tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221721835953534912024-03-12T20:30:30.598-04:00~■~ Flutterbots & Roboflies~■~Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.comBlogger159125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-68161831060506531962019-01-17T22:17:00.003-05:002019-01-17T22:17:49.568-05:00My happy boy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/-BxgK2sIFcw/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-BxgK2sIFcw?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-56831958713149705112014-02-12T06:45:00.001-05:002014-02-12T06:45:45.833-05:00OMFG! just let me get over it already!
<br />
<div class="p1">
Because of what you did to me when I was young; You let my mother down, you let me down and you will never get to be a grandpa to your grandchildren.. Its a very sad and lonely existence you have there if you don't mind me saying. I don't wish you harm, but you don't deserve a happy life. You took happiness and love for one another away from me and my mother. </div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
My kids have happy lives, no thanks to you. luckily they have stand-up people in their lives. You could never ever consider yourself to be stand-up.</div>
Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-31415617375115529642014-01-20T17:45:00.002-05:002014-01-20T18:03:21.858-05:00I'm over it.. I need to once again let go of the people in my past. If anyone you know, say, a family member, is "close friends" with a known molester of his own toddler to teenage girl would you still talk to them? Would you care about anything in their world? Or would you just let it all go and be over it all? Try to forget? Try to push it all out of your world? I would NEVER let anyone who supports a molester/pedophile be a part of my life. EVER. A child's life is too precious, and when that is taken away, that person is scarred for life. My son will never be around anyone who knows anyone who knows a known molester.<br />
<br />
Shame on youFlutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-48324632733033175992013-06-05T15:13:00.002-04:002013-06-17T21:40:53.740-04:00A book in the works - feedback requested<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chapter One – The
Candid truth – I am not the only one who was ever molested. Lets talk about it.
<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the age of 39 I feel as if I’ve already lived 9
lifetimes. I’ve been molested by three different men, one of them my very own
father, all of them family members. I ran away from home at a very young age, I
had a baby at 17, I’ve been married three times, I’ve moved from west coast to
east coast and back. I attempted suicide while living in New York City not
once, but three times and I was hospitalized for each attempt. I lost all my
friends due to depression only to come back to the west coast and live on the
streets of San Francisco. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Happy
ending? I Found love, we had a baby and I am finally living my happily ever
after. There was a lot more in-between <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and all that and I am happy to indulge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first memory you can recall is usually when you are
about 4 years old, so for me that’s the first memory I have of him touching me.
My mother and father were very young parents, my mother married my father when
she was 18 and he was 15.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns
out she was pregnant but she didn’t know by who.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It also turns out she was a bit promiscuous when she was in
her teens. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(These were her own
words when trying to convince me to get an abortion) According to her, she set
her sights on the man who she claimed was my dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They got married in June of 1974, however I was already born
in July of 1973, they never told me that they got married<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> after</i> I was born and they lied about their anniversary every year
to hide the truth I don’t know if it was just to hide it from me or their
entire network of family and friends, at any rate they always claimed they were
married in 1972.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I got a copy of
my birth certificate when I was 28 and that is when I found out that my real
name is Tanya Marie Bennett. However, I knew myself to be Tawnya Marie Long, ALSO,
under “Father” it said, “Unknown” This is when I found out that my parents
anniversary and my own name were both lies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I digress, so ok, they were married, had me and lived
happily ever after or so they want the world to think…. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was 4 my mother worked at a nursing home, she would
leave the house in the afternoon and work through the night. When I woke up in
the morning she was home again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is where the first memory comes in, when she would leave, my father
would be lying on the couch watching TV smoking a cigarette. I remember he
would ask me to come to him on the couch and lay down with him which as an
obedient only child I did. He began touching me all over in places I felt very
uncomfortable with.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This happened
again and again, he would put his fingers and other things inside of me and I
remember not liking it at all. Then he started coming to my bedroom in the
middle of the night and lying on top of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember dreading his footsteps approaching my door. The
only good thing about his coming to me in the middle of the night as opposed to
him asking me to lay with him during the day was I could pretend that I was
asleep. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was heavy, and he
really hurt me when he put things inside of me. He always smelled of beer and
weed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People have asked me why I never told anyone, what you have
to understand is that for me, it was a way of life, it was something that
always happened so I thought it happened to everyone, I thought it was like
eating a vegetable that you don’t like or brushing your teeth because your mom
wants you to. You know, doing those things kids don’t like to do, but you have
to. I actually thought it happened to everyone. I guess somehow I knew not to talk
about it but I honestly didn’t know that my mother didn’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One day when I was 8 years old we were at a house party at
my parent’s friend’s house and I started to feel pain, down there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I complained to my mother and my mother
told my father and we immediately went home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother tucked me into bed and a few hours later, my
father woke me up and took me into the bathroom and asked me where it hurt. He
began to examine me in that area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Before he attempted to examine me I told him I felt better but he did it
anyway. I have no idea what he was looking for. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was 9, I remember my mother talking to our neighbor
who was also her best friend. My mother was saying that she thought my father
was having an affair. I didn’t know at that time what an affair was but I do
remember the conversation and I remember wondering what an affair was. Many
years later, that same neighbor at this point estranged from my mother,
reminded me of that conversation and knowing the truth confided in me that she
now knew that my father was indeed having an affair. He was cheating on his
wife with his own daughter. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was 11 my father opened my door, by this time I was a
very light sleeper I constantly dreaded his arrival to my bed. He knelt down
like he usually did, took off my panties from under my nightgown and then took
off his own. He lay down on top of me and did what he always did, inserted
himself inside of me while I pretended to be
asleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This night however, was
different, because this was the night that my mother finally noticed that he
was no longer lying beside her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She got up, and entered my room and caught him in the act.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father jumped up, startled, pulled
up his unmentionables and scurried away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You would think she would follow him yelling but instead she turned on
my light and got about two inches from my face and yelled, “what was your
father doing in here?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mind you, I
was 11 and this had been going on much to my dismay, for 8 years as far as I
could remember. I looked at her, completely terrified because my mother was my
whole world, I loved her so much and if she was mad at me it broke my heart. I
looked at her and shrugged and frankly I was surprised that she didn’t know
about this. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning my mother confided in another friend about
this and that friend advised her to call CPS (child protective services), which
she did. They showed up that afternoon, my mother had not spoken to me that
whole day, other than telling me to stay in my room until she said I could come
out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stayed in my room until
they showed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were, a man
and a woman. The woman asked me to show them, on a drawing of a person where my
dad had touched me and how many times. I could show them <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">where</i> he touched me but I had no idea how many times. They asked if
he put anything inside of me. I was honest and told them the truth about everything
he did. However, at this point all the different times melded together. I
really tried to not be present in the moment when he was doing these things. I
tried to pretend I was somewhere else, or “find my happy place” if you
will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They left, my mother asked
me to go back to my bedroom and she continued her silent treatment with me. I
could hear her on the phone to other friends and family members.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That evening, just before my father was
expected to return home from work, my mother asked me to pack a bag of clothes
and toys and she and I went to stay at a friends house. This friend happened to
be my father’s best friend’s family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was so happy to be there, my best friend was there too, and I felt
safe for the first time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three days later my mother sat me down, and finally broke
her silent treatment to me. She said that we have to go talk to my father. I
asked her if it was ok if I wasn’t ready to do that, she said, “No”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night we went back home. My mother
told me to wait on the couch while she went into the bedroom to speak to my
father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About a half an hour later,
my father came out and sat down next to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were tears in his eyes and I could tell he had been
crying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart was breaking, I
hated that they were both so sad and angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father looked at me and his exact words were, “I am so
sorry for what I have done Tawnya, and I swear that I will put a gun in my
mouth before I ever touch you again”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I said, “Its ok dad, please stop crying” and he said, “its not ok” I
started to cry and I could not stop.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t know what to feel, I had no idea what was going on,
all I knew was I wanted that, I wanted him to never touch me like that and I
wanted my mom to love me again and I wanted him to stop hurting. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We stayed home that night and my father did not enter my
bedroom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The following week my mother and father sat down with me and
they told me that we needed to go to see a lawyer and we needed to go to CPS.
My father’s sister was going to be there too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She arranged the visit with the lawyer and was there as a
witness. They coached me on what I needed to say. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mom- “Tawnya, its important that you tell everyone that you
made this up. That you lied about what your father did to you, if you don’t,
daddy will go to jail. Do you want daddy in jail?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me- “No”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dad – “I know this is confusing kiddo, but once we get
through this part, everything will be back to normal” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m thinking, normal? I have no clue what normal is right
now, if that means you’re gonna touch me again I do NOT want normal back. But I
was fiercely obedient to a fault. I adored my mother I had sympathy for my
father and I just wanted everyone to love me again. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We went to both of those appointments, I, to this day still
remember sitting in that lawyers office my aunt and my mom whispering to each
other my father white as a ghost and everyone relying on me to be a good
liar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I answered the lawyer’s questions
with the fabricated truth that everyone expected of me. Then, on to the CPS
office, where we sat in a tiny little room with the man and woman who
interviewed me previously. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother told them that I made it up, and she finally got
the truth out of me and she was so sorry for wasting their time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The woman looked at me and said,
“Tawnya, did you make that story up?” I looked down and said, “Yes, I’m sorry”
then she said, “why would you do that? Why would you put your family through
this much trouble?” Still looking down I said, “ I don’t know”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked at my mother and she wished
her and my father well and said, “Good luck with the future, looks like you
guys have your hands full with this one” And that was that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chapter two – The
effects, when no one knows the cause.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother had told so many people about what my father did,
but not that they had asked me to lie about it. So we had to move and cut off
all communication with all of our friends and neighbors. They put our house up
for sale and we went to live with my Grandma (dads mom) on the west side of
Modesto. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother was very
different towards me, she hardly spoke to me or hugged me. She was always so
angry, and would tell me things like, my breath stunk or how horrible my hair
looked that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was really
cautious about what I was wearing around my father and told me not to call him
daddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was no longer her
daughter, I was now her competition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was never her daughter after that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got the message, I began to ignore my dad, she had to make
me speak to him. Go tell him goodbye when he was leaving for the day, go say
goodnight before I went to bed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I switched schools from Teal Middle School to Robinson Road
Elementary. I got to go to 6<sup>th</sup> grade camp twice so that was fun, but
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hated my teacher. Her name was
Candace and I honestly thought she singled me out and yelled at me infront of
the class for no reason. When I told my mother this she called an interview
with Candace and the principal, and of course I sat there and felt terrible
about the whole situation, once again, I felt like I was making people unhappy
and I needed to lie to make everyone happy so when the principal asked me why I
was unhappy with Candace, right in front of Candace, I said, “I don’t know, I’m
sorry” and that was that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At my grandma’s house I used to play in the yard, a lot, the
entire yard was exposed because the fence was so low. Two houses down there was
a boy, he was 17 years old by this time I was 12. He used to flirt with me and
finally, I started to sneak out of my bedroom in the middle of the night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had already had sex as we know from
the previous chapters, however, this was the first time I had sex with someone
besides my own father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was 12……
he was 17……. There is absolutely NOTHING ok about this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It happened over and over and over
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I confided in a friend who
happened to be the daughter of my mother’s good friend, and she told her mom,
and then her mom told my mom, and then my parents decided to try to tell me
that it was not ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this point,
I’m pretty confused about right and wrong, and the line between truth and lies
is a blurry one. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I continued to see Rudy, even when we moved into our new
house clear across town. I rode my bike in the middle of the night 10 miles to
see him several times a week. Finally, one day I got caught and my parents
started putting the house alarm on at night and that pretty much put an end to
that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I switched <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">schools</i>
again to Prescott Junior High 7<sup>th</sup> grade. I think the change of
scenery changed me, it was as if I got my virginity back, I had boyfriends, we
held hands and sometimes they tried to kiss me, but I never let them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Handholding was all I’d do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started to forget that I was not a
virgin and tried to maintain an innocent allure. Boys would break up with me
for not kissing them, no joke!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
I kept this up well into my freshman year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the 8<sup>th</sup> grade I dated a boy a year younger
than me,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anthony Hammond, he was a
toe headed skater boy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
obsessed with him…. I did kiss him after about 4 months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anthony used to come to my house and we
would hang out in the front yard. One day we were holding hands when my father
pulled up from work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He saw us
holding hands and was furious, he yelled at Anthony to get away from me and
then told me to get in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anthony was never allowed to call me or visit from that day forward. I
guess my father was jealous, I have no idea what could have been going through
his mind, he had already ruined me, did he want to ruin my chances with other
people too? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>2116</o:Words>
<o:Characters>12066</o:Characters>
<o:Company>UCLA</o:Company>
<o:Lines>100</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>24</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>14817</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the 9<sup>th</sup> grade, I was finally out of that
awkward stage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lost the huge
glasses, I finally knew how to fix my curly hair and I started to dress better.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And Anthony and I were officially
over. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a candidate to be a
cheerleader, I had good grades and was so excited, I was at all the cheerleader
practices and auditions, but my father said that because I had a B in
literature (lowest grade I had at the time) I could not try out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched all of my friends become
cheerleaders and had to sit in the sidelines. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This broke my heart. <br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Chapter 3 – A look at
my happy ending to lighten things up. Then back to the rest of my life.<o:p></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Template>Normal.dotm</o:Template>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>123</o:Words>
<o:Characters>706</o:Characters>
<o:Company>UCLA</o:Company>
<o:Lines>5</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>1</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>867</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>12.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>
<w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>
<w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/>
<w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/>
</w:Compatibility>
</w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276">
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";
mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brian, my adorable sweet fun loving Irishman of a husband.
He and I found each other exactly when we were meant to. This man was the first
sign of goodness I had seen in a very long time. I never believed in
unconditional love until I met Brian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Brian loves me through the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly,
the hard times and the good. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is
the reason I know that there is good in the world. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brian has given me the most adorable baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our other Irishman Zavier Kilian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zavier and Brian have given me all the
joy and happiness I thought I would never see again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had all but given up then along comes this amazing man who
is someone full of life, and integrity and just a really good guy. And now we
are raising our very own, really good guy. <span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-16316241028873895872012-11-05T20:03:00.004-05:002012-11-05T21:05:10.418-05:00Mandated Reporters<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A principal in San Jose was convicted today of not reporting two instances of child abuse of children younger than 8 years of age. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mandated reporting is SO important. "Mandated" means if you see something, you are OBLIGATED to say something, If you don't you are not qualified for the job that you were hired for, and further more, you are not qualified to be considered as someone who has any kind of heart or soul. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I do not care if you are a teacher, a principal, or a fellow parent, grow some balls and protect our future.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pay attention to our young people, especially when its your job. </span>Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-77592057726756735152012-11-05T07:23:00.004-05:002012-11-05T07:27:41.671-05:00<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>This is a beautifully crafted remembrance written by my husband for his stepfather who departed us on 10/30/2012</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rest in Peace Bob Friedrichs. Bob passed away Tuesday 10/30 at the age of 96. I waited to post because I wanted to be sure that close family had been notified first. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bob and my mom Ethel were married in summer of 1986. Overtime Bob became my family. He was an extraordinary person. He changed our life for the better in significant ways, from changing our backyard on 18th Ave into a beautiful garden with a deck and a gazebo and roses for my mom, decorating our home with art (both his own and other's), bringing an appreciation for history, political commentary, culture, travel, and cuisine (not just German). We had many entertaining and lively discussions over meals. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will always remember him gardening, painting downstairs, working at his work bench. He had incredible mechanic skills and could see a space, envision a way to transform it into something improved, and then proceed to make it happen, quickly and with precision. No shelf was built by Bob in our house that isn't level. Once on 18th Ave, a metal classic style bench we had in front of our gate was stolen. We had recently removed a chain that linked it to our gate, because we thought the chain was unsightly. Upon seeing the theft, Bob went and purchased some lumber, came home, built a new bench, and used metal screws to fasten it to our house's outside wall. I'm pretty sure that bench is screwed all the way into our neighbor's house. To which Bob added, when the next earthquake takes the house down, the bench will still be here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bob lived three lifetimes. Born in Germany, Bob lost his mother and elder brother to Spanish Influenza. He was raised by his grandparents in his earliest years. He came over to the US with his father and step mother at the age of 12. They started out in Rochester, New York and then moved to the Bay Area, living in San Francisco and Daly City and eventually settling in San Jose, where he grew up with his two sisters including Inga whom I have the pleasure of knowing. Bob learned orthopedics as a trade from his father.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bob married Eva and they would have three children, Robert, Ingrid (Sue) and Bill. Bill taught me how to ski in Colorado at Loveland and Copper Mountain. I remember being able to see the Continental Divide while keeping my legs firmly locked in the snow plow position. That was after a road trip that Bob, Mom and I took through Nevada, Arizona, New Mexico and Utah, including sites of Grand Canyon, etc. Robert, his wife Liz, and son Jonathan took me on a bike trip through Napa County that I still remember very well. And I will always remember many delicious dinners with Sue, a wonderful host whom for Bob embodied many of the characteristics of her mother. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bob served in the US Army as a Master Sergeant during WW II stationed at El Paso, Texas. He ran an Orthepedics shop and also served as a translator for German prisoners of war. I loved his time in the Army. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Back in San Jose, he worked with Hittenberger Prosthetics, (going off of memory of what I've heard for this part) and that ran his own Orthopedics business which was very successful. After a long successful run, he closed that business and came to Shriner's Hospital to run their Orthopedics shop; at Shiner's he would eventually meet my mom Ethel.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm thinking now of Sonny and Ray who worked for Bob at the shop at Shriner's. Eventually, after Bob had retired, Shriner's moved up to Sacramento and all it's employees moved. Ray stopped by a few years ago, and Mom let him choose one of Bob's paintings for himself, a Napa Valley scene. And Ray was visibly delighted to get it. "REALLY?!" I'm told was the explanation. I think that for the majority of folks, if you knew Bob professionally, he had your respect. Because he was a master in his field. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was tough to watch him slow down over the past few years. Back around 2003, Mom adopted a rat terrier named Toby for Bob, and Bob and Toby became inseparable. Where ever Bob went, Toby went, meals, naps, etc. My wife Tawnya fondly recalls Bob with Toby on his laps speaking German to him, "oh Toby, you're my dog, du bist hound." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bob and my Mom had a wonderful life together. I'm grateful to him for the happiness he brought us. Sometimes he drove us crazy, but that's part of the package. He was an incredibly strong person and definitely a person you don't meet everyday.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Mom and Bob</span><br />
<br />
<div class="shareUnit attachmentUnit" style="background-color: white; border-left-color: rgb(192, 201, 221); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 2px; color: #333333; font-size: 11px; line-height: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 12px 2px; padding: 5px 0px 5px 8px;">
<div class="userContentWrapper">
<span class="userContent"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X12rBhww1Io/UJevf7AT9pI/AAAAAAAABS0/GoCcr6g13o4/s1600/Bob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-X12rBhww1Io/UJevf7AT9pI/AAAAAAAABS0/GoCcr6g13o4/s320/Bob.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="userContentWrapper">
<span class="userContent"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-60904633175996742252012-06-06T16:27:00.002-04:002012-06-06T16:27:33.606-04:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yo6pyDU4OrU/T8-8-kQOGxI/AAAAAAAABLw/Ubtp2CHW1EA/s1600/June+018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yo6pyDU4OrU/T8-8-kQOGxI/AAAAAAAABLw/Ubtp2CHW1EA/s320/June+018.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
There has been a new addition to our lives, little Zavier Kilian! :) sweetest little face I've seen in 21 years!Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-30881123649271237252011-03-09T17:12:00.001-05:002011-03-09T17:15:08.492-05:00UntitledThere is art behind the eyes of every child.<br />
Behind the eyes of every grown person, there is a novel.<br />
In the heart of every elderly person there is music.<br />
<br />
A gaze will carry the art from one child to anyone who catches it.<br />
A powerful thought will reveal the novel to anyone perceptive.<br />
Anyone listening will hear the music simply when the elder smiles.Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-1610721049626502952011-03-09T16:59:00.000-05:002011-03-09T16:59:18.623-05:00Untitled(I was very granola when I wrote this)By me<br />
<br />
A leaf is a soul, thousand of souls hang high in the trees they move only slightly when the wind blows.<br />
Those souls on the trees have made peace with the earth.<br />
They have learned to respect it's power and become one with it. <br />
They hang high, perched on their branches watching with sorrow, the stupidity they see below.<br />
They see the skin covered souls who do not respect the earth that they themselves rely on, for food, for shelter, for life.<br />
These ignorant souls create waste and more wast, until the wast covers more land then even the trees do.<br />
All the while these souls that hang on the trees, work so hard to create the air that they selfish souls breath, the selfish souls see it fit to create metal boxes with wheels that contaminate their air.<br />
They are safe in the arms of their universe, but they are infecting her with a malignant disease.<br />
When she dies, so will they, when she dies, all the beautiful trees will lose their leaves.Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-87310757387268328272011-03-09T16:50:00.001-05:002011-03-09T17:25:13.958-05:00UntitledBy me<br />
<br />
Under a twin-sized canopy lay a very little girl, auburn-colored ringlets cover her pillow. <br />
She sleeps soundly, dreaming of a bright red bike with a bell.<br />
Her dreams are disturbed by a touch that awakens her, but she dare not open her eyes, then another touch, and another.<br />
She feels a heavy weight upon her, then..... pain<br />
She feels her breathing change and its hard to draw in breathes, but she dare not change the tempo of her fake snore.<br />
She wishes she could be back in time, five minutes ago when she had a bright red bike with a bell.<br />
She'd ride the bike as fast and far as it would take her, she'd bring her dog and her favorite blanket.... But, if she rode too far, she'd be alone, she'd be scared and miss her mom.<br />
And if she stayed away too long, what if her mom grew old waiting for her to return and died?<br />
Who would protect the little girl?<br />
The girl begins to ache inside, and while fighting back the tears, she finds hersewlf back in her twin-sized bed with the canopy, her eyes sealed tight and struggling to breathe again.<br />
She feels pain and fear, and she wonders where her mother is.<br />
She hopes this will end soon.Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-22400321779742804362011-03-09T16:40:00.002-05:002011-03-09T17:04:24.485-05:00UntitledBy: me<br />
<br />
Immature to mature-ish progression is how I should present these, but instead I'm going for what is more meaningful to me, in my life at this moment.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Here we go...</b><br />
<br />
In a black and white garden stands a very colorful girl with strings attached to her limbs and her lips, a blindfold shields her vision of the world.<br />
She hears only the whispers of those who are tormented before and after her.<br />
Her enemies are those she had been vulnerable to, this cycle began the first time she was touched.<br />
Her stained glass heart shattered to the floor.<br />
The clouds that kept hope afloat in her head turned to stones.<br />
The brand new day she saw ahead turned to repeated days of tourment.<br />
All of the colors of the world turned grey.<br />
Her innocence had been taken away.<br />
She is now trapped, deep inside herself.Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-62093256312898379522010-07-31T11:10:00.001-04:002010-07-31T11:10:51.779-04:00New Hair.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/TFQ87hiL7pI/AAAAAAAAA-8/zOmN4bkdaAA/s1600/newhair.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/TFQ87hiL7pI/AAAAAAAAA-8/zOmN4bkdaAA/s400/newhair.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500088038237925010" /></a>Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-40740275892413177662009-08-13T09:08:00.001-04:002009-08-13T09:08:32.282-04:00The Indie Rock Coloring Book<div class='tn_post'><div style='margin-bottom: 10px; float: left; margin-right: 10px;'><a href='http://www.thisnext.com/item/D0B9A652/The-Indie-Rock-Coloring-Book?u=Flutterbot&p=/item/D0B9A652/4ABB6F85/The-Indie-Rock-Coloring-Book&t=blog' title='The Indie Rock Coloring Book'><img height='240' style='margin: 0; padding: 0; border-left:1px solid #dddddd;border-top:1px solid #dddddd;border-right:1px solid #bbbbbb;border-bottom:1px solid #bbbbbb;' alt='The Indie Rock Coloring Book' width='230' src='http://s2.thisnext.com/media/blogit/2C3C44FE.jpg'/></a></div><p>Who doesn't like to color? This is the perfect book to get you "too old to color" hipsters back in the game. </p></div><br />Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-32797212344241411852009-08-05T12:18:00.003-04:002009-08-05T12:21:49.668-04:00Its been awhileI thought I'd post just because its been so long, I'm in San Diego, or really about 30 minutes outside of San Diego. I have a sweet kind loving boyfriend, a cat and a dog, I live in a three bedroom home complete with a front and back yard. I grow herbs in my kitchen and cook dinner almost every night. I am not going to burning man this year that is bittersweet for me. I work for a web 2.0 company and I play WOW and Evony pretty much daily.. <br /><br />That's an update I am going to start updating again.. So get ready! <br /><br />xo,<br />TawnyaFlutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-48040436303418995722009-04-25T15:53:00.000-04:002009-04-25T15:54:52.356-04:00Almost from Church and Steak on Vimeo<object width="400" height="267"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2326654&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=2326654&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="267"></embed></object><br /><a href="http://vimeo.com/2326654">Almost</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/churchandsteak">Church and Steak</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-91324467758244996202009-03-10T16:44:00.002-04:002009-03-10T16:46:17.885-04:00Places to eat in San FranciscoI've started to compile a list of places I like to eat at in San Francisco to remember them. This list can be found on my other blog ---> <a href="http://bigappletite.blogspot.com/2009/03/places-to-eat-in-san-francisco.html">here</a><br /><br /><br />xo,<br />TawnyaFlutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-80975597604381372592008-10-17T14:31:00.004-04:002008-10-17T14:54:45.546-04:00To My Mom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SPjaxmoohbI/AAAAAAAAAtI/VQIgLt5JRYU/s1600-h/206.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SPjaxmoohbI/AAAAAAAAAtI/VQIgLt5JRYU/s400/206.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258193110674474418" border="0" /></a><br />mom,<br /><br />We had our differences, I was angry at you for all the wrong reasons and for that I'm sorry. I regret not spending more time with you, your life on this earth was too short. I remember how, when I was little, I would cry at the thought of you leaving this world. And now you have, and I have to say that those juvenile feelings were right on. I am so sorry and I love you more than I ever let you know.<br /><br />R.I.P. Michele Long you will be forever in my heart.Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-75760202801426763952008-09-30T15:20:00.002-04:002008-09-30T15:28:48.765-04:00Exactly a year ago.......my attempt to be spontaneously poetic, I wrote;<p>Lost in rows of daffodils, I saw your eyes and they said, I walk as if encompassed in a frame.<br /></p><p>It was fall and the weather was like cotton candy in my mouth.<br /></p><p>The ocean's sparkles reflected the stars, and the stars reflected the white specks on a pigeon's wing.<br /></p><p>The air brought me close to the trees that swung like clothes on a line.<br /></p><p>My dreams last night were of spider webs that held me up in a cocoon stuck to a plaster wall, and the ladybugs were eating my hair.<br /></p><p>I closed my eyes and saw the clock of my life winding down, and when the hands stopped, I died. </p>Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-27151794274013530262008-09-30T14:43:00.002-04:002010-01-07T15:43:37.181-05:00The road that leads you to nowhere<span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:100%;" >Ever have one of those days when there is so much on your mind, yet you have nothing to say.<br /><br />When you're not sad, but not happy.<br /><br />Overwhelming ambivalence.<br /><br />You're simply there, participating in the day.<br /><br />You have thoughts of days gone by, where you said so much and it meant so little.. Where your words just filled the air, then quickly floated away.<br /><br />And what everyone else says has such significance, and penetrates your mind in ways that make you feel insipid.<br /><br />When you're searching for your path but still spend your time meandering aimlessly.<br /><br />Making plans that go nowhere.<br /><br />Making friendships that dissolve instantly.<br /><br />Making memories that you will soon forget.<br /><br />Yet you keep searching, but you don't know what your looking for.<br /><br />You keep wanting, but you don't know for what.<br /><br />Your seduced by time, then time becomes a serpent which devours you alive.<br /><br />Every thing in your life becomes a fleeting thought, experience, memory, feeling.<br /><br />The beauty you felt.<br /><br />The pain you saw.<br /><br />The pleasure you experienced.<br /><br />The moment you hoped would never pass, is gone, and you cannot summon the strength to repeat it.<br /><br />You lay there starving, like a wilted flower, shriveling, yearning for the strength, and the beauty you once hoped to have, you once hoped to be.</span>Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-2954347165693525102008-09-20T17:50:00.002-04:002008-09-20T17:55:15.682-04:00A Beautiful Summer Sunset<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SNVxGj6ak0I/AAAAAAAAAso/tGVFYNjJkJo/s1600-h/Picture-058.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SNVxGj6ak0I/AAAAAAAAAso/tGVFYNjJkJo/s400/Picture-058.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5248225298303587138" /></a><br />The most wonderful place on earth to watch the sunset, as well as the sunrise.Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-88208807790472220892008-09-05T13:42:00.003-04:002008-09-05T13:47:15.365-04:00Slacker Uprising New Micheal Moore Movie<span style="font-weight:bold;">Coming out Sept 23rd</span><br /><br /><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/V3VRN9CP1OU&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/V3VRN9CP1OU&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-28181127240025508012008-07-12T05:52:00.010-04:002009-08-05T01:22:03.938-04:00WOW... Sunset on the beach.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHiBBxaHhcI/AAAAAAAAApI/msk2uqH2S9Y/s1600-h/sunsetV.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHiBBxaHhcI/AAAAAAAAApI/msk2uqH2S9Y/s200/sunsetV.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222065635378824642" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHiAvBaHhbI/AAAAAAAAApA/FipcnGq3Qjk/s1600-h/sunsetIV.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHiAvBaHhbI/AAAAAAAAApA/FipcnGq3Qjk/s200/sunsetIV.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222065313256277426" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHiAGxaHhaI/AAAAAAAAAo4/zloiKvRZk_0/s1600-h/sunsetIII.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHiAGxaHhaI/AAAAAAAAAo4/zloiKvRZk_0/s200/sunsetIII.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222064621766542754" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHh_vxaHhZI/AAAAAAAAAow/2Ip8DUQmOzQ/s1600-h/sunsetII.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHh_vxaHhZI/AAAAAAAAAow/2Ip8DUQmOzQ/s200/sunsetII.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222064226629551506" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHh_RhaHhYI/AAAAAAAAAoo/kGZ6Oh3fGhI/s1600-h/sunset.bmp"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_0xCRyRrzeAQ/SHh_RhaHhYI/AAAAAAAAAoo/kGZ6Oh3fGhI/s200/sunset.bmp" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222063706938508674" border="0" /></a><br />Pretty cool huh?Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-60171667711771428712008-06-29T21:31:00.006-04:002008-06-29T21:42:25.925-04:00Home & DryHave I mentioned that San Francisco is the best city on earth? In fact, I'll do ya one better, San Francisco is by far the most peaceful major metropolitan city in the world. Oh, but since I've never been out of the US I guess I should say, in America. And well, since I haven't really been to every major metropolitan city in American I should say that its the most peaceful one that I've ever been to. You know, just to be clear.<br /><br />Anyway, since I've been back for good, I've felt centered, I've felt peaceful, I've felt at home, even though I don't exactly have a home just yet. But that's OK I still quite like it here. (can ya tell?)<br /><br />I won't leave again! Leaving turns me into a monster, and nobody likes monsters right?<br /><br />:)<br /><br />xo,<br />TawnyaFlutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-35304914888276197802008-06-15T02:17:00.002-04:002008-06-15T02:19:54.263-04:00Top Chef!My oh so new and neglected <a href="http://bigappletite.blogspot.com/2008/06/top-chef-decision-i-so-very-happy-about.html">food blog</a> about Top Chef. <br /><br />Oh but don't fret! I'm moving from coast to coast right now so I'm just preoccupied. Rest assured that I have a whole folder full of food pictures, and stories and recipes to go along with them!<br /><br />:)Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-522172183595353491.post-85262843132866992482008-06-15T00:40:00.004-04:002008-09-02T14:52:17.496-04:00I was there!<object width="555" height="337"> Yes I was under the same roof with Kevin Rose, my hot geek crush... sadly I'm not alone in that, he has a slew of girls crushing on him.. :(<br /><br />P.S. I know the window is too big but I just don't care ;)<br /><param name="movie" value="http://bitcast-a.bitgravity.com/revision3/swf/rev3_player.swf?AutoPlay=off&Buffer=120&File=http://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.flv/bitcast-a.bitgravity.com/revision3/flv/diggnation/0154/diggnation--0154--2008-06-12studbeez--800kbps.flv&ScrubMode=advanced&Thumb=http://bitcast-a.bitgravity.com/revision3/thumbs/diggnation--0154--2008-06-12studbeez--thumb.jpg&DefaultRatio=0.56&AutoSize=off"> <param name="base" value="http://bitcast-a.bitgravity.com/revision3/swf/"> <param name="loop" value="false"> <param name="quality" value="high"> <param name="bgcolor" value="#171717"> <param name="allowScriptAccess" value="sameDomain"> <param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"> <embed loop="false" quality="high" bgcolor="#171717" name="rev3player_v2" allowscriptaccess="sameDomain" allowfullscreen="true" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" src="http://bitcast-a.bitgravity.com/revision3/swf/rev3_player.swf?AutoPlay=off&Buffer=120&File=http://www.podtrac.com/pts/redirect.flv/bitcast-a.bitgravity.com/revision3/flv/diggnation/0154/diggnation--0154--2008-06-12studbeez--800kbps.flv&ScrubMode=advanced&Thumb=http://bitcast-a.bitgravity.com/revision3/thumbs/diggnation--0154--2008-06-12studbeez--thumb.jpg&DefaultRatio=0.56&AutoSize=off&allowFullScreen=true" base="http://bitcast-a.bitgravity.com/revision3/swf/" width="555" align="middle" height="337"></embed> </object>Flutterbothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17462610275856690962noreply@blogger.com0