tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107698722024-03-28T20:30:05.145-07:00Southern's BellePatti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.comBlogger267125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-35461480392152650752010-02-08T22:07:00.001-08:002010-02-08T22:14:30.178-08:00Snow Day!<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/S3D71zQLfKI/AAAAAAAAAIU/EupY8StxWq8/s1600-h/mms_picture.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5436121651945897122" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/S3D71zQLfKI/AAAAAAAAAIU/EupY8StxWq8/s320/mms_picture.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We rarely get enough snow in the Scenic City to allow for such festivities, but the other week we had a significant outpouring of the white stuff. When it snows, and actually sticks, it's a now or never moment. So there we were, Thumper donning a pair of rubber mechanic's gloves, and me in my clogs, or as he calls them, sandals. Above is a picture of our first snowman together, and yes, he's anatomically correct!<br /></span><div></div>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-71288072955624256662010-01-04T13:01:00.001-08:002010-01-04T13:11:57.822-08:00Merry Christmas!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All I have to say is that men are full of surprises. Just when you think they don't have a clue or that they aren't paying attention, they blow you out of the water! Well, at least mine does! Below is a picture of what Santa. . .uh. . .Thumper gave me for Christmas!</span><br /><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422993478890145266" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/S0JX1jiBxfI/AAAAAAAAAIM/hHhWwyIak2Q/s320/everlon.jpg" /></span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">By the way, this is NOT an engagement ring so I better not find my comment section full of congrats and wedding questions. It's a love knot! Seriously! It's called an Everlon Love Knot - a Hercules Knot to be exact! It resembles strong, everlasting love, forged in the strength of a knot. It's perfect, but I won't be able to wear it for another 2 weeks as it has been sent off to be resized to fit my infant-sized finger - boo!</span></p>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-28162601511892791972009-12-20T12:44:00.000-08:002010-01-04T13:14:56.746-08:00Setting the Mood<div align="left"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Every year I tell myself I am going to take that next step in Christmas decorating and buy a tree. Lord knows I have all the trimmings for one! I've even found myself wandering around the Christmas tree section at Wal-Mart and Lowe's picking and choosing which tree best suits my needs. </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thumper always asks, "Why not just get a fake tree?" But the idea is just so artificial - no pun intended. If you're going to do Christmas, then you might as well go all the way. Besides, I love the smell of evergreen needles in the house. It's the best! </span><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Needless to say, I did not get a tree again this year. As much as I love the look and the feel of a tree, my wallet just doesn't agree that I should be paying $30.00 for something that I am going to put out for the trash men to haul away in about 3 weeks. So below are some pictures of what decorating I did do this year, and really what I do every year since I've been on my own. Enjoy!</span></div><br /><div align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422991629993309218" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/S0JWJ72q9CI/AAAAAAAAAIE/AICBZyHfoyk/s320/centerpiece.jpg" /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Kitchen Table Centerpiece</span><br /></div><br /><div align="center"></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5422990885998739458" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/S0JVeoQiwAI/AAAAAAAAAH8/iAfa-Ej49rE/s320/snowmen.jpg" /><br /><p align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">My Jolly Snowmen</span></p>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-77607986259380284112009-08-03T08:00:00.000-07:002009-08-03T09:02:10.418-07:00The "M" Word<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The other night I had a dream that Thumper told me he was going to marry me. It wasn't a proposal, but more like a vocalization of what was to come in the future.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>"I'm going to put a ring on that finger someday,"</em> he said.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I woke up that next morning, feeling almost excited and extremely relieved despite the fact that it was only a dream. I looked down at my hand, the absence of an engagement ring slapping me back into reality. The excitement of course is understandable. The relief? That deserves some explanation.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It's been awhile since I've been to a wedding. But this summer broke my streak of absence and on one of the hottest days of early summer I found myself standing next to my best friend as she was preparing to get remarried to Mr. Right. I soaked in the white dress, the pearls, the flowers. It was everything a wedding should be and more. There is something to be said about the importance of those actually taking the wedding vows. This couple in particular is really meant to be together.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This is exactly how I feel about Thumper. Deep down in my gut, I feel like this is the person I am meant to be with forever. And despite the happiness we both feel when we're together, we never address the future. And although I don't imagine that he is the type of person who <em>never</em> wants to get married, I often wonder if maybe that is why the subject is never brought up. But then there is a part of me that gently reminds myself about the person in question. This man is still trying to sort through, school and a career. His mind is a bit too preoccupied with the here and now to be worried about something as distant as marriage.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It would be easy too, I suppose, to get that relief that I'm seeking. It's really quite simple. I could just <em>ask! </em>But here too we go back to my <em>"I love you" </em>phobia. For a few months I had found myself saying it, only to be followed by silence. I hate to assume anything so I really had no idea if he felt the same. I was dying to just ask him - do you or don't you? But then after seeking advice from Voo Doo Number Lady at work, I figured that I'd just give him his space and allow him to tell me his feelings when he was ready. In the end I was beyond glad that I didn't pressure him and when he finally told me how he felt, it was better than me asking.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thus I think this is one of those subjects better left for a rainy day and a more open mind.</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-48300374334819558742009-07-25T22:06:00.000-07:002009-07-25T22:30:16.613-07:00Darwinian Nursing<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Half of the stress of my job has absolutely nothing to do with the patients, which quite frankly is extremely pathetic. A bad night can easily be determined by simply whom you are working with.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Office drama, as it is often called, or unit drama, as I like to call it, can suck your energy dry just as quickly as a crashing patient. And the good 'ole fashioned concept of loyalty really ceases to exist the minute you walk through those double doors. It's sink or swim - <em>all</em> for one, and one for <em>me</em>. It's essentially survival of the fittest.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">People will step on whomever they have to to get ahead, whether it be friend or foe. Nothing is sacred. So you really have no friends in this place. Therefore, there is little point in placing any effort into a work related relationship of any kind, because when it comes right down to it you are just another rung on the ladder of success that someone needs to climb over in order to get to the top.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And don't think for a minute that they won't do it because human nature is far more powerful than mere principles. Anything that serves to benefit the party in question, <em>especially </em>money, takes precedence over emotional ties shared between two individuals. I am speaking here from recent, personal experience.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So take my advice and channel your energy into something more fruitful. That way you have nothing to lose, and everything to gain. How's that for survival of the fittest?</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-73203740193395630812009-07-16T19:37:00.000-07:002009-07-16T19:54:16.505-07:00Sinking Ships<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I must admit, I've been holding out a little bit on my readers. I have so much on my mind, and although I don't ever mention specific names in this blog, I sometimes hesitate to express everything that I'm feeling for fear that someone comes along and accuses me of slander.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Blogs, like journals and diaries, are like smoking guns - once thoughts and feelings are committed to paper, and read by others, they set forth to do their damage.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm generally not a mean person, and I don't particularly like to gossip. But there is the rare occasion where I have something to say and it's not all sweet and sugarcoated. Sometimes the truth hurts. I really do make an honest effort to see things objectively, and with age I've taken more kindly to constructive criticism.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Despite all these things, I still have managed from time to time to get myself into hot water over this very blog. It's in times like these a saying from my mother comes to mind - <em>"Loose lips sink ships."</em></span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-370129849909255952009-07-07T20:26:00.001-07:002009-07-08T21:48:04.838-07:00Speechless<div align="center"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SlQSkst1w_I/AAAAAAAAAHM/TVd7qjyOblU/s1600-h/145.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355926278538380274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 225px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SlQSkst1w_I/AAAAAAAAAHM/TVd7qjyOblU/s400/145.JPG" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No words are necessary - this picture speaks for itself!<br /></span><br /></div>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-39579911834182523082009-06-13T20:34:00.000-07:002009-06-14T20:46:16.193-07:00Happy Birthday Thumper!<div align="center"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SjXBpuFHT6I/AAAAAAAAAG8/If4vH4N2pMY/s1600-h/0601091606.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347393055060610978" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SjXBpuFHT6I/AAAAAAAAAG8/If4vH4N2pMY/s320/0601091606.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Another year gone by and it seems like only yesterday that we celebrated a birthday together for the first time. Happy Birthday to the man who has changed my life and brought joy to my heart - the love of my life!<br /></span><br /></div>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-35942115446019693412009-05-18T19:29:00.000-07:002009-05-18T19:47:51.203-07:00Happy Anniversary!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I really feel awful that I have only just now blogged about this because it really was a momentus occasion. April 20th was 1 year that Thumper and I have been together! </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have never felt time go by so quickly. It feels like just yesterday that I saw him for the first time and was smitten. And although I have stored up so many wonderful memories over this last year, those first few memories of how I felt before we were ever together are some of my favorites.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">People say that life begins at 40. I always felt that was a little delayed. Yet it is only just now that I feel like my life has begun. I've been waiting 25 years to feel this level of joy, and I wouldn't be opposed to feeling like this for the rest of my life!</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-77472034629703062542009-04-27T11:54:00.000-07:002009-04-27T11:56:38.663-07:00Hello Out There!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've been making an honest effort to blog more regularly, but I'm seriously rethinking this decision as it seems that no one is even bothering to read my new posts. Where have all my readers gone?</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-53340018732802835872009-04-12T02:00:00.000-07:002009-04-12T02:00:00.896-07:00Lyric Analysis<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><strong>You Found Me</strong></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I found God on the corner of 1st and Amistad</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Where the West was all but won</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All alone, smoking his last cigarette</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I said, "Where've you been?" He said, "Ask anything."</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Where were you, when everything was falling apart.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">All my days were spent by the telephone that never rang</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And all I needed was a call that never came</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To the corner of 1st and Amistad</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Why'd you have to wait? </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Where were you? Where were you?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Just a little late, you found me, you found me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But in the end everyone ends up alone</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Losing her, the only one who's ever known</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Who I am, who I'm not and who I wanna to be</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No way to know how long she will be next to me</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Why'd you have to wait? </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Where were you? Where were you?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Just a little late, you found me, you found me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The early morning, the city breaks</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And I've been calling for years and years and years</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">And you never left me no messages</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You never sent me no letters</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">You got some kind of nerve taking all I want</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lying on the floor, </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Where were you? Where were you?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lost and insecure, you found me, you found me</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Lying on the floor, surrounded, surrounded</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Why'd you have to wait? </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Where were you? Where were you?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Just a little late, you found me, you found me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Why'd you have to wait, to find me, to find me?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><em>- The Fray</em></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">When I first heard this song, the first few verses stung my ears and I thought to myself, "Well isn't that a pretty picture?" I can't imagine God standing on a dirty street corner lighting one up. Just merely the idea, in and of itself, seemed sacrilegious.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Not long after I'd convinced myself that I didn't really care too much for the song, I learned the story behind the lyrics. Apparently the song is based on some recent tragedies that had befallen the band's lead singer. As we often do, he questioned God, which triggered a dream about a confrontation between himself and God. In this case, God appeared to him as just some Joe bag o' donuts standing on a street corner, smoking a cigarette, and thus we have a # 1 hit.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">I had heard on the radio that some people had their panties in a wad because they too, as I once had, believed that the song was sacrilgious, and then it dawned on me that the situation doesn't really seem out of character for God at all. He seems like the type of person who would just be standing on a street corner - some bum. And that's not taking away from His glory at all. It's <em>our </em>test. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Would we be able to recognize Him if He appeared to us in such ordinary circumstances. I suppose to some people it would seem extremely out of the ordinary because we always picture God shrouded in glory and loveliness. Yet we forget that He came to this world and took on human flesh, and He is not foreign to such things as filth.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">The other thing that really stood out to me about this song is how this person goes about questioning God. You've heard it said, "Who are we to question God?" but don't we do it? Yes we really have no right to question the Ruler of the Universe, the Alpha and the Omega, but we do it anyway. It's our human nature.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">Yet this person is not questioning God in a quiet and feeble manner. He's coming to God and saying, "How dare you!" Of course this too makes people uneasy, but you are either a liar or have the faith of gibraltar if you can say that have never stepped up to God in anger. And I think that is what I like about this song so much. It is so real! I have been mad at God before, I have blamed Him for the mishaps in my life, and I have certainly felt abandoned by Him. There have been countless times where I wondered if God even existed because I felt He was so far from me. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;">It's just too bad that it's not as simple as a phone call.</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-21562427602946009992009-04-11T14:14:00.000-07:002009-04-11T22:45:33.741-07:00Diamonds Are A Baseball Players Best Friend!<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SeEJC6QhreI/AAAAAAAAAG0/zyiXAc2-KAo/s1600-h/Phillies_World_Series_Ring_Baseball.sff.embedded.prod_affiliate.138[1].jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323546180131597794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SeEJC6QhreI/AAAAAAAAAG0/zyiXAc2-KAo/s320/Phillies_World_Series_Ring_Baseball.sff.embedded.prod_affiliate.138%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Women aren't the only ones who can appreciate a beautiful diamond ring when they see one. On April 8th, the Philadelphia Phillies, World Series Champs, were awarded their Championship rings, and let me tell you, they're quite beautiful. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">103 diamonds set in 14 Karat white gold, makes these babies simply sparkle. And don't be fooled to think that these rings are anything but<em> huge</em>. The players can barely close their fingers into a fist when they're wearing them! But for all the hard work they went through last season, they deserve every last one of those 103 diamonds. Wear em' with pride boys!</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-1549975225270503122009-04-07T20:46:00.001-07:002009-04-07T20:59:24.309-07:00Turn The Other Cheek<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When people preach that whole turn the other cheek song and dance, they forgot to mention that you're setting yourself up for a good swift kick in the ass! We're talking about a totally different type of cheek here folks!</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It seems there is a fine line between "turning the other cheek" and being gullible. I myself, being guilty of the latter on multiple occasions, recently set myself up for one of those turn the other cheek situations except it was as if I painted a bullseye on my rear, and bent over giving the party in question the full advantage.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Mom always says, "You have a mouth - use it!", after which she reminds me of all the times during my youth when I had mouthed-off to her. Yet for some reason, when it really counts, such as defending my honour, I tend to shy away from the opportunity.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I call it an opportunity because that's exactly what it is. How many times have we been in a situation where we choked on our own silence, only to minutes later think of the perfect response? But the moment has passed, and so too the opportunity, and now your ironclad comment seems all too flaccid.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've never really been one for confrontation and perhaps therein lies the root of all my problems. I'd prefer for things to go smoothly without any bumps in the road. Thus I'm a doormat. I let people walk all over me, taking and leaving the good and the bad as they please, and the only thing I have to show for it all is a sore rear.</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-49252337112116865052009-03-26T21:14:00.000-07:002009-04-07T23:52:41.222-07:00When All The Chips Are Down<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The bets are made and all that remains is the big reveal, and it seems for a second that time stands still. A deep sigh breaks the silence at the table. Each player with his poker face in place waits for the dealer to turn the cards over. It's win or lose, and I can't help but wonder if even the most skilled, championship poker player feels an ounce of apprehension at the thought of losing it all.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Throughout the years I've realized that when it comes to relationships I'm an all or nothing type of person. If I'm going to commit to someone then they better be prepared to receive all of me - the good <em>and</em> the bad. This is also especially true when it comes to matters of the heart. If you're lucky enough for me to trust you with my heart, then you're going to get all of it. How would I feel if someone told me they only loved me 50%? It's all or nothing. And I suppose that's why being in love is so scary in the first place. For those of us who give 150% of ourselves, there is just that much to be lost if things go sour.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Over the last year I've been in my first real, committed relationship. Knowing myself and how I am, it is not surprising that I feel like I have completely given my heart to this person. There's not an inch of it that I've held back. But it's then that I realize exactly all that I would be losing if we were to go our separate ways, and quite frankly I feel more then just a little apprehension at even the thought. I suppose that's why some people refer to relationships as a gamble. It's something that you invest in, and the more you give of yourself, the more you have to lose.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Luckily that doesn't stop people from trying it. The feeling alone of being in love and being around that person is reason enough for me to be willing to come back for more, even after sustaining a broken heart.</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-689239760764859972009-02-18T21:03:00.000-08:002009-03-02T21:27:46.548-08:00Better Late Than Never. . . .<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/Say6KuJj_ZI/AAAAAAAAAGs/fs7T19N7FBk/s1600-h/Chilhowie_mountain_.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308822754112568722" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/Say6KuJj_ZI/AAAAAAAAAGs/fs7T19N7FBk/s320/Chilhowie_mountain_.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> This wouldn't be my story if there weren't something wrong with it. That's just the way things seem to go for me. Whether it be some little, insignificant detail, or the whole thing gets botched, I try never to be too surprised.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So of course it was no shock that my bank made us jump through hoops to get the loan for Veronica, only to come to find that for some silly technical reason we couldn't get the loan through my bank anyway. Luckily the people at Thumper's bank have half a clue and were very friendly and accomodating. This, of course, still did not allow us to purchase the bike before Valentine's Day thus leaving us with nothing to do on Valentine's Day itself. But that wasn't going to stop my hunny from doing something special for Valentine's Day, so we planned to take the bike out that coming Wednesday.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yet again I was not too surprised when Wednesday rolled around and the weather was rather uncooperative. We went out to eat with the rest of the family that afternoon, and as we rode up over the hill towards <em>Applebee's </em>the sky looked like it was going to split right down the middle. As we settled into our chairs inside the restaurant, the sky had indeed split down the middle, opening the flood gates. But we remained hopeful.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">About an hour later the rain had passed and so we agreed to take off for the mountains. It didn't get chilly until we actually made it to the top of the mountain. The view was amazing as you can clearly see for yourself.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I rode home hugged up closely to my hunny. It was much colder on the ride home but for some reason I didn't really notice. . . . .<br /></span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-68280878380084259612009-02-14T20:49:00.000-08:002009-03-02T21:02:09.680-08:00Meet Veronica!<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/Say3NcxpTqI/AAAAAAAAAGk/-eeCIzEoiHs/s1600-h/0217091257%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308819502453575330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/Say3NcxpTqI/AAAAAAAAAGk/-eeCIzEoiHs/s320/0217091257%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"> Forget about diamonds and roses and all those sorts of things that are typically purchased for Valentine's Day. Thumper and I decided to kick it up a notch and found ourselves a new toy, and agreed to go into it half and half. Of course this is just something to hold us over until we are able to afford our Harley, but really I've grown rather fond of this bike. So much so that when Thumper asked, "So what are you going to name her?" I took one look at her and said, "Veronica." And so it was.<br /></span><div></div>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-71618027509532881612009-01-20T00:00:00.000-08:002009-01-20T00:00:00.339-08:009 Months<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No, I'm not talking about how long it takes to incubate a baby. Today is 9 months that Thumper and I have been together! I'm not sure what else to say except that these last 9 months have been the happiest 9 months of my entire life. The best part is looking forward to every day in the future that we have together!</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-22466797391655654072009-01-13T10:12:00.000-08:002009-01-13T15:02:22.383-08:00For My Hunny<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SWzaIVSbStI/AAAAAAAAAGM/-RqHf5UDVak/s1600-h/Orion+Nebula.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290843498941729490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 318px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SWzaIVSbStI/AAAAAAAAAGM/-RqHf5UDVak/s320/Orion+Nebula.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The other day as we were driving back from Chattanooga, Thumper and I noted how visible the stars seemed that night. As I looked out the window Orion stared back at me. As crazy as it sounds, I swear he follows me. Wherever I am, all I have to do is look up into the night sky, and there he is, hovering over me. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I told Thumper everything I know about Orion. He admitted that he had never noticed it, mostly because he didn't know what the constellation looked like. I described to him Orion's belt and sword. When we got home I pointed him out.<br /></span><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'd once been told that when Jesus comes again he will come from the middle star in Orion's belt. Apparently there is something especially special about that star. Above is a picture Orion's Nebula which is located in that middle star on the warrior's belt. It's been called "The Gateway To Heaven." I'm not sure that I truly believe everything I've heard about the constellation, but it's definitely quite magnificent. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I once wrote a poem about this constellation. It's really not half bad either, and now, this one is dedicated to you babe. I'll never look at these stars the same way again.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Constellation Warrior</span></strong></div><div align="center"><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Plucking you out of all</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Creation with His omnipotent hand and</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Erasing your countenance,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He then set you to rule over all.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thus in these wee morning hours,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I consider it an honor</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To be greeted by the flash</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of your mighty sword.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Girding your loins with darkness,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">A trio of the finest diamonds</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Advertise your identity and</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The pathway to eternity.</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">In awe, the constellations bow</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">At your every whim,</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Reverently standing in configuration</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Forming polka dot pictures</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Across midnight skies.</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div></div>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-27202458295696417582009-01-05T20:38:00.000-08:002009-01-05T20:46:05.392-08:00This Is Me. . . .<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SWLgpSJBKHI/AAAAAAAAAF8/-UjEutDAhrA/s1600-h/Me+In+Love.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5288035912335304818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SWLgpSJBKHI/AAAAAAAAAF8/-UjEutDAhrA/s320/Me+In+Love.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Have you ever seen that advertisement that says, "This is your brain on drugs?" and then they show a picture of a fried egg? Well I'm not sure what my brain would look like on drugs because I've never done drugs, and really I have no intention of ever trying them either. But there are days when I feel like I'm on some really amazing high that never wants to end. This is me madly in love - picture taken by Prince Charming himself!<br /></span><div></div>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-65470521057174170492008-12-22T15:51:00.000-08:002008-12-22T15:58:05.594-08:00For The Guys<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">This is something that was passed around at work for kicks, and to be quite honest, it's really mostly for the guys. Enjoy!<br /><br /><strong>10 Reasons To Love A Nurse!</strong><br /></span><ol><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No body part scares me</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Defibrillation. . . .I can thrill you with 1 touch!</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm used to working at night</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Who else will ever encourage you to pass gas?</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've flipped bigger people than you in bed</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">No dinner conversation will ever gross me out</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">DRUGS. . . .I know them <em>all</em></span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We have a code for every color - even brown!</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I know the proper way to tie you to a bed</span></li><li><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Hit the right button and I'll come quickly</span></li></ol>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-52240306260792190942008-12-15T15:10:00.001-08:002009-01-13T15:09:45.959-08:00Field Trip!<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SUbkOweGSbI/AAAAAAAAAF0/m3TYFc74EvI/s1600-h/Scenic_view%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280158555318929842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SUbkOweGSbI/AAAAAAAAAF0/m3TYFc74EvI/s400/Scenic_view%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">On Friday Thumper was scheduled to go to the Corvette plant with one of his classes. He had signed me up to go with him, and actually I was really excited to go. For some reason he sometimes thinks that cars bore me. I tried to explain to him that really that's just a stereotype that society has put on women, because you know that women really only care about shoes and handbags!</span><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">He told me to be awake and ready by 8:00 AM so I set my alarm a little earlier than that, just to be safe. I assumed that meant that the bus was leaving at 8:30 AM. After playing fiddle-faddle-foo all morning, we headed to the school only to find that the bus had been gone for about a half hour already. On the way back to Thumper's house we passed the bus headed for the interstate. Normally I might have tried to chase them down, but I was quickly halted by a red light just before making a u-turn. So it was that we headed back to Thumper's house.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was early and so Thumper jumped online trying to find something to do. In the meantime I laid down for a catnap till he called my name from the computer room. He asked if I was interested in going offroading in the truck, another thing he often thinks disinterests me because I'm a girl. I'd been waiting these last 8 months that we had been dating for him to take me offroading so I jumped at the chance to finally go. We played on Google Earth and Mapquest for awhile making sure our directions we correct and then headed to Beasley Knob located somewhere in northern Georgia.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Surprisingly we didn't have any problem finding the place, but were disappointed to find that the trails were closed due to the recent rainfall. Along the way Thumper showed me the river, and the dam, and explained to me how they use the water to make electricity. At one point along the river he stopped, stood on top of the Yota, and took the picture posted above. I was beautiful and cold!</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So since Plan-A fell through the cracks, Plan-B went swiftly into effect. Thumper had remembered going to a little town with his dad that he said was set up like it was Switzerland. As we drove around the surroundings seemed more and more familiar to Thumper so he got on the horn and called his dad who said we weren't far from the little town Thumper had been telling me about. So we drove up the mountain and then down the mountain, the most twisty, curvy road I've ever been on, until we arrive in Helen, GA. </span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">It was just as he had described. All the buildings looked like they were right out of a storybook, and everything was decorated for Christmas which made it just that more picturesque. We did some shopping, and walked around till the sun went down, then Thumper drove us home. </span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">We had our own field trip which was a million times better than any trip to the Corvette plant. What could be better than spending the day under the mountains, and the blue winter sky, and driving along the river in a blue Toyota pick-up truck with the man you love?</span></div><div> </div>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-84352849631173454322008-12-04T11:55:00.000-08:002008-12-04T13:31:50.711-08:00Memphis or Bust!<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Have you ever been afraid of losing something? When I was little I had a ragdoll my Great Grandmother gave me for my first birthday. Her name was Raga Baby and she went everywhere with me. If we went to the grocery store she went with me. If we went to the gas station she went with me. If I went to a friend's house for a sleepover, she was tucked in my overnight bag under a pair of underwear. And when I went away to college, she came with me, and can still be found in my bedroon closet, perched on the shelf for safe keeping.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I remember one time I lost Raga Baby, or at least I thought I did. I must have been 7 or 8 years old, but I cried like I was 2. I remember my mom had sat me down and told me that I was too old to be dragging Raga Baby out in public and I needed to find a safe place to keep her, a place where I knew she would be. The safest place I could think of was under my pillow and so that's where she was. But I didn't remember this. All I could think of was being out at the store and she was with me, and now she wasn't. I imagined her lying on the dirty linoleum floor at the supermarket and here I was at home without her. Mom had everyone in the family tear the house apart looking for her. Hours later as I frantically stripped the blankets off my bed for the fifth time, I saw her lying there under my pillow, and was filled with relief.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Now that I'm older it seems so silly that I was so scared to lose something as simple as a ragdoll. As we mature our fears mature as well and suddenly we're scared of things that really matter or make a difference in this life.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Yesterday as I rode in the mail truck beside Thumper he started telling me about a job opportunity that had come his way. Since he graduated back in May he's been sending his resume to numerous companies hoping to find a job that has all the qualities he's looking for. He's talked about job possibilities before but today was different. His voiced sounded so hopeful. He had received a callback from a company who was wanting him to send them some of his design drawings. He went on to tell me that the job is only a 3 month contract, but it would be good experience and would look good on his resume. The other catch is that the job is in Memphis, TN.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">When he said this my heart jumped up into my throat. The thought of him being away for 3 months kills me. And it's not that I don't want him to get the job. I find myself struggling between praying that he gets it, and wishing that he could just stay here with me. I want him to be happy. I suppose I'm just being selfish.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">For the first time in almost 17 years I feel scared like I did when I couldn't find Raga Baby. I suppose that seems like a silly comparison but maybe it's fitting to me because I remember how I felt when I lost her and although I was only 7 or 8 years old that was one of the worst feelings I can remember.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I've heard men say there's always something better out there than what you have - someone who can treat you better, someone who looks better, someone who can make you happier. I know what it's like to be the person on the back burner, the person who knows there's someone else. I guess it all boils down to being satisfied with what you have or just being lucky enough to have found someone who fills all your holes. I don't think I could have found a better match for myself then Thumper. I've never been happier in my whole life. But what if he doesn't feel that way?</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I cried last night. I thought about everything and played what-if until I had myself all upset. I've never been so afraid of losing something as I am of losing him. I'm afraid to be alone again.</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-33443163863148736502008-11-30T22:29:00.000-08:002008-12-04T11:54:16.903-08:00Dear Santa. . . .<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Of course we've all heard the saying, "Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it." The Christmas season has just begun, and thus begins the season for wishing and making lists for Santa Claus of all the things we want.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Last year at work we planned for our annual Secret Santa drawing. To lessen the headache of trying to think of something to buy for the person whose name we were assigned, we posted a list of the names of all the employees on 1 North and each person was responsible for writing something they wanted beside their name.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I mulled over this list for weeks before standing before it and writing down my wish for Santa. I narrowed my selection down to the one thing I had always wanted, yet still didn't have. I knew it was a long shot, but at least everyone else would get a good laugh out of it. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Someone tall dark and handsome. . . . .</span></em><br /><em><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></em><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I was right about my wish being good for a laugh. I had the entire unit buzzing about who to set me up with. When the day of the actual gift exchange came I ended up going home with a new hair dryer - not exactly what I had in mind. Little did I know that 4 months later I would get exactly what I had always dreamed of - someone tall dark and <em>very</em> handsome.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">So it's true, be careful what you wish for because you just might get it. You may not get it right away. It may take awhile. It may take a long while. But if you're lucky, you just might get it!</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-38693107894862474252008-11-23T22:45:00.000-08:002009-01-13T15:10:56.541-08:00Women Are From Earth, Men Are From Who Knows Where. . . .<span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Actually it's really <em>Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus</em>, but this is not a book, this is the real world with real people in it. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I suppose it really isn't quite accurate to say that all women are from Earth because I've certainly seen my fair share of women who were not operating on all four cylinders. But what I can say is that I sure am.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm a pretty down to Earth kind of girl (no pun intended). I know what I want, and depending on what that something is I'm usually willing to go out there and get it.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I mean what I say, and I say what I mean. I'm not about sugarcoating things and making them sound nice, although I firmly believe in tact. Some people have a naturally wonderful sense of tact while others leave something to be desired. Yet with a little practice, I really do believe, for the most part, that it is something that can, and should be done.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I'm honest, which goes right along with the aforementioned. I find little point in lying about anything because it's sure to just come right back around and further complicate the situation.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">But men, that's a whole nother ballgame. </span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I don't understand them and sometimes I wonder if I ever will. Sometimes I play the fly on the wall game. People, men in this instance, make their way around me and then start running their mouth, not knowing all the while, that I'm listening. I may look busy, which actually is true, <em>I am</em> busy - listening to them! I hear the things they talk about and wonder how it is that some of us coexist.</span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Men, you can't live with them, and you can't kill them. . . . .</span>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10769872.post-26731546496629001982008-11-16T14:08:00.000-08:002008-11-16T14:31:28.046-08:00Harley Girl!<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SSCaGL3oo0I/AAAAAAAAAFs/lISrNl84O3w/s1600-h/Harley+Davidson+Crossbones.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269380995079512898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_XH1pqJAzU7I/SSCaGL3oo0I/AAAAAAAAAFs/lISrNl84O3w/s400/Harley+Davidson+Crossbones.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I never really thought of myself as a Harley-type girl. And it's not that there is anything wrong with Harley Davidson motorcycles. I've always loved motorcycles. I suppose I let myself fall victim to the stereotype that comes with those types of bikes. When I think of Harleys I usually think of rough, tatooed, old men with long unkept beards, and long straggly hair.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">About a week ago Thumper and I were bored and so we just hopped in Bianca and started aimlessly driving around. We ended up in Chattanooga at the Harley Davidson dealership. I had never been there before and so I was a little excited to see what it was like. Thumper warned me though that we could not spend too much time in the showroom because of course, he would see something he wanted. Ironically, we were there until closing time. They practically had to kick us out.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">While he was walking around talking to one of the salesmen, I found her. There she was, one of the most beautiful motorcycles I have ever seen. Modeled after motorcycles that were driven in the post-war era, the Crossbones looks like a bike you would see in an old 1940's movie. As Thumper came back around to where I was standing I pointed her out to him. For the rest of the evening we wandered around and would select a bike and ask me how I liked it compared to the Crossbones. Everytime my response was the same, "I like mine better." Apparently I said it so much that after sitting on it he was just as convinced as I was.</span></p><p><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Thus it is that my perspective has changed. Harleys are a household name, the manufacturer of a very classy, well-made, very expensive, motorcycle. Now all we need to do is find some money so we can buy that beauty!</span></p>Patti RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12350456758535905011noreply@blogger.com2