as the sun. I think those things might be what I will miss the most.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that the reason I'm so jealous right now is because I know that I will never put to sea again on a Coast Guard ship to go do that mission, and I will never see these things again in that context. In fact, I consider myself in limbo right now as I wait for this chapter of my life to close, and the next one to begin. My dad calls it "Emily's Big Adventure: Part 2" (Part 1 being my joining the Coast Guard).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm ready...I'm waiting...let the adventure begin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-1409725055388632596?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/1409725055388632596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=1409725055388632596' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1409725055388632596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1409725055388632596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/ready-and-waiting.html' title='Ready and Waiting...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-6370071656678257261</id><published>2007-02-20T19:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-20T20:29:25.297-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Milestones</title><content type='html'>Today has been a day of milestones for me. Some may think of them as minor ones, but to me they are huge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was the first day of my TAP Class. No, I don't mean dancing. TAP stand for Transition Assistance Program. These are classes that I am mandated to take in order to help me make my transition into the "real world." These are classes that I begrudgingly signed up for, certain that they would be a waste of my time. Truthfully though, today was very helpful. I'm starting to learn about some of the benefits that I may be eligible for, and gotten some really good information on what kind of things to expect when I finally leave the service for good. I guess the best way to put it is that this class is the beginning of the end for my Coast Guard career. Although I am still very nervous about that, I am also getting very excited. I'm looking forward to tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today marks 39 days until I go terminal leave. I've broken the 40 day mark! Things are going to start going really fast now, I am sure. But, I have been working very hard to make sure I have all of my ducks in a row.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All of the talk today about transitions also made me start thinking about the yard sale that I am going to have to have soon, and all of the things I'm going to either have to sell or give away.  Ben and I will be combining 5 years worth of stuff that both of us have accumulated into one two-bedroom apartment.  Let me tell you, everything that we have right now isn't going to fit...by a long shot.  I've already made a deal for my couch, the washer, and the dryer.  I still have other things that I need to find takers for (the patio set, the papa-san chair, bookshelves...you name it).  But I know that he's been working on getting rid of a lot of stuff too.  We have a lot of work to do though before that moving truck with all of my stuff pulls up in front of the apartment building...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last but not least, tonight I went to my weekly Weight Watchers meeting...and I was told that I had lost 5 pounds since I started! I was very excited. It's encouraging to see the scale drop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that this post is a little out of character after the last eleven, but I have a cold. Unfortunately, I can't buy any Sudafed (like was recommended at the clinic today). I stood in line for half an hour at Walgreens this evening to hear the manager tell me that they cannot sell me the decongestant. You see, their computers are down, and I need to sign an electric document in order to bring the medication out of the store. I understand the need to regulate the sale of pseudophedrine in order to help regulate methamphetamine production, but tonight I can't help but wonder if this is getting a little ridiculous.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-6370071656678257261?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/6370071656678257261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=6370071656678257261' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6370071656678257261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6370071656678257261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/milestones.html' title='Milestones'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-663572117976900135</id><published>2007-02-19T19:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-19T20:09:56.924-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The things I do just so I can do my taxes...</title><content type='html'>I enjoy doing my taxes. I know, I'm weird. Yeah, there is probably something wrong with me. However, I enjoy it. It is a giant puzzle that I can check and recheck, AND in the end...I generally get paid! Yay! I enjoy doing my taxes so much that last year, I even did Ben's taxes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I'm considering going back to school to become an accountant, but that's another story for a later time.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;On Saturday, I sat down and got out all of my forms so I could file online. That was when I remembered that my printer didn't work. That meant that when I was done, I couldn't print out my copies of my forms. I am a nazi when it comes to paperwork. Not only do I print it, but I file it. My files are even color coded...yeah, I'm a little wierd about that too (however, I have ALWAYS had copies of my bills and reciepts when I needed them...and I knew EXACTLY where to find them). Therefore, I couldn't do my taxes.&lt;/p&gt;So, today I went out and bought a new printer. I wish I could say I'm excited about it, but alas, I'm actually kind of angry. You see, I had a great printer before. It was a Lexmark InkJet, and it printed with beautiful quality. Then the AC adapter went bad while I was on Christmas leave. Not a big deal - or at least I didn't think so. The AC adapter isn't actually a Lexmark part. It is made by a little company out here in San Jose. I brought the converter in to Best Buy (where I learned that it had gone bad), and asked if I could just buy a replacement part. That is when I found out that they don't carry them. Neither does OfficeMax, Office Depot, Staples, or any other chain store. You see, nobody sells this part. After talking to salespeople in these stores, I discovered that this part failure is a fairly common thing. When I got on the website for the small company, they ALSO said it was a common problem. And they would fix it for me...for $40! Not to mention that I had to pay shipping and handling both to send it back, and for it's return. What a gyp!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, now I own an Epson printer/copier/scanner that I got on sale. It sure LOOKS impressive. For $10 dollars more, I could have gotten it to be a fax too...but then reality sunk in, and I realized that I really didn't NEED that. But it could have been fun though...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033462849594089362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdpzyxQuX5I/AAAAAAAAAEM/udAGyckdevc/s320/DSCF0028.JPG" border="0" /&gt; Not bad for the cost of repair, shipping, and handling...and this one has a VERY good warranty.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-663572117976900135?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/663572117976900135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=663572117976900135' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/663572117976900135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/663572117976900135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/things-i-do-just-so-i-can-do-my-taxes.html' title='The things I do just so I can do my taxes...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdpzyxQuX5I/AAAAAAAAAEM/udAGyckdevc/s72-c/DSCF0028.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-1259503634752848182</id><published>2007-02-18T13:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-19T08:14:58.122-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Proud to be a NASCAR fan</title><content type='html'>The National Anthem brings tears to my eyes. Today I stood in my living room and took off my Dale Earnhardt Jr. ball cap while the Anthem was sung, tears streaming down my face. I'm patriotic, and I'm extremely proud of it. I could have sat on my couch, continued eating my sandwich, and waited for the song to end. But that would have felt wrong.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033031338524827490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdjrVhQuX2I/AAAAAAAAADg/JnR1HTBR7UQ/s320/DSCF0023.JPG" border="0" /&gt;I have waited all winter for today. Today is the first race day of the 2007 NASCAR Nextel Cup season. I have been a NASCAR fan since I was about 13, but I remember watching the Daytona 500 with my dad on ABC's "Wide World of Sports" as a little girl. That program hasn't been on TV for a LONG time (Bobby Allison was still alive and racing then to give you a time frame).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watching the race, I couldn't help but think of the races I've been to. From Thompson, Connecticut to Las Vegas, Nevada, all the way out to Ewa Beach, Hawaii - this is such a great sport. NASCAR fans are some of the best people to spend an afternoon or evening with. From barbequing in the pits in Connecticut, to listening to Dale Earnhardt Jr. talk to his spotter on a complete stranger's scanner in Nevada with Ben, to watching the races in Hawaii totally shocked to find a track out there, some of my best memories involve racing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NASCAR is a family affair for me too, one that I claim credit for starting. My family used to joke with me about spending hours watching cars "go fast and turn left" on Sunday afternoons. Fast forward thirteen years, and now my sister cheers for Dale Earnhardt Jr with me from 3,000 miles away. My brother-in-law is a Matt Kenseth fan (but we won't hold that against him...especially after today's race). My dad is a Jeff Burton fan. Ben cheers for the Caterpillar car. Even my mom gets into it sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad couldn't watch the race today. He was on call, and had to go in to work. I made sure to call him when the green flag fell to start the race. When I found out that he wasn't going to be able to watch it at all, I searched the internet to figure out what radio station he could listen to the race on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heck, even my dog gets into it...I have to go watch the end of the race.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033031978474954610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/Rdjr6xQuX3I/AAAAAAAAADo/5CDKPXNyrJw/s320/DSCF0025.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-1259503634752848182?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/1259503634752848182/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=1259503634752848182' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1259503634752848182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/1259503634752848182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/proud-to-be-nascar-fan.html' title='Proud to be a NASCAR fan'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdjrVhQuX2I/AAAAAAAAADg/JnR1HTBR7UQ/s72-c/DSCF0023.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-778254311328840087</id><published>2007-02-17T23:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-18T13:31:42.154-08:00</updated><title type='text'>There is no such thing as too much fun...</title><content type='html'>Although Katelyn and I took three hours to figure out what we were going to wear tonight, we still had fun, as evidenced by the following pictures...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdgIbRQuXwI/AAAAAAAAACk/JyMbqu4qd3s/s1600-h/DSCF0020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032781848169570050" style="CURSOR: hand" height="213" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdgIbRQuXwI/AAAAAAAAACk/JyMbqu4qd3s/s320/DSCF0020.JPG" width="293" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdgKehQuXyI/AAAAAAAAAC8/UUdclGfntqk/s1600-h/DSCF0019.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032784103027400482" style="WIDTH: 295px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px" height="213" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdgKehQuXyI/AAAAAAAAAC8/UUdclGfntqk/s320/DSCF0019.JPG" width="320" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a good night...I'm going to miss Kate when I leave.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-778254311328840087?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/778254311328840087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=778254311328840087' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/778254311328840087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/778254311328840087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/there-is-no-such-thing-as-too-much-fun.html' title='There is no such thing as too much fun...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdgIbRQuXwI/AAAAAAAAACk/JyMbqu4qd3s/s72-c/DSCF0020.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7404178954340294048</id><published>2007-02-17T17:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-17T17:54:21.945-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't have ANYTHING to wear (or want to wear anyway)</title><content type='html'>Why is it an unwritten rule that every time a woman has to wear something besides jeans and a sweater to go out somewhere, they must try on every sweater, pair of pants, and pair of shoes in their closet? After doing this and declaring hatred of everything that I own, I generally end up wearing the first thing I put on in the first place...or something from my roommate's closet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously though, what AM I buying when I go to the mall?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight was no exception. We are going over to San Francisco to meet a friend of Kate's for dinner, and then going salsa dancing with another group of her friends. I was doing fine until I was informed that the dress code for the evening did not involve jeans. So, it was back to the drawing board (or the dresser drawer and closet in this case). I have come to the conclusion that I don't have much in the way middle-of-the-road dress up clothes. I have beautiful dresses to be worn on occasions that involve nice hair, dressy shoes, and maybe a little dress purse (that really is completely and totally impractical and doesn't hold a whole lot of anything). On the other end of the spectrum, I have plenty of clothes that would be suitable for an evening at Snapper Jack's (a sports bar in Folly Beach). I even have clothes that are suitable for changing my oil. Yet somehow, I managed to skip everything in the middle...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7404178954340294048?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7404178954340294048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7404178954340294048' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7404178954340294048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7404178954340294048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-dont-have-anything-to-wear-or-want-to.html' title='I don&apos;t have ANYTHING to wear (or want to wear anyway)'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-6531389204971259354</id><published>2007-02-16T16:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-17T11:17:05.152-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I got My Flowers....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;My flowers came today...11 red tulips. My favorite. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032584137940033202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RddUnBQuXrI/AAAAAAAAABw/_624ExvmgvM/s400/DSCF0001.JPG" border="0" /&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you Ben. You did good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-6531389204971259354?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/6531389204971259354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=6531389204971259354' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6531389204971259354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/6531389204971259354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-got-my-flowers.html' title='I got My Flowers....'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RddUnBQuXrI/AAAAAAAAABw/_624ExvmgvM/s72-c/DSCF0001.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8034515788233834883</id><published>2007-02-16T13:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-17T11:24:46.503-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On the Road Again (Soon Anyway)</title><content type='html'>Last year when Ben and I drove across the country, I was expressly forbidden to plan anything. I couldn't plan a route, where we were going to stay, or what we were going to do. The only objectives that we had were to visit his sister in Phoenix, go to his parents’ house in Illinois for a couple of days, and arrive Atlanta in time to see the whole Braves/Red Sox series. We achieved all of those objectives and overall had a stress free trip across the country.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032585276106366674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RddVpRQuXtI/AAAAAAAAACE/hHxO0bsB230/s320/IMG_0654.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p&gt;For me that was a huge accomplishment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, Ben calls me his “Master Planner.” Until last year’s trip, I highly doubted the existence of a spontaneous bone anywhere in my body. I will plan every minute of the day out if you let me. I love lists, schedules, and calendars. I use enough sticky notes to remind me, my cubicle mate, and anyone else within a two block radius what the plan of the day is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year’s trip across country is going to be a little different. You see, this year I HAVE to plan this trip...at least a little bit We will be traveling with my dog Coda, a 70 pound German Shepherd. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032585924646428386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RddWPBQuXuI/AAAAAAAAACM/VFDADWmEvJI/s320/105_0523.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He's kind of hard to hide, so I have to find dog-friendly hotels to stop at. We could bring a tent, but I’ve been camping with Coda before. I’m afraid that an experience like that would swear Ben off of camping forever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The time of year that we are traveling is also a concern to me. It may dictate what route we take. Will the mountain passes on Interstate 80 be open during the first week of April? What if there’s a freak snowstorm (because there haven’t been enough of those this year or anything)? Should we take Interstate 40 again? It's a shorter route that will get Ben back to South Carolina quicker (AND we can stop in to see his uncle AND go see the Grand Canyon). Either way, my biggest concern is whether or not there a Dairy Queen anywhere between San Francisco and South Carolina that serves Blizzards with Nerds in them. If I bring my own Nerds, will they put them in the ice cream for me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No matter what, this trip will be interesting. Last year's trip was fun, so I'm sure this one will be a blast. Wish us luck :), only 43 more days to go!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8034515788233834883?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8034515788233834883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8034515788233834883' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8034515788233834883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8034515788233834883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/on-road-again-soon-anyway.html' title='On the Road Again (Soon Anyway)'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RddVpRQuXtI/AAAAAAAAACE/hHxO0bsB230/s72-c/IMG_0654.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7581597158370470117</id><published>2007-02-15T13:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-15T13:48:36.706-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why?</title><content type='html'>This blog entry took me all day, off and on, to write.  I have started it, and erased it, and started over again half a dozen times. Why?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the last couple of days since I started this blog, I've had several people ask me that one very simple question. Why? Why do I want to let people into my life this way? What is it that makes me want to share my thoughts? Well, this is why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I enjoy getting to know people…from a distance. I can be extremely shy. Granted, there are times when I must walk right up to someone, introduce myself, and start a conversation. However, those times are few and far between. Thankfully, technology has changed the way that we all must look at the world. It can be totally conceivable that someday someone from Britain, or Zambia, or Thailand may read my blog. As they read it, they will get to know ME. They will come to understand what is important to me. I may never know these people personally. However, I know that they will rejoice in my successes and happiness, and they will sympathize with my sorrows and failures - and hopefully, somewhere along the way, I will get to know at least one new person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I started this blog, Ben brought another aspect of blogging into perspective for me. This &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ISN&lt;/span&gt;’T just about the people that I ha&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ve&lt;/span&gt; never met (and probably never will) getting to know me. It is also about the people who already know me. In some aspects, I’&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ve&lt;/span&gt; slowly become a stranger to some of the people that I love the most. This includes the people I love that I’&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;ve&lt;/span&gt; either spent too much time away from during the last nine years, as well as the ones that I’&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;ve&lt;/span&gt; met since then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In today’s high-paced world it seems as if everyone has a cell phone or a Blackberry or some other kind of complicated piece of electronic equipment. Yes, it’s convenient and easy and you can talk to anyone, any time, any where. But do we really stop, talk, and really pay attention to what is being said? Do we really get to know each other?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can learn so much about a person through what they write. Sometimes, I think you can get to know someone even better when you communicate through the written word. I think it is something of a lost art. When you write it takes time. You have to think about what it is that you want to say, and make sure that your words accurately convey that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For centuries, people communicated solely by written missive. It was the only way to get information before the invention of the telegraph and the telephone. What you wrote really had to count. Those letters were lifelines that kept families informed of events that were important. My Nana and my Great-Grandmother Louise both did it during the World Wars, writing to their husbands. My maternal grandmother still writes me letters routinely just to tell me about her week, and I write back. Every night that Ben is at sea, I write him an email before I go to sleep. It’s amazing, but we have gotten to know each other better through letters than I think we could have any other way. Being apart for so long has been extremely hard on both of us, but we both agree that it has been good for us too because we’&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;ve&lt;/span&gt; had this opportunity to know each other and REALLY fall in love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is much easier to share things with another person if you can think about what it is that you want to say, and then can reread it before you hit the “send” button or seal the envelope, to make SURE that it what you want to say. Just like I will before I hit the “publish” button.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, 680 words later, this is my answer to the very simple question “Why?”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;…..Because I want to know you, and I want you to know me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7581597158370470117?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7581597158370470117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7581597158370470117' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7581597158370470117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7581597158370470117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/why.html' title='Why?'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-5318293205615685995</id><published>2007-02-14T11:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-14T11:49:41.414-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Doing Some Minor Housekeeping</title><content type='html'>Today has been a slow day for me...a REALLY slow day. Slow enough that I emptied out my file cabinet, rearranged the position of everything that wasn't bolted down in my half of the cubicle (I really need to invest in a book on cubicle fung shui), and washed my desk. Yes, I know. I'm a dork (the plus side of it is that my cubicle mate ALSO decided to clean HIS desk...and my inner neat-freak rejoiced).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was cleaning, I found a disk of files that I took with me from when I left the cutter JARVIS. Most of it was just old training PowerPoints, purchase requests, and random stuff like that. I was getting ready to toss the disk when I ran across THIS...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(drum roll please)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031478274055626242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdNm1RQuXgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/sN0xmXAoInI/s320/Flightdeck+EWOK+(Small).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;The title of the picture is "Flight Deck Ewok." I had totally forgotten about it. This picture was taken during a helicopter landing on the ship. For months after the picture was spread around the ship, I was called "Ensign Ewok." &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So yeah, that's what I spent my morning doing...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-5318293205615685995?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/5318293205615685995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=5318293205615685995' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/5318293205615685995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/5318293205615685995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/doing-some-minor-housekeeping.html' title='Doing Some Minor Housekeeping'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_dNAq-JMdIkE/RdNm1RQuXgI/AAAAAAAAAAM/sN0xmXAoInI/s72-c/Flightdeck+EWOK+(Small).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-3192113381426749664</id><published>2007-02-13T18:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-13T19:20:39.687-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Valentine's Day Sucks</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;So, as I sat at my desk at work today, surfing the internet for the latest news on...whatever...I kept getting bombarded with advertisements, claiming that it's not too late to buy flowers and diamonds and chocolates and...well, you name it.  At first, it just got me annoyed.  Then, it got me a little bit disgruntled.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Why do we have to celebrate this holiday?  I mean, really.   No one is really sure why we celebrate it.  Some believe that it's a holiday to honor the death of a guy that no one is really quite sure WHY he is considered a Saint.  Others contend that it is a holiday dating back to ancient Rome to celebrate the birthday of the goddess Juno.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;Why do we have to set one day aside to be nice and loving to each other?  Do you really need a box of chocolates to prove how much you love someone?  Or flowers for that matter?  Can't you find another way to express yourself that doesn't involve Hallmark?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;The sad thing about this, is that I am a romantic at heart.  Just ask my boyfriend, or my roommate, or anyone that has ever talked to me for more than five minutes.   And for all of the ranting and raving that I did in the previous paragraphs, I did send him a Valentine's Day care package.  However, he is at sea right now, and he won't get it until long after the holiday is past.  But, I guess the thought was there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, I'm pretty sure that I'm going to try to pretend that tomorrow is just another day.  I won't go out of my way to acknowledge it to other people, but I will be gracious enough to accept well wishes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I wouldn't mind some flowers...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-3192113381426749664?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/3192113381426749664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=3192113381426749664' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3192113381426749664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/3192113381426749664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/why-valentines-day-sucks.html' title='Why Valentine&apos;s Day Sucks'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-8178091168050508376</id><published>2007-02-13T12:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-13T06:18:31.854-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a big, scary world out there</title><content type='html'>So, um, yeah.  Hi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day two of blogging. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now I'm at work, stressing out over the fact that in 46 days I will no longer be working in the Coast Gaurd.  I'll be on terminal leave, but I will no longer be working.  Part of me is really excited about this.  The other 80 percent of me is scared to death.  Since I found out in November that I was going to leaving the service, I have been submitting applications for jobs.  I know that it is still considered "early," but I'm starting to get nervous because I still don't have a job.  It's not like I'm going to be homeless or anything, but yeah...I kind of like having an income.  It's essential if you want to, you know, do things like help pay the rent...or pay hospital bills as they might arise...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So yeah, I'm kind of freaking out over this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, on the plus side, I still have a job for the next 46 days....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-8178091168050508376?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/8178091168050508376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=8178091168050508376' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8178091168050508376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/8178091168050508376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/its-big-scary-world-out-there.html' title='It&apos;s a big, scary world out there'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2921687146324631725.post-7384987962723685603</id><published>2007-02-12T22:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-02-12T22:32:57.218-08:00</updated><title type='text'>So I guess THIS is how you start a blog...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:lucida grande;"&gt;You know, when I entered college I kept telling my parents "I'm NEVER going to (fill in the blank here)..."&lt;/span&gt; Generally, when I said that it meant I would be doing that activity within the next few years. Blogging is no exception.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It started so innocently...I started reading a blog a year and a half ago about a girl about my age who was pregnant and then raising her son...and THEN I thought, how NEAT would it be to have my own blog? Would anybody be interested in what I have to say? Would my life be interesting to anyone else? Then, the blog I read posted a challenge to do a "Six Wierd Things About Me" meme challenge. That was the catalyst. So, I asked my boyfriend what he thought about me writing my own blog...and he was all for it. So, here it is. My first post. Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;Six Wierd Things About Me&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. I think riding the mechanical bull at a country bar is one of the most entertaining ways to spend an evening. Not only do I like to ride the bull, but I like to challenge my boyfriend to see who can stay on longest. I won last time. I'm dying for a rematch.&lt;br /&gt;2. I love watching the show &lt;em&gt;Jeopardy&lt;/em&gt;. Not only do I love to watch it, but I'm one of those obnoxious people that gets competitive about it in their own living room. Yes, you should pity BOTH my roommate and my boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;3. I have nicer hand tools and power tools than most men I know. This stems from a love of NASCAR and all things stock car racing. I started going to the races in the 6th grade with my best friend and his dad, and actually helped out as part of their pit crew. My friends all come to me when they have car problems...unfortunately, computers have rendered me useless (but if you get me a two-by-four and a sledge hammer, I have a pretty good shot at pounding out some of the dents you may have gotten...just ask my sister...)&lt;br /&gt;4. Those "Dangerous Catch" shows that they show on the Discovery channel? Yeah, I get so ridiculously proud when I watch them. I was stationed on a Coast Guard ship like that and spent two winters in the Bering Sea...and if you are in the same room as I am when that show comes on, I feel for you. You will hear every single sea story I have ever had.&lt;br /&gt;5. Not only do I make pancakes from scratch, but I prefer them that way. And they're good (just ask my roommate).&lt;br /&gt;6. I really want to try out for American Idol. In fact, I plan on doing it for next season. I am just afraid that I'm going to end up on the show as one of those delusional people that everyone makes fun of...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So does that make me wierd?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2921687146324631725-7384987962723685603?l=theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/feeds/7384987962723685603/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2921687146324631725&amp;postID=7384987962723685603' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7384987962723685603'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2921687146324631725/posts/default/7384987962723685603'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://theworldaccrdingtoemily.blogspot.com/2007/02/so-this-is-how-you-start-blog.html' title='So I guess THIS is how you start a blog...'/><author><name>Emily</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01011158426679488012</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
