<?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-1710861684521462083</id><updated>2011-11-17T18:58:38.982-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Katie</title><subtitle type='html'>A very beautiful girl, and a good friend. A Katie is often described as: hot, sexy, beautiful, kind, giggly. 
~urbandictionary.com</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>10</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-5474436067763809580</id><published>2011-11-17T18:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-11-17T18:58:39.053-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My mother is hilarious.</title><content type='html'>So, a little while ago I was complaining to members of my family about this guy on an LDS dating site kept messaging me the same thing over and over again.  I found it annoying because I was not interested in him and it he didn't even change the message up at all.  Like that is going to win me over!   Pshh.  Anyway, so my mom enters the conversation.  And it goes a little like this:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mom:  "Well do you know this boy?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me:  "Mom, of course I don't know him."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mom:  "Well I wouldn't talk to anyone on the internet who I didn't know.  Don't talk to him."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me:  "I don't think you understand the concept of internet dating websites."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So far, the experience has been lame and I have decided to give it up.  And maybe get a cat.  Just kidding about the cat.  I hate cats :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1710861684521462083-5474436067763809580?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/5474436067763809580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-mother-is-hilarious.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/5474436067763809580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/5474436067763809580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-mother-is-hilarious.html' title='My mother is hilarious.'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-4799069002920185580</id><published>2011-10-30T18:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-30T19:04:12.086-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Day I Met the Dr.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I will never forget the day.  I was in the fifth grade and our class went on a special field trip to the local roller skating rink. My teacher at the time also happened to be my bishop so I made sure that I was on my best behavior at all times. My mom had given me some money to pay for some snacks and after skating for a bit the time had come to get a nice cold beverage.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Now, my parents had always been pretty strict when it came to drinking soda when I was a kid. We almost never had it in the house, only occasionally when we would have pizza on a Friday night.  And when we did, it was only Root Beer and Squirt.  My parents had subscribed to the idea that caffeine was bad and that there were certain drinks we did not drink.  We stuck to the basic non-caffeinated beverages and that was that.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;This day, however, I decided that I didn't care about all of that.  I wanted to see what the harm was in drinking a soda that I was not supposed to.  Would I die?  Would I be struck with lightening?  I made sure my bishop was not looking and I made my move.  I walked up to the counter and I made my choice.  I remember thinking that the soda tasted disgusting, but I had to drink it.  I paid for it, after all!  I immediately felt guilty.  I felt that if my parents ever found out, I would be in trouble.  I vowed that I would never do anything like that ever again because if I had just listened to my parents I would have chosen a soda that I actually liked.  But instead, I was disobedient and had a disgusting drink.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;But somehow, I ended up drinking it again.  I'm not sure when and I'm not sure how, but not too far down the road I drank this soda again.  And I was in love.  It tasted like heaven in my mouth.  It was the nectar of the gods, the elixir of life!  I had met my match and it was perfect.  Now if I could only find a REAL doctor to love...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="data:image/jpg;base64,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/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1710861684521462083-4799069002920185580?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/4799069002920185580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2011/10/day-i-met-dr.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/4799069002920185580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/4799069002920185580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2011/10/day-i-met-dr.html' title='The Day I Met the Dr.'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-3452750424248316287</id><published>2011-08-22T20:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-22T22:19:51.919-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This is why my life should be a reality TV show...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;I just got back from a mini trip to Provo, Utah for the wedding of my old roommate, Christina.  I am so grateful that I was able to go and be there on her wedding day.  She looked so beautiful!  And like the goober that I am, I didn't take any pictures.  At all.  But it was such a great weekend.  I was able to see lots of people who are so important to me.  They are all people who have impacted my life in such positive ways and I am so thankful to have each and every one of them in my life :)  Utah is such a happy place for me that it is always good to go back and remember the great times that I had there.  It was a great trip!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This was also the first trip that I have ever taken and not had to rely on anyone.  I felt like such a grown-up!  I drove myself to the airport, rented a car in Utah, and stayed at a hotel.  It was fabulous!  The hotel was like a little mini apartment and I fell in love with it!  I told my dad that I would love to permanently move there in that very room.  I don't think it would be very cost effective though.  Bummer.  It was really cute though.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This was my very first time renting a car.  It was a pretty big car!   They gave me a Ford Taurus.  The thing about rental cars is you are not used to them at all.  And they don't give you any information about them, except for the owner's manual in the glove box.  But who has time to read that when they are on vacation???  Not this girl!  Anyway, when it came time to turn this car back in I had to find a gas station close to the airport to fill it up.  I was running a little later than I wanted to be so I just wanted to hurry and fill up the car.  Only when I pulled up into the gas station did I realize that I had no idea where the buttons or functions on this car were to make this possible.  But I thought to myself, "how hard could it be?"  On my car there is a lever that is clearly marked to open the door leading to the gas cap.  I did a quick look at the buttons and couldn't find anything.  So I scanned the levers near the driver's seat.  Nothing.  So I looked again.  And again.  By the third or fourth look-over, panic started to set in.  Which then turned into a little mini freak out session where I may or may not have said some words I am not supposed to.  I didn't know how to fill up this stupid car with gas and I was going to be late for my flight! I was close to tears.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then this crazy man comes up to the car (my door was open) and tries to sell me meat.  I was in panic mode so I wasn't the nicest person to him.   The conversation pretty much went like this:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Meat man:  "I am trying to get a promotion at work and the only way to do that is to sell more meat, so do you want to buy a steak?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me:  (&lt;i&gt;What???)  &lt;/i&gt;"No, thank you.  I am trying to make my flight and I am running late.  I don't have time."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;MM:  "Oh, but these steaks will travel well!  They are frozen and you can take them with you."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me:  "Please leave me alone."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I may have left out the please...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I decided to look in the owner's manual, thinking there would be a diagram or a symbol or even an explanation of how to open the gas door.  NOTHING!  I got out of the car to look around hoping it would lead to some revelation of how to put gas in this stupid thing.  This woman then comes up to me and asks me if I am leaving, to which I confide in her that I am too stupid to figure out how to get gas!  I would have been embarrassed but I knew that I desperately needed help. Her daughter was running late for a job interview and all the other gas pumps were busy.  Only in Utah would this woman stop what she was doing and help me.  But still, two minds were not better than one.  We looked at the key less entry button thingy, she looked around in the car, and still we could not figure it out.  Then she pointed to a man who she thought worked there.  So I approached him (complete side note:  He was very good looking!  Tall, dark, and handsome!  Yum!  ...okay, I'm done now...).  He happened to be talking to the meat man at the time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me:  "Excuse me?  Do you work here?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Man:  "No, but I work there (pointing to a Direct TV van, which happened to also be a Ford)." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me:  "Oh!  You drive a Ford!  Can you help me?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I again explained my predicament of stupidity and he took pity on me.  He got in the car and searched as well.  Then he busied himself with the owner's manual while we continued to look outside the vehicle.  Meat man then got the attention of a gas station employee who joined in our mystery search.  So for a good, solid two minutes there were FIVE PEOPLE trying to figure out how to open the door.  FIVE! Then, by some miracle the woman who first helped me pushed on the door leading to the gas cap. And guess what? It opened!  No lever, no button, no NOTHING!  We were all dumbfounded and I was relieved! In the end, we all celebrated our victory and parted ways.  I was not late for my flight and it gave me something to shake my head and laugh about the whole way home.  I swear things like this only happen to me.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ob2T3SONJBw/TlM2FN7aJfI/AAAAAAAAAGw/UA609yi9H5Y/s320/2010-Ford_Taurus_SHO.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Stupid car.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1710861684521462083-3452750424248316287?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/3452750424248316287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2011/08/this-is-why-my-life-should-be-reality.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/3452750424248316287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/3452750424248316287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2011/08/this-is-why-my-life-should-be-reality.html' title='This is why my life should be a reality TV show...'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ob2T3SONJBw/TlM2FN7aJfI/AAAAAAAAAGw/UA609yi9H5Y/s72-c/2010-Ford_Taurus_SHO.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-1238070074468586647</id><published>2011-05-24T21:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-24T23:44:38.953-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I &lt; 3 NY</title><content type='html'>A couple of weeks ago, I had the wonderful opportunity to travel to NYC to visit my friend, Stephanie.  She is working as a nanny a little outside of the city and met me in Manhattan for the weekend.  It was a short weekend, but so so so worth it!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I flew into LaGuardia airport on a Friday night and took a cab (all by myself!) to the hotel which was located only a couple blocks away from Times Square.  Stephanie met me at the hotel and we talked the night away!  It totally made me miss having roommates to just chat with, no matter the time.  Anyway, we woke up on Saturday and spent the day just walking the streets.  We stopped at street vendors along the way (we all know how I loooove to shop!) and saw so many famous buildings.  The New York Times building, Trump Tower, Radio City music hall, Rockefeller Center, Carnegie Hall, the Chrysler tower (from afar...) are just a few that we were able to walk past and see.  We didn't really have much time to specifically go to each and every building, but it was cool enough to just be there and see them!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wgiM7srGiAQ/TdyhjqFZpII/AAAAAAAAAGc/t9d-pKotoVY/s200/IMAG0044.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 120px; height: 200px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610536869761229954" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We walked, and walked, and walked and we eventually made it to 5th Avenue. My Mecca! Not that I could afford to shop at most of the stores, but it was amazing to see them in real life. And I even decided to get myself a little souvenir at Tiffany &amp;amp; Co. I just HAD to! I was at THE Tiffany's in New York! So I bought a little necklace that I fell in love with :) Isn't it beautiful?!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Then after much walking and much shopping, we went back to the hotel to drop off our loot and rest up for a bit before walking to the Gershwin Theater to see WICKED!!!  It was absolutely amazing and breathtaking! It was even&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;better than I imagined it would be!  I had heard it was a great show and didn't really have an intense desire to go see it until it was almost done playing in San Francisco.  At that point, it was pretty much hopeless so I didn't even try.  But to see it on Broadway was a dream!  I still can't believe that I went.  Words cannot even describe to you how amazing it was.  Just go see it for yourself!  You will not regret it!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pHLatnr5IXM/TdyYkk3XkKI/AAAAAAAAAFs/ZaTq0h_zFOQ/s200/063.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610526989935415458" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-cTr__ydC_xY/Tdycs_ENbUI/AAAAAAAAAGM/z7PXqFzFkOI/s200/091.JPG" style="text-align: center;float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px; " border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610531532454063426" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After the show, we went again to Times Square so we could see it at night.  It was stunning!  Even though it was almost midnight, it didn't even feel like it was night because of all the lights and people everywhere.  It was so incredible.  I loved it!  It truly is such a magnificent city.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On Sunday, we went to church at a Singles ward that met in the same building as the Manhattan temple.  The doors on the right lead to the&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6AHM02bXYwU/TdyfrR_wtNI/AAAAAAAAAGU/JKL4Ya0NBrM/s320/103.JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610534801710822610" /&gt;&lt;div&gt; meetinghouse and the doors on the left lead to the temple.  The Manhattan temple is absolutely beautiful!  It is in a great location in the city too.  It is pretty much sandwiched between Central Park and The Juilliard School.  I was a little obsessed with taking pictures of the temple.  I just couldn't stop!  Even in a big city, amid tall buildings, you can tell that you are standing on holy ground and it is the House of the Lord.  So beautiful!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After church, Stephanie and I walked around Central Park for a little bit.  It was beautiful and a great place to spend the rest of our Sunday.  We sat and ate lunch and talked some more.  I love that girl!  I had such a great time with her! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am so grateful for the chance that I had to go on this trip.  It gave me the opportunity to do and see things that I have only dreamed about.  I also learned some valuable lessons about myself in the process.  It opened my eyes to the world that we live in and has made me realize that I want to experience so much more in this life.  I went expecting a fun weekend and I left inspired.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&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/1710861684521462083-1238070074468586647?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/1238070074468586647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-3-ny.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/1238070074468586647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/1238070074468586647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2011/05/i-3-ny.html' title='I &lt; 3 NY'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wgiM7srGiAQ/TdyhjqFZpII/AAAAAAAAAGc/t9d-pKotoVY/s72-c/IMAG0044.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-9215164381216951705</id><published>2010-10-11T12:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-11T15:58:45.626-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hoarders</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://dallisonlee.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/Hoarders1-300x268.jpg"&gt;&lt;img src="http://dallisonlee.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/08/Hoarders1-300x268.jpg" border="0" alt="" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 268px; " /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, you've heard of the show called Hoarders, right? I actually have not seen a single episode, on account of the fact that it absolutely disgusts me. I kept seeing these commercials for the show and I would have to change the channel. Kind of like those ones that show the starving children and the abandoned puppies. I hate those commercials because they always make me cry. I hear the Sarah McLaughlin music and the tears just flow. Which is why I change the channel. But the commercials for Hoarders do not make me cry. They make me gag. I mean, how do people LIVE like that??? There are mice and maggots and who knows what else living in their stuff! It just makes me want to clean everything around me and take a shower. Gross.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But today, I realized something. I AM A HOARDER. Of clothing. I compulsively buy clothing. Weekly. I don't think a week goes by without me buying some article of clothing. It's a sickness, really. You would think that once I run out of room or hangers I would clean through and get rid of stuff I don't wear. But, I don't. I buy more hangers. I mean, come on! They are so cheap! A dollar for 10 whole hangers? Totally a good deal! And when I do get rid of clothing, I usually talk myself up to getting rid of 40% of my clothing. Buuuuuuuuuuuut, then I actually go through the clothes and get rid of maybe five things. You see, clothing holds memories for me. I remember where I was when I bought it, how happy I was wearing it for the first time, who I was with when I wore it, etc., etc., etc. That is why it is hard for me to get rid of them! I have an emotional attachment to my clothing. I need therapy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, today was the day! I have the day off, thanks to good ol' Christopher Columbus. So, in honor of him, I decided to clean out my closet. That, and I have nothing better to do since no one else has the day off. What is this world coming to? Anyway, I put my mind to it. If it didn't fit, it was gone. If I hadn't remembered the last time I wore it, bye-bye. If I thought, "Oh, I will &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;totally&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "&gt; wear this again!" and thought that the last time I did this, adios! So, how did I do? Thanks for asking!  See for yourself...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/TLNtVhj4pMI/AAAAAAAAAE8/paKxfSe2cNs/s1600/IMAG0056.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/TLNtVhj4pMI/AAAAAAAAAE8/paKxfSe2cNs/s320/IMAG0056.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526881384267293890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;You can't really tell, but that is A LOT of clothing right there.  I would estimate that there are alt least 10 skirts, 15 shirts, 10 pairs of shorts/capris, and a few pairs of pants.  I am pretty proud of myself.  Yay me!  :)  But, the sad part is my closet is STILL full.  But it looks a whole lot better!  And I don't have to worry about dislocating a shoulder when trying to shove everything in anymore. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1710861684521462083-9215164381216951705?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/9215164381216951705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2010/10/hoarders.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/9215164381216951705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/9215164381216951705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2010/10/hoarders.html' title='Hoarders'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/TLNtVhj4pMI/AAAAAAAAAE8/paKxfSe2cNs/s72-c/IMAG0056.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-2720349532176556289</id><published>2010-10-09T06:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-09T06:56:19.758-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreams</title><content type='html'>So, I haven't been doing too well with this whole blogging thing.  My stint as Relief Society president kept me a little busy, so now that I've been released I have some time on my hands.  Back to the blogging world!  :)  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I started a new job (actually, maybe I've started three new jobs since I wrote last.  That's bad...).  I first worked at Bath and Body Works and a little kiosk right outside of BBW.  Both of which were not exactly what I envisioned when I dedicated four years of my life to higher education.  But they paid the bills.  We won't talk about how much money actually never left the walls of the mall.  We just won't.  But now, I am a teller at a credit union.  I love it!  Okay, maybe love isn't the right word, but I've spent enough time unemployed and under-employed to be grateful for a good job.  It pays better than the mall, has banking hours, and provides benefits.  So, I am content.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, so back to the original topic of this post.  Dreams.  I've been having some interesting ones lately.  A couple of nights ago, I woke up kind of laughing at myself (okay, okay...not literally.  I did not &lt;i&gt;literally&lt;/i&gt; wake up laughing.  That would be a little weird, actually).  My dream was just so...odd.  I don't know.  The dream was me learning that the "Billionaire" song by B.o.B. and Bruno Mars was actually a remake of the hit song "Millionaire" by Michael Jackson, sung in the 1980's.  No joke.  I actually heard the Michael Jackson version in my dream.  It was pretty good!  And the funny part about this dream is that everyone knew that it was a remake but me.  And I felt pretty stupid.  So, don't go looking this up on the internet.  It is not actually a remake.  I just have really weird dreams.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then last night (or this morning, as I woke up at 5:30 am on a SATURDAY MORNING!  Who does that?) I had a dream that I was back at BYU and it was fall time.  I can honestly say that I just felt SO happy in this dream.  There are details that I remember from the dream that I won't elaborate on because they are simply just me remembering what it was like for me to be back there.  I can honestly say that as a student at BYU, I was happy.  Very happy.  I think it has to do with the fact that I had always wanted to go there, even as a child.  You could say it was my dream to go there.  And now that I have graduated and moved on, having that dream last night made me realize that that "dream" is over.  It makes me kind of sad in a way to realize that.  I wish I could go back, but I know it won't be the same experience.  So, I guess now I have to find some new dreams, but not of the Michael Jackson variety.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1710861684521462083-2720349532176556289?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/2720349532176556289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2010/10/dreams.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/2720349532176556289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/2720349532176556289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2010/10/dreams.html' title='Dreams'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-5117716041471141025</id><published>2009-01-08T23:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T00:21:06.467-08:00</updated><title type='text'>[Music], Trains, and Automobiles</title><content type='html'>Music to me is so special and important.  Whoever says that music doesn't affect them is either downright crazy or is lying.  This is my opinion on the matter...I have been on both sides of the spectrum.  I have listened to music (and maybe sometimes still do...SOMETIMES) that we have been advised not to listen to.  What can I say?  I love hip hop and rap!  I love to dance and it definitely gets me moving, you know?  Anyway, I have noticed that at times when I listen to music that is has less than appropriate lyrics (edited, of course), I become more rebellious in a way (me, rebellious?  I know...you have no idea!).  Okay, so maybe I'm not going to rob a bank or anything, but I have noticed that I become more aggressive, more defensive, and downright crabby.  And I KNOW it is because of my music.  On the other side, when I listen to more calming and happier music (i.e. Josh Groban, Colbie Callait, Coldplay, etc.) I AM happier.  This is especially evident when I am driving.  I know this might be hard for you to picture (or easy, if you've ever been in the car with me) but when I am listening to rap, rock, or anything a little more hardcore, I am like the most aggressive driver ever!  I am yelling at cars to move out of my way, I tailgate, and I feel like I'm always in a hurry to get somewhere.  But when I listen to the good stuff, I am calm and I am a more curteous driver.  Maybe it is just me who is making all of this up in my head, but I really don't think so.  It's just something I've noticed in my short earthly existence.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, when I'm listening to music I generally listen to the lyrics as well.  There are so many songs that have really struck a chord with me that I will probably share in this blog.  I feel that music is a great form of expression and I wish I had the talent to create it.  Though I do not, I have the talent to listen and appreciate great music.  Here is one such song.  It is called "Stop This Train" by one of my favorite musicians of all time, John Mayer.  His lyrics are so deeply personal and meaningful that I just really love his music.  Here are the lyrics:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;No, I'm not colorblind&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know the world is black and white&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I try to keep an open mind&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But I just can't sleep on this tonight&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stop the train&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want to get off and go home again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't take the speed it's moving in&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know I can't&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But honestly, won't someone stop this train?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Don't know how else to say it&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't want to see my parents go&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One generation's length away&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;From fighting life out on my own&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stop this train&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want to get off and go home again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't take the speed it's moving in&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know I can't&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But honestly, won't someone stop this train?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So scared of getting older&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm only good at being young&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I play the numbers game &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To find a way to say that life has just begun&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Had a talk with my old man&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Said "help me understand"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He said "turn sixty-eight"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"You'll renegotiate"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Don't stop this train&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Don't for a minute change the place you're in&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And don't think I couldn't ever understand&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I tried my hand&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;John, honestly we'll never stop this train"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Once in a while, when it's good&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It'll feel like it should&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And they're all still around&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And you're still safe and sound&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And you don't miss a thing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Till you cry when your driving away in the dark&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Singing&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stop this train&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I want to get off and go home again&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I can't take the speed it's moving in&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know I can't&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Cause now I see I'll never stop this train&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Great, huh?  I love this song because I first heard it during my senior year at BYU.  It was a time when I was far away from home, almost done with college, and I didn't know what was going to happen after.  I didn't really take the time to think about after college.  I was just trying to get through it!  And then this time in my life came and I was so confused.  This song just spoke to me in a way that I will never forget, and it's really hard for me to describe, but I'll try.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We all have those moments where we realize that life is going by so fast that we just want it to slow down, or stop where it's at and go back to a time when things were far more simple.  We realize that our parents aren't going to be around forever and we are not kids anymore.  We are the adults.  The future of the world is in OUR hands.  It is a very scary thought, indeed.  But you know what?  We can't stop it.  Time never stands still.  There will also come a time when we will look back and realize that the time we have left on this earth is coming to a close.  We will be faced with looking back on our lives and see what we have done with our time.  We need to live each day so that we have no regrets.  Of course there will be ups and downs and loop-dee-loops along the course, but it will be worth it.  It IS worth it.  We just have to enjoy the ride.  :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1710861684521462083-5117716041471141025?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/5117716041471141025/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2009/01/music-trains-and-automobiles.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/5117716041471141025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/5117716041471141025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2009/01/music-trains-and-automobiles.html' title='[Music], Trains, and Automobiles'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-3947581519268791934</id><published>2009-01-04T01:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-04T02:30:30.092-08:00</updated><title type='text'>When Did This Happen?</title><content type='html'>So, maybe this is too personal a thing to blog about, but I'm going to do it anyway.  It's a subject that has been on my mind in light of recent events.  Let me start out by saying that I KNOW I AM NOT OLD!  The young age of almost 24 probably does not warrant this complaining session, but considering my surroundings, I'm going to do it anyway.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My sister is engaged.  One of my best friends got married a week ago.  I went to a little get together hosted by another one of my best friends and her husband (which had great food, by the way...).  There were three married couples in attendance, some with children, and...me.  One of my great friends called me up yesterday to tell me that she is engaged and she would love for me to be a bridesmaid (this will make it the 5th time I have had the honor of doing so).  I have another great friend who has been dating someone for awhile and I feel it's only a matter of time before there is a stone upon her left ring finger.  Because that is what Mormons do.  They get hitched.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I look around and think of who I have left on my team.  There are a lot of people I know who are single, but as far as my close friends go (who are in close proximity to me at the moment) I am "the cheese" (get it?  I stand alone...hehe).  This reminds me of some painful experiences I had in my childhood that I have spent years repressing.  You remember P.E. when team captains were chosen and then they took turns choosing the rest of the class, right?  Yeah...I was the clumsy, chubby little girl who was always chosen pretty darn near to last.  And that was only due to the ever present integration program where they put special ed. students in with the "normal" kids.  Don't be embarrassed for me.  I've dealt with my demons and I am very happy with the person I am today.  However, his whole situation makes me feel like I'm in the sixth grade again.  Geh!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, I have graduated from BYU, the Mormon match-making capital of the world.  I have seen roommates and LOTS of people from my ward get married.  It was not uncommon and it didn't really bother me all that much.  At all.  I would just start humming "Another One Bites the Dust" and get on with my life.  So why is it bothering me so much now?  It really is different when it happens to your sisters and your best friends. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm going to wrap this up because I'm starting to feel like I'm coming across as bitter, which I am totally not.  I just find it amazing that four months ago, this was not even an issue.  Now the "M" word (a.k.a. marriage) comes up an awful lot.  Not that it didn't before, but I'm probably noticing it a lot more.  Even my six year old nephew asked me tonight at dinner, "Auntie Katie...who are you going to marry?"  Now isn't that the million dollar question?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1710861684521462083-3947581519268791934?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/3947581519268791934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2009/01/when-did-this-happen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/3947581519268791934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/3947581519268791934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2009/01/when-did-this-happen.html' title='When Did This Happen?'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-2287049980199210893</id><published>2008-12-31T15:55:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T16:45:54.149-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why I Need a Job...</title><content type='html'>So, I've been unemployed for a good five months now.  I thought for sure I would have a job by now seeing as that is the reason I went to college...to get an education, of course, but also be a little bit more marketable than the average Joe, or Jane as the case may be.  Well, I did my time and what do I have to show for it?  A little piece of paper that says I did.  That's it.  Okay, and maybe also the satisfaction of knowing that I worked hard for it...yadda, yadda, yadda.  And I did work hard!  But now what am I doing?  Not working.  You see where I'm going with this?  Yeah...me neither.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, I have a little problem.  I'm not a shopaholic, but my father would probably disagree with that.  I just really like to shop.  I don't want to sound like I'm this crazed maniac who breaks into cold sweats when she hasn't gone shopping for at least eight hours...because I'm not.  I simply just like to go into a store of my choosing, walk around and pick up things that I'm interested in purchasing, and then...well, purchase them.  However, this becomes a problem when I don't have money because I don't have a job!  I know things could be a lot worse and I should be grateful.  And I am...really!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just miss shopping without the guilt that is killing me slowly from the inside out.  I should be spending my money wisely, but somehow that all gets forgotten when I have a cute shirt in my hands...that gets rung up and placed in my hands in a crisp shopping bag.  And then buyers remorse usually follows quickly thereafter. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On a positive note, I have noticed that I'm learning to put away what I don't absolutley need, leading my purchases to become smaller. And I have also learned to bargain hunt.  I am skilled at finding killer deals, which by definition are really just killing my bank account.  But the way I see it, this is all just a necessary life experience to teach me that it's not the things in life that are important.  I don't need every article of clothing that I find (even thought they looked really good on me and I will never, ever find those pair of jeans again!) and the life lessons of practicality are far more valuable.  So maybe this whole not having a job is good for me, dang it.  Too bad I can't just buy one.  I'm really good at that.  :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1710861684521462083-2287049980199210893?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/2287049980199210893/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2008/12/why-i-need-job.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/2287049980199210893'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/2287049980199210893'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2008/12/why-i-need-job.html' title='Why I Need a Job...'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1710861684521462083.post-4904592453966242317</id><published>2008-12-30T14:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T14:57:31.752-08:00</updated><title type='text'>We'll See How This Goes...</title><content type='html'>So, there are a few reasons why I've decided to start this blog:&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;1) I am unemployed and therefore have nothing better to do with my time,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;2) Believe it or not, there are some pretty interesting things that go through my head on a &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;somewhat daily basis that I could be sharing,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;3) We have been advised to keep a journal and I am not successful at this at all.  So, even &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;though this will not be as private as a journal (sorry, you aren't going to be privy to the&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;information regarding my current crush and my deepest, darkest secrets...) I figure this is a &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;good way to record all of the "fun" stuff going on in my life, as well as share it with others who &lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;might care, and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;4) I found a really cute background for it and so I figured, why not?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here goes nothing!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1710861684521462083-4904592453966242317?l=katieemmer.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/feeds/4904592453966242317/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2008/12/well-see-how-this-goes.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/4904592453966242317'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1710861684521462083/posts/default/4904592453966242317'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://katieemmer.blogspot.com/2008/12/well-see-how-this-goes.html' title='We&apos;ll See How This Goes...'/><author><name>Katie</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00507102824991481731</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Z3smJhi7ilM/SVqn6_w6SBI/AAAAAAAAAB8/X4L-6JfR3Vo/S220/CIMG0080.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
