<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015</id><updated>2011-12-16T09:17:41.104-07:00</updated><category term='cooking'/><category term='home'/><category term='couponing'/><category term='birthdays'/><category term='the bar'/><category term='church'/><category term='movies'/><category term='holidays'/><category term='f.o.r.d.'/><category term='vacation'/><category term='books'/><category term='family'/><category term='love it'/><category term='about me'/><category term='outings'/><category term='marriage'/><category term='memory lane monday'/><category term='school'/><category term='sicky'/><category term='groceries'/><category term='work'/><category term='cars'/><category term='weight'/><category term='friends'/><title type='text'>such is life</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>323</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-541950957944808858</id><published>2011-01-17T13:19:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2011-01-17T13:25:57.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'>big news</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/TTSlw9oDtLI/AAAAAAAABNw/52prIO8QmXE/s1600/header.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 89px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/TTSlw9oDtLI/AAAAAAAABNw/52prIO8QmXE/s400/header.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563253700304286898" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;If you don't already know about our &lt;a href="http://mertinso.com/2011/01/our-first-audio-post/"&gt;big news&lt;/a&gt;, it means you need to update your bookmark/reader to &lt;a href="http://mertinso.com/"&gt;mertinso.com&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-541950957944808858?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/541950957944808858'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/541950957944808858'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2011/01/big-news.html' title='big news'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/TTSlw9oDtLI/AAAAAAAABNw/52prIO8QmXE/s72-c/header.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8999754969520389269</id><published>2009-12-11T17:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-12-11T17:00:00.851-07:00</updated><title type='text'>give said the little stream, give oh give, give oh give</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SyKGXAquAzI/AAAAAAAABHw/sK_nybbj-VE/s1600-h/blogrolloutgiveaway.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SyKGXAquAzI/AAAAAAAABHw/sK_nybbj-VE/s400/blogrolloutgiveaway.gif" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5414037431927046962" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Go to the new &lt;a href="http://mertinso.com/"&gt;MERTINSO.COM&lt;/a&gt; to enter an awesome giveaway!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And while you're at it, update your reader to: &lt;a href="http://mertinso.com/"&gt;http://mertinso.com/feed&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8999754969520389269?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8999754969520389269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8999754969520389269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/12/give-said-little-stream-give-oh-give.html' title='give said the little stream, give oh give, give oh give'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SyKGXAquAzI/AAAAAAAABHw/sK_nybbj-VE/s72-c/blogrolloutgiveaway.gif' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-806912476972184668</id><published>2009-11-16T21:04:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T01:09:16.663-07:00</updated><title type='text'>moving</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;We interrupt this regularly scheduled post to announce:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://mertinso.com/"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SwIhKx4MXqI/AAAAAAAABGE/shCF5a31FwI/s400/banner.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5404918971869453986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Luis and I are moving to our new blog address at &lt;a href="http://mertinso.com/"&gt;http://mertinso.com&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;Be sure to update your address book!&lt;br /&gt;New feed: (http://www.mertinso.com/feed)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-806912476972184668?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/806912476972184668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/806912476972184668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/moving.html' title='moving'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SwIhKx4MXqI/AAAAAAAABGE/shCF5a31FwI/s72-c/banner.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-5907944791300979356</id><published>2009-11-14T07:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-14T07:50:00.657-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='about me'/><title type='text'>on empty</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sv4bGGym9cI/AAAAAAAABF0/U3G9vjXRASA/s1600-h/out+of+gas.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sv4bGGym9cI/AAAAAAAABF0/U3G9vjXRASA/s320/out+of+gas.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403786394607220162" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I thought I was going to run out of gas on my way home the other night. The worst part was that I was stuck in the middle of this crazy traffic jam on the freeway. For some reason, running out of gas is seriously one of my worst nightmares. I start feeling like I'm going to have an anxiety attack if I don't get gas in my car very soon after the light goes on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-5907944791300979356?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5907944791300979356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5907944791300979356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/on-empty.html' title='on empty'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sv4bGGym9cI/AAAAAAAABF0/U3G9vjXRASA/s72-c/out+of+gas.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-9133616217081130540</id><published>2009-11-13T17:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-13T20:02:29.335-07:00</updated><title type='text'>double digits</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sv4dVJSXoMI/AAAAAAAABF8/brnLcdOaroQ/s1600-h/Felipe.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 289px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sv4dVJSXoMI/AAAAAAAABF8/brnLcdOaroQ/s400/Felipe.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403788851998597314" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My little brother is 22 today. And the strange thing is, that we actually talked on the phone for about 20 minutes today. He isn't much of a talker (at least not with me) so I was so surprised that he didn't just try to get off the phone as quickly as possible. I wish I could have gone to Hawaii to make him a special birthday cake. But alas, it is just not possible to be around for every special occasion when you live so far away. Who knows, maybe one of these days he'll decide to live closer to me and I'll be able to go see him for the weekend on his birthdays.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-9133616217081130540?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9133616217081130540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9133616217081130540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/double-digits.html' title='double digits'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sv4dVJSXoMI/AAAAAAAABF8/brnLcdOaroQ/s72-c/Felipe.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-5169060438827117710</id><published>2009-11-12T18:09:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-12T22:16:51.578-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cars'/><title type='text'>who does this belong to?</title><content type='html'>I've noticed that when it comes to cars, Las Vegas has everything from the extremely expensive exotic cars to the most hideous clunkers you could imagine. I recently came across this beauty:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvzqfBJUFjI/AAAAAAAABFs/LBtKsqAEb4A/s1600-h/photo%283%29.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvzqfBJUFjI/AAAAAAAABFs/LBtKsqAEb4A/s400/photo%283%29.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403451471542097458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm not sure who this car belongs to, but I'm thinking they are sports fans. I could be wrong, though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-5169060438827117710?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5169060438827117710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5169060438827117710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/who-does-this-belong-to.html' title='who does this belong to?'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvzqfBJUFjI/AAAAAAAABFs/LBtKsqAEb4A/s72-c/photo%283%29.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-5276015227564244734</id><published>2009-11-11T08:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-11T08:08:00.144-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='about me'/><title type='text'>cookie cravings</title><content type='html'>When I get an idea in my head of something I want to do, I feel like I can't stop thinking about it until I go do it. Last night, I had the thought, "No bake cookies sound good right now." 20 minutes later I was still thinking about it. Another 30 minutes go by and I thought, "I wonder if I have all the ingredients to make no bakes." After 10 minutes of searching through unpacked boxes in my garage, I was sad to come to the realization that I didn't have peanut butter (an essential ingredient in no bakes). So sad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-5276015227564244734?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5276015227564244734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5276015227564244734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/cookie-cravings.html' title='cookie cravings'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8805043410113723216</id><published>2009-11-10T08:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T08:55:01.213-07:00</updated><title type='text'>waking up</title><content type='html'>Does anyone else wake up at the exact same time everyday to go to the bathroom. I do. For a while I was waking up exactly an hour before my alarm clock, which was ok because I would always just go right back to sleep. But these last few days, I've been waking up about 15 minutes before my alarm clock rings and it is so annoying because those 15 minutes make a big difference.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8805043410113723216?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8805043410113723216'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8805043410113723216'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/waking-up.html' title='waking up'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-6763629879794692824</id><published>2009-11-09T20:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-09T20:13:03.995-07:00</updated><title type='text'>i love lucy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It's a shame they don't make shows like this anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/4wp3m1vg06Q&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/4wp3m1vg06Q&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-6763629879794692824?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6763629879794692824'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6763629879794692824'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-love-lucy.html' title='i love lucy'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1422912317457433434</id><published>2009-11-08T16:49:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T17:00:48.421-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='church'/><title type='text'>shattered</title><content type='html'>So we were sitting in sacrament meeting today, minding our own business, listening to the musical number, when all of the sudden, out of nowhere, we hear this huge shatter. We looked back and saw glass and goldfish all over the cultural hall floor! I felt so bad for the mom who looked absolutely &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;mortified&lt;/span&gt; that her child had dropped the container on the floor creating such a racket. Note to self: only use plastic containers when taking snacks to church for the kids.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1422912317457433434?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1422912317457433434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1422912317457433434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/shattered.html' title='shattered'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1663598836569877588</id><published>2009-11-07T08:22:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-07T08:37:08.578-07:00</updated><title type='text'>at the drive-thru</title><content type='html'>So after my fun night of going out, I came home starving (what is it about walking in the door that makes me want to go straight to the refrigerator... given that I usually get home at dinnertime, I guess it is just habit). But since it was past midnight already, I decided to just ignore my stomach and go to bed. Of course, that just meant that I woke up feeling like I just HAD to eat something and my usual Diet Coke breakfast at work just wasn't going to cut it. I completely forgot that I even had any sort of breakfast food at my house so I headed to McDonald's on my way to work to grab a quick Egg McMuffin (I love those little things!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I pull in to the drive-thu and this is what I see:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvWSb5DdLxI/AAAAAAAABFc/H7ZvFZqPcM4/s1600-h/photo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvWSb5DdLxI/AAAAAAAABFc/H7ZvFZqPcM4/s400/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401384335970217746" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Now, if you look beyond the GIGANTIC truck in front of me, you'll see a woman. Standing. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Outside&lt;/span&gt; of her car. I'm not sure where this woman in from, but in Las Vegas, we usually just roll down our windows to place our orders. Getting out of your car is completely NOT NECESSARY!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1663598836569877588?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1663598836569877588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1663598836569877588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/at-drive-thru.html' title='at the drive-thru'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvWSb5DdLxI/AAAAAAAABFc/H7ZvFZqPcM4/s72-c/photo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2716938191701541506</id><published>2009-11-06T08:44:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T08:44:00.322-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outings'/><title type='text'>diablo's</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvPlSvXi7sI/AAAAAAAABFM/ucVYCEjxj10/s1600-h/photo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvPlSvXi7sI/AAAAAAAABFM/ucVYCEjxj10/s400/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400912488262987458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Last night, one of my few friends who live in Vegas called me inviting me to go hear her roommate's band play at Diablo's Cantina (a restaurant/bar at the Monte Carlo). I debated whether or not I wanted to lose out on precious sleep, but eventually decided it would be fun to go since I rarely go out and hadn't seen this friend since I first moved here. I felt like an idiot, though, as I was getting ready to go and had absolutely NOTHING to wear. Really, NOTHING. I tried on 5 different things (all of which are currently still on the floor where I threw them in my mad rush to get out the door on time) and nothing worked. I wanted to wear something nice but that didn't look like I was necessarily "trying." Ugh. I hate feeling like I have nothing to wear and I almost backed out of going, but in the end I went, and I had a really good time. Now all I have to do is figure out how many washes it is going to take to get this dumb smiley-face stamp off the back of my wrist.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2716938191701541506?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2716938191701541506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2716938191701541506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/diablos.html' title='diablo&apos;s'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvPlSvXi7sI/AAAAAAAABFM/ucVYCEjxj10/s72-c/photo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1695017598367591885</id><published>2009-11-05T08:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-05T08:39:00.261-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cooking'/><title type='text'>look what i made</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvD3oY5FlyI/AAAAAAAABEw/Vpo92nVfrq8/s1600-h/DSC02405.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvD3oY5FlyI/AAAAAAAABEw/Vpo92nVfrq8/s400/DSC02405.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400088226465945378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This was the cake I ended up making for my co-worker's birthday. Like it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1695017598367591885?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1695017598367591885'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1695017598367591885'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/look-what-i-made.html' title='look what i made'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvD3oY5FlyI/AAAAAAAABEw/Vpo92nVfrq8/s72-c/DSC02405.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-9057622182721797705</id><published>2009-11-04T08:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-04T08:28:00.487-07:00</updated><title type='text'>scary</title><content type='html'>So Luis accidentally left his driver's license at the Mandalay Bay box office when he went to pick up our Lion King tickets. The casino kindly offered to FedEx the license to us, but for some reason, instead of Luis having the license sent to him in Utah, he had it sent to our place in Nevada. So FedEx tried to deliver the package, but I was at work and couldn't come home to sign for the package. They then left a note on the door. After 2 more attempts, they finally sent the package back to their warehouse so I could come pick it up myself. So after work, I set off to go find the place. After several twists and turns, I ended up here: &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvD1d7Ps2EI/AAAAAAAABEo/qFMB0cLxzJY/s1600-h/DSC02403.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvD1d7Ps2EI/AAAAAAAABEo/qFMB0cLxzJY/s400/DSC02403.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400085847685781570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And let me just say, the picture does not do this place justice. It was this random scary place in the middle of nowhere. I had to drive through the first set of gates, then walk through another one and then finally go into this big open area with no counter or anything to ask for the package. Had I known that it was going to be this much trouble, I would have just asked the casino if I could go pick it up from them directly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-9057622182721797705?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9057622182721797705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9057622182721797705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/scary.html' title='scary'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SvD1d7Ps2EI/AAAAAAAABEo/qFMB0cLxzJY/s72-c/DSC02403.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1939114439055365545</id><published>2009-11-03T09:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T09:12:00.221-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='home'/><title type='text'>announcement</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;My gas is finally turned on!&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Su-u_kEq3VI/AAAAAAAABEY/Hz1tqjAmgs8/s1600-h/stove.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Su-u_kEq3VI/AAAAAAAABEY/Hz1tqjAmgs8/s320/stove.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399726885278768466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Today, I'm very grateful for having been able to go home last night and boil water for pasta while baking a cake for a co-worker's birthday and having laundry going upstairs. It is amazing how easy it is to take things like that for granted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1939114439055365545?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1939114439055365545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1939114439055365545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/announcement.html' title='announcement'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Su-u_kEq3VI/AAAAAAAABEY/Hz1tqjAmgs8/s72-c/stove.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-9039297956401174813</id><published>2009-11-02T21:07:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2009-11-02T21:12:02.495-07:00</updated><title type='text'>halloween quote</title><content type='html'>Natalia to Luis: "I can't wait for Halloween when we have kids... so we can argue about their costumes because I'll want them to be something really cute and you'll want them to be something really nerdy."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-9039297956401174813?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9039297956401174813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9039297956401174813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/11/halloween-quote.html' title='halloween quote'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7221108583514223791</id><published>2009-10-31T08:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-31T10:58:47.682-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>i want my mommy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuxsFv0t3bI/AAAAAAAABEE/PoNRhCAxXgY/s1600-h/IMG_5234.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuxsFv0t3bI/AAAAAAAABEE/PoNRhCAxXgY/s400/IMG_5234.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398808899303103922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Hi, my name is Natalia. I am 26-years-old. And sometimes, I just want my mommy. I wish my mom was closer so I could go hang out with her today for her birthday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7221108583514223791?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7221108583514223791'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7221108583514223791'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-want-my-mommy.html' title='i want my mommy'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuxsFv0t3bI/AAAAAAAABEE/PoNRhCAxXgY/s72-c/IMG_5234.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7927328668261212660</id><published>2009-10-30T08:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-30T08:28:00.212-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holidays'/><title type='text'>nevada day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sue2dzQFejI/AAAAAAAABCU/qENE_GPttLQ/s1600-h/Happy_Nevada_Day.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sue2dzQFejI/AAAAAAAABCU/qENE_GPttLQ/s320/Happy_Nevada_Day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397483301516966450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Yes, it is a real holiday, and yes I get the day off :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7927328668261212660?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7927328668261212660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7927328668261212660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/nevada-day.html' title='nevada day'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sue2dzQFejI/AAAAAAAABCU/qENE_GPttLQ/s72-c/Happy_Nevada_Day.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7855938072756793214</id><published>2009-10-29T08:12:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-29T08:12:00.348-06:00</updated><title type='text'>road trip</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sue5pHbUbyI/AAAAAAAABCk/DV82QnH7bkk/s1600-h/open+road.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sue5pHbUbyI/AAAAAAAABCk/DV82QnH7bkk/s400/open+road.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397486794446237474" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I hate road trips. And by hate, I mean HATE! What is there to do on a road trip other than just look at a whole lot of nothing and hope that the time passes quickly. But, because I love my husband so very much, I'm willing to drive 5 hours to see him.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7855938072756793214?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7855938072756793214'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7855938072756793214'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/road-trip.html' title='road trip'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sue5pHbUbyI/AAAAAAAABCk/DV82QnH7bkk/s72-c/open+road.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-6178964689249314643</id><published>2009-10-28T08:26:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T08:26:01.043-06:00</updated><title type='text'>the grand introduction</title><content type='html'>I'm going to have to come up with something like this someday:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="340" width="560"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1aSzTVrP5FQ&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1aSzTVrP5FQ&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="340" width="560"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-6178964689249314643?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6178964689249314643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6178964689249314643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/grand-introduction.html' title='the grand introduction'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1326277403763842340</id><published>2009-10-27T08:15:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-27T08:15:00.296-06:00</updated><title type='text'>tastes of childhood</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuYFIek0hBI/AAAAAAAABCM/wG-SD3HXLvw/s1600-h/PopRocks.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuYFIek0hBI/AAAAAAAABCM/wG-SD3HXLvw/s320/PopRocks.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397006846654710802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Every once in a while, I come across something that reminds me of my childhood and feel it absolutely necessary to take a trip down memory lane. One such instance occurred this weekend when I found Pop Rocks at a gas station. Although I still find the popping effect is kind of cool, I can barely taste any sort of flavor other than pure sugar. This once again confirms that I am no longer a child.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1326277403763842340?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1326277403763842340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1326277403763842340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/tastes-of-childhood.html' title='tastes of childhood'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuYFIek0hBI/AAAAAAAABCM/wG-SD3HXLvw/s72-c/PopRocks.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7917097412563906626</id><published>2009-10-26T08:05:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T08:05:22.679-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='groceries'/><title type='text'>20 items or less</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuTCIcxv-hI/AAAAAAAABCE/F6DeohP0aVw/s1600-h/groceries.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 232px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuTCIcxv-hI/AAAAAAAABCE/F6DeohP0aVw/s320/groceries.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396651703916296722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I find it sooooo annoying when people get in the express line at the grocery store but have more than 20 items. The other day, I ran to the store really quick during my lunch hour to grab something and got stuck behind some woman who apparently thought that 20 items meant 20 big items with several smaller items thrown in the mix. And to make matters worse, she then had the never to pull out an advertisement for another store to have the checker match those prices. Hello??? Could she not see that I only had three things in my hand and was obviously in a hurry? I really wish that people like that woman would be force to pay some kind of fine for intentional misuse of the express line.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7917097412563906626?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7917097412563906626'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7917097412563906626'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/20-items-or-less.html' title='20 items or less'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuTCIcxv-hI/AAAAAAAABCE/F6DeohP0aVw/s72-c/groceries.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-3034055653132919890</id><published>2009-10-25T10:19:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-25T15:14:04.481-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>how well do you know your spouse?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuS_TETq0yI/AAAAAAAABB8/zdWWnc9sbKQ/s1600-h/mommy+blogger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 242px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuS_TETq0yI/AAAAAAAABB8/zdWWnc9sbKQ/s320/mommy+blogger.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396648587791356706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;As Luis and I were finishing going through the last of the junk left in our Orem apartment, we came across the Utah Marriage Handbook (given to us when we got our marriage license last year). There is a questionnaire in the booklet regarding how well you know your spouse. One of the questions is: What are some of my spouse's life dreams? Forget traveling the world or learning to cook gourmet dishes, according to Luis, my only life's dream is to have children so that I can blog about them &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DAY AND NIGHT&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-3034055653132919890?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3034055653132919890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3034055653132919890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/how-well-do-you-know-your-spouse.html' title='how well do you know your spouse?'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuS_TETq0yI/AAAAAAAABB8/zdWWnc9sbKQ/s72-c/mommy+blogger.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7907142190188505728</id><published>2009-10-24T09:14:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-24T09:14:00.658-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love it'/><title type='text'>u.g.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuEk_VDstOI/AAAAAAAABB0/JGxnLyIeJs4/s1600-h/ugly-betty-cast-photo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuEk_VDstOI/AAAAAAAABB0/JGxnLyIeJs4/s400/ugly-betty-cast-photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395634498969580770" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So I've finally watched the season premiere of Ugly Betty. I once heard someone say that Americans can't handle real ugly people so they will just take someone who is pretty, stick some glasses on them and possibly some braces, and call them ugly. I feel that is exactly what they've done with Betty. While the outfits have stayed true to the character, America Ferrera herself looks better and better with every season... and I'm pretty sure they're patting her clothes with some sort of filler because her "fat" is looking less and less real with each season. Don't get me wrong, I love America and I think she deserves a lot more credit than she gets for her acting. But isn't Ugly Betty supposed to by U-G-L-Y?  All of the other versions of Ugly Betty have been. But I guess there is only so much you can do when your lead actress looks like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuEj6SA6jdI/AAAAAAAABBk/fahMTKHEUNE/s1600-h/america.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 198px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuEj6SA6jdI/AAAAAAAABBk/fahMTKHEUNE/s320/america.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395633312741625298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Oh, and for the record, more people should watch this show. It is one of my fav's!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7907142190188505728?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7907142190188505728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7907142190188505728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/ug.html' title='u.g.'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuEk_VDstOI/AAAAAAAABB0/JGxnLyIeJs4/s72-c/ugly-betty-cast-photo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4855119377915941523</id><published>2009-10-23T08:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-23T08:01:00.555-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>job perks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuEfKdilBCI/AAAAAAAABBM/w4rX82YquIA/s1600-h/car.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuEfKdilBCI/AAAAAAAABBM/w4rX82YquIA/s320/car.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395628093155378210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I'm really enjoying my job. I work with some great people and my boss is awesome. Yesterday he sent all of our cars to get washed, which is great because I just sat in my office while a nice man took my car, washed it, detailed it, and then returned it back to the same spot I always park in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4855119377915941523?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4855119377915941523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4855119377915941523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/job-perks.html' title='job perks'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SuEfKdilBCI/AAAAAAAABBM/w4rX82YquIA/s72-c/car.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-3894571061793357209</id><published>2009-10-22T07:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T07:26:00.795-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='home'/><title type='text'>controlled</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/St6cHK1m0NI/AAAAAAAABBE/WdrZm8FvePM/s1600-h/31Jp8K63ICL._SL250_.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/St6cHK1m0NI/AAAAAAAABBE/WdrZm8FvePM/s200/31Jp8K63ICL._SL250_.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394921050618646738" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After two overwhelming trips to Lowe's (that store is WAY too big) and a quick trip to Wal-Mart, I came home bearing a new remote control for my garage door. I was even able to program it correctly the first time I tried :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-3894571061793357209?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3894571061793357209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3894571061793357209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/controlled.html' title='controlled'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/St6cHK1m0NI/AAAAAAAABBE/WdrZm8FvePM/s72-c/31Jp8K63ICL._SL250_.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7208762475871989724</id><published>2009-10-21T08:18:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-21T08:18:00.858-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cooking'/><title type='text'>i'm smrt</title><content type='html'>Guess what I had for dinner tonight? ...Eggs! You may be asking yourself, "But, Natalia, just yesterday you said you had a gas stove but no gas, how are you making eggs?" Easy. I remembered that when Luis and I got married, we were given this little beauty when we got married:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/St6a-VpZTsI/AAAAAAAABA8/95CSrts0VjQ/s1600-h/747253.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 189px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/St6a-VpZTsI/AAAAAAAABA8/95CSrts0VjQ/s320/747253.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394919799389769410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;(this is obviously not an accurate depiction of my actual dinner)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7208762475871989724?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7208762475871989724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7208762475871989724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/im-smrt.html' title='i&apos;m smrt'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/St6a-VpZTsI/AAAAAAAABA8/95CSrts0VjQ/s72-c/747253.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-3009522760069819757</id><published>2009-10-20T07:46:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T07:46:00.631-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='home'/><title type='text'>oops</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Stt_zWDdAQI/AAAAAAAABAk/BZIsUqCbydw/s1600-h/cold-shower.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 319px; height: 208px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Stt_zWDdAQI/AAAAAAAABAk/BZIsUqCbydw/s320/cold-shower.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394045498776420610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I forgot to call the gas company before we moved in. Consequently, I've been taking cold showers since Friday. And to make matters worse, one of the reasons I was so looking forward to moving into my own place was to be able to have my own kitchen again, but we have a gas stove. So all of my cooking is temporarily limited to the microwave or crockpot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-3009522760069819757?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3009522760069819757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3009522760069819757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/oops.html' title='oops'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Stt_zWDdAQI/AAAAAAAABAk/BZIsUqCbydw/s72-c/cold-shower.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-6328644382959747682</id><published>2009-10-19T06:57:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T06:57:00.238-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memory lane monday'/><title type='text'>memory lane monday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StuvNEsQoUI/AAAAAAAABAs/oAybFM2_w60/s1600-h/cartwheelsm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StuvNEsQoUI/AAAAAAAABAs/oAybFM2_w60/s320/cartwheelsm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394097617838842178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My family moved several times when I was a child. I remember always loving to do cartwheels in the house before we brought in any boxes or furniture. When Luis and I moved to our first apartment last year, I had told him about my cartwheeling childhood and he suggested we tap into our inner child and do them again. Given that we just moved to a new place again, I thought it was only appropriate that we do cartwheels (especially since we probably won't be physically able to do them for much longer). So we got Luis' two friends (who came down from Utah with Luis to help us with the move) to join in on the fun. There may or may not be some sort of video or pictures of this madness somewhere out in cyberspace. It was pretty funny to see some not-so-fit-and-trim guys trying to do cartwheels and somersaults... and let me just say, my 3-year-old niece does them better.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-6328644382959747682?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6328644382959747682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6328644382959747682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/memory-lane-monday_19.html' title='memory lane monday'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StuvNEsQoUI/AAAAAAAABAs/oAybFM2_w60/s72-c/cartwheelsm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7535645006169802708</id><published>2009-10-18T16:39:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T16:39:00.404-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outings'/><title type='text'>uh-mazing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Stt9rHgkRcI/AAAAAAAABAc/xfWCYUtiPA0/s1600-h/lk.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Stt9rHgkRcI/AAAAAAAABAc/xfWCYUtiPA0/s400/lk.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394043158409790914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We went to see The Lion King last night and I absolutely &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;loved&lt;/span&gt; it. The actors were wonderful. And the costumes and sets were phenomenal. It completely lived up to every single one of my expectations.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7535645006169802708?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7535645006169802708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7535645006169802708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/uh-mazing.html' title='uh-mazing'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Stt9rHgkRcI/AAAAAAAABAc/xfWCYUtiPA0/s72-c/lk.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-242107968219735798</id><published>2009-10-17T18:04:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T18:04:00.692-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>love him</title><content type='html'>My favorite thing in the world right now is getting to spend the weekend with him:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StnroKoJ7qI/AAAAAAAABAU/DdBIKPhPlpI/s1600-h/DSC02321.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StnroKoJ7qI/AAAAAAAABAU/DdBIKPhPlpI/s400/DSC02321.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393601104032951970" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I love my job, but I go through my workdays counting down the nights until I get to be with him (I count down nights because there are always less of those than there are days).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-242107968219735798?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/242107968219735798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/242107968219735798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/love-him.html' title='love him'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StnroKoJ7qI/AAAAAAAABAU/DdBIKPhPlpI/s72-c/DSC02321.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-9006208145002981302</id><published>2009-10-16T21:58:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-17T10:04:20.094-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>happy b-day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Stnq3tqz5aI/AAAAAAAABAM/afyrrAJiM9o/s1600-h/FlavNat+01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Stnq3tqz5aI/AAAAAAAABAM/afyrrAJiM9o/s400/FlavNat+01.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393600271625741730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Today is my older brother's birthday. I used to think that as we got older I wouldn't need my big brother to help me with things anymore. But nothing could be farther from the truth. &lt;a href="http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2008/10/happy-27th.html"&gt;Last year&lt;/a&gt; I wasn't able to make it out to see him because of school. This year I haven't been able to make it out to see him because we now live in different states. But I still love him and appreciate everything he does to help take care of me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-9006208145002981302?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9006208145002981302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9006208145002981302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/happy-b-day.html' title='happy b-day'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Stnq3tqz5aI/AAAAAAAABAM/afyrrAJiM9o/s72-c/FlavNat+01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8895864718084400837</id><published>2009-10-15T18:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-15T18:10:00.581-06:00</updated><title type='text'>it's about time</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StVQS3sPI5I/AAAAAAAABAE/v1_x0bvbBTs/s1600-h/moving-day.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 283px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StVQS3sPI5I/AAAAAAAABAE/v1_x0bvbBTs/s400/moving-day.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392304413963395986" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Two weekends ago I spent a considerable amount of time packing up our kitchen in Utah. Luis was left with the burden of doing the rest of the apartment, but I'm happy to announce that I'm finally moving into my own place today. Is it normal to wait 5 weeks before finally settling on a place to live?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8895864718084400837?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8895864718084400837'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8895864718084400837'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/its-about-time.html' title='it&apos;s about time'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StVQS3sPI5I/AAAAAAAABAE/v1_x0bvbBTs/s72-c/moving-day.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-9214823588800914736</id><published>2009-10-14T18:21:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T18:21:00.431-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='about me'/><title type='text'>caminho da roça</title><content type='html'>I have always hated bedtime. My dad used to always say "caminho da roça" when it was time for me to go to sleep. I really disliked that phrase. It always came at 9:00 sharp and there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. I had to go to bed. Even as an adult, I have preferred to go to bed late, really late. I don't know what it is about nighttime, but I have always enjoyed being up. However, now that I have to get up and get to work on time everyday I have found that I don't particularly enjoy staying up late anymore. Apparently I'm getting old.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-9214823588800914736?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9214823588800914736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/9214823588800914736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/caminho-da-roca.html' title='caminho da roça'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-3150270965482002685</id><published>2009-10-13T18:03:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-13T18:03:00.786-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outings'/><title type='text'>tapas</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;-noun&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any of various small, savory Spanish dishes, often served as a snack or with other tapas as a meal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKPcHvDF0I/AAAAAAAAA_U/It3kwoYabAI/s1600-h/DSC02317.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKPcHvDF0I/AAAAAAAAA_U/It3kwoYabAI/s400/DSC02317.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391529417191397186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;While Luis and Carolina were here last weekend, we went to this restaurant, Firefly, and they specialize in tapas. It is a good thing none of us were super hungry because tapas literally are just little bites of different foods. But it was really good. Here is one of the dishes Carolina ordered:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKQi31H-KI/AAAAAAAAA_s/ZCOqXNGSO1c/s1600-h/DSC02367.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKQi31H-KI/AAAAAAAAA_s/ZCOqXNGSO1c/s400/DSC02367.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391530632692627618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I took one bite and instantly decided that I needed to recreate it at home. It is essentially a puff pastry base with mushrooms in a cream sauce. It probably had a million calories, but it was seriously divine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKRkyuMEiI/AAAAAAAAA_0/-41b3wg-Jkw/s1600-h/DSC02373.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKRkyuMEiI/AAAAAAAAA_0/-41b3wg-Jkw/s400/DSC02373.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391531765192725026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Now I'm not a big fan of french fries, but these were also really good. They were really thin, kind of flimsy fries but loaded with herbs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And a really great part of the experience was that as we ate, we could look out and see Freemont Street and all of the craziness going on. At one point we looked over and saw two girls dangling from the ceiling doing some Cirque du Soleil-esque acrobatics.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKSdK1emII/AAAAAAAAA_8/RJx6gYZpSJ8/s1600-h/DSC02391.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKSdK1emII/AAAAAAAAA_8/RJx6gYZpSJ8/s400/DSC02391.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391532733738424450" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-3150270965482002685?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3150270965482002685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3150270965482002685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/tapas.html' title='tapas'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKPcHvDF0I/AAAAAAAAA_U/It3kwoYabAI/s72-c/DSC02317.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8631802903629756042</id><published>2009-10-12T18:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T18:19:00.132-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memory lane monday'/><title type='text'>memory lane monday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKFVTQN5aI/AAAAAAAAA-c/XWtdGNYt8Ss/s1600-h/ferry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKFVTQN5aI/AAAAAAAAA-c/XWtdGNYt8Ss/s400/ferry.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391518304907945378" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This week's memory lane monday is in honor of my sister-in-law, Carolina. The first time I met Carolina was at the end of the summer in 2007. I had just returned from doing an internship in Brazil. Luis, his brother and his sister-in-law were about to leave to go on a roadtrip to see Carolina in San Francisco and they had invited me to go. I remember instantly feeling welcome in Carolina's little apartment. Carolina was even gracious enough to sleep on a recliner chair so that I could sleep on the couch :) &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKHjO9R__I/AAAAAAAAA-k/uogo9yyquh8/s1600-h/HPIM1109.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKHjO9R__I/AAAAAAAAA-k/uogo9yyquh8/s400/HPIM1109.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391520743296204786" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Little did I know back then that Carolina would move to Utah and we would become BFFs. I don't have very many memories of this past year that don't include Carolina. She has been there for everything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We cooked an entire Thanksgiving dinner together (it was my first time ever).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKKHWxeq9I/AAAAAAAAA-s/khg3hl9PIHs/s1600-h/DSC00362.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKKHWxeq9I/AAAAAAAAA-s/khg3hl9PIHs/s400/DSC00362.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391523562892733394" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was there with Luis and me for Christmas when we were too poor to go see our parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKKc1PkNqI/AAAAAAAAA-0/Hv15X1wjNIg/s1600-h/DSC00740.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKKc1PkNqI/AAAAAAAAA-0/Hv15X1wjNIg/s400/DSC00740.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391523931849242274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were together for each other's birthdays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKLKpF9zII/AAAAAAAAA-8/_LXZlPmbqqw/s1600-h/DSC00873.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKLKpF9zII/AAAAAAAAA-8/_LXZlPmbqqw/s400/DSC00873.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391524718861732994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was there for my graduation and threw me an awesome party.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKMVYeWq0I/AAAAAAAAA_M/9rwkudA_oPU/s1600-h/IMG_5445.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKMVYeWq0I/AAAAAAAAA_M/9rwkudA_oPU/s400/IMG_5445.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391526002890812226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And those are just the big events. The list doesn't include the countless hours we've spent just hanging out or eating out or even just chatting online. But in life, there are always big changes. And this week marks a big one for Carolina. She is moving back to Texas. It makes me sad that she can't come over to my place after work and that I don't have a built-in buddy to hang out with on the weekends anymore. But I wish her the best and I hope that she accomplishes all of the goals she has set for herself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8631802903629756042?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8631802903629756042'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8631802903629756042'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/memory-lane-monday.html' title='memory lane monday'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StKFVTQN5aI/AAAAAAAAA-c/XWtdGNYt8Ss/s72-c/ferry.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-3713764483136298323</id><published>2009-10-11T18:38:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-11T18:38:00.107-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outings'/><title type='text'>where an adult can be a kid</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StGAH5Ms3MI/AAAAAAAAA-U/DEoYC40gjmY/s1600-h/DSC02346.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StGAH5Ms3MI/AAAAAAAAA-U/DEoYC40gjmY/s400/DSC02346.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391231102040726722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;With Luis in town, we decided it would be fun to go out and see some of the sights. Neither of us had ever been to see to Freemont Street so we headed down there to walk around and go eat some  tapas. I was amazed (and a little embarrassed) to see middle-aged adults "getting down"... only they couldn't dance and it just looked really awkward. I guess that is just what you get when you combine bright lights, live music, and plenty of alcohol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StF_pqgKWUI/AAAAAAAAA-E/FKqujPbkSEk/s1600-h/DSC02342.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StF_pqgKWUI/AAAAAAAAA-E/FKqujPbkSEk/s320/DSC02342.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391230582699743554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-3713764483136298323?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3713764483136298323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3713764483136298323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/where-adult-can-be-kid.html' title='where an adult can be a kid'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/StGAH5Ms3MI/AAAAAAAAA-U/DEoYC40gjmY/s72-c/DSC02346.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4855041432874317696</id><published>2009-10-10T18:00:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-10T18:00:00.274-06:00</updated><title type='text'>i don't get it</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Ss_sQuf1w9I/AAAAAAAAA98/oaGTLh2i02w/s1600-h/albertsons.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 247px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Ss_sQuf1w9I/AAAAAAAAA98/oaGTLh2i02w/s320/albertsons.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390787051089413074" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Why are some Albertson's so swanky and others so ghetto?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4855041432874317696?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4855041432874317696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4855041432874317696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-dont-get-it.html' title='i don&apos;t get it'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Ss_sQuf1w9I/AAAAAAAAA98/oaGTLh2i02w/s72-c/albertsons.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8648133137550825843</id><published>2009-10-09T18:33:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T18:33:00.123-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outings'/><title type='text'>i hope to be there</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SswGvqxatEI/AAAAAAAAA90/nT6A-5AkCcM/s1600-h/riologoolimpiadi2016.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 324px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SswGvqxatEI/AAAAAAAAA90/nT6A-5AkCcM/s400/riologoolimpiadi2016.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389690270060819522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I absolutely &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;LOVE&lt;/span&gt; Rio and I'm so excited that the Olympics are going to be there in 2016. I'm thinking that 6 years is enough advance notice to plan for it. What do you think?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8648133137550825843?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8648133137550825843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8648133137550825843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-hope-to-be-there.html' title='i hope to be there'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SswGvqxatEI/AAAAAAAAA90/nT6A-5AkCcM/s72-c/riologoolimpiadi2016.png' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1769151139351593324</id><published>2009-10-08T18:01:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-08T18:01:00.380-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outings'/><title type='text'>mmm mmm good</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SswFeexpZdI/AAAAAAAAA9k/gRooq-iKWaM/s1600-h/muffin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SswFeexpZdI/AAAAAAAAA9k/gRooq-iKWaM/s320/muffin.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389688875271153106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I love the honey oat bran muffins at Mimi's Cafe. There isn't much else that I absolutely adore on their menu, but these muffins are like eating dessert and well worth a trip to that restaurant.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1769151139351593324?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1769151139351593324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1769151139351593324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/mmm-mmm-good.html' title='mmm mmm good'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SswFeexpZdI/AAAAAAAAA9k/gRooq-iKWaM/s72-c/muffin.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2772818856651387900</id><published>2009-10-07T18:26:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T18:26:00.413-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love it'/><title type='text'>eos</title><content type='html'>Sometimes companies offer free samples of their products in hopes of getting consumers hooked. This little marketing scheme doesn't normally work on me. But let me just tell you, this time around, it worked. I came across an offer for a free lip balm a while ago. I had completely forgotten about it, but it finally came in the mail and I absolutely love it! Now I want to buy a bunch more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SsvhfH31lKI/AAAAAAAAA9U/M_TiK9_yYxU/s1600-h/eoslipbalm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SsvhfH31lKI/AAAAAAAAA9U/M_TiK9_yYxU/s200/eoslipbalm.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389649303884371106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2772818856651387900?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2772818856651387900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2772818856651387900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/eos.html' title='eos'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SsvhfH31lKI/AAAAAAAAA9U/M_TiK9_yYxU/s72-c/eoslipbalm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4403218130574830778</id><published>2009-10-06T18:23:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-06T18:26:05.526-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love it'/><title type='text'>love it</title><content type='html'>I love that when I make a wrong turn on my way to/from work, I often end up in places like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SsvfwDiTjMI/AAAAAAAAA88/mjZjJcW2beo/s1600-h/photo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SsvfwDiTjMI/AAAAAAAAA88/mjZjJcW2beo/s400/photo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389647395754839234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4403218130574830778?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4403218130574830778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4403218130574830778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/love-it.html' title='love it'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SsvfwDiTjMI/AAAAAAAAA88/mjZjJcW2beo/s72-c/photo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2673608250605618427</id><published>2009-10-05T20:27:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-05T21:23:51.021-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cooking'/><title type='text'>i'm a contributor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpMVagPfd_I/AAAAAAAAA2c/OCEpcognHOY/s1600-h/finemealwomanheader4.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 157px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpMVagPfd_I/AAAAAAAAA2c/OCEpcognHOY/s400/finemealwomanheader4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373662325458827250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is so cool! One of my friends from BYU-Hawaii recently started a food blog, &lt;a href="http://finemealwoman.blogspot.com/"&gt;Fine Meal Woman&lt;/a&gt;, and has asked me to be one of the contributors. I'm extremely flattered. I don't consider myself to be a "great cook" by any means. I generally only go as far as finding recipes that look promising and tweaking them to fit my tastes. But I do love cooking and I'm more than happy to share the great recipes that I've come across.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2673608250605618427?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2673608250605618427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2673608250605618427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/im-contributor.html' title='i&apos;m a contributor'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpMVagPfd_I/AAAAAAAAA2c/OCEpcognHOY/s72-c/finemealwomanheader4.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4976469307000190056</id><published>2009-10-04T11:47:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T12:30:09.281-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='church'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cooking'/><title type='text'>the other mormon holiday</title><content type='html'>I don't know if you are aware of this or not, but Mormons have a few un-traditional holidays that are only celebrated by them. The first, that you may already be aware of, is on July 24th, Pioneer Day. The other, comes twice a year and lasts two full days: GenCon (aka &lt;a href="http://mormon.org/mormonorg/eng/basic-beliefs/glossary/glossary-definition/general-conference"&gt;General Conference&lt;/a&gt;). Ok, so it is not officially a holiday, but it might as well be. People gather together with family and friends and most have some sort of special conference brunch. And I couldn't let the fact that my kitchen was in the process of getting all boxed up stop me from making a special conference brunch for Luis and Carolina. I managed to make a &lt;a href="http://finemealwoman.blogspot.com/2009/10/quiche.html"&gt;quiche&lt;/a&gt; and cinnamon rolls (though I wasn't about to make cinnamon rolls from scratch in the midst of all the chaos).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SsjjdYx9xjI/AAAAAAAAA78/fzzoBEM1FwM/s1600-h/DSC02266.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SsjjdYx9xjI/AAAAAAAAA78/fzzoBEM1FwM/s400/DSC02266.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388807048156530226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;P.S. I know I look pregnant in this picture, but it is just the jacket that is doing something funny. I swear, there is only quiche and cinnamon rolls in the oven.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4976469307000190056?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4976469307000190056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4976469307000190056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/other-mormon-holiday.html' title='the other mormon holiday'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SsjjdYx9xjI/AAAAAAAAA78/fzzoBEM1FwM/s72-c/DSC02266.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2986927781120616242</id><published>2009-10-03T23:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T23:24:16.711-06:00</updated><title type='text'>back online</title><content type='html'>Why hasn't Natalia blogged for a week?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A) She couldn't find an unlocked wireless connection and couldn't get online&lt;br /&gt;B) She forgot her power adapter in UT and her computer was dead for days&lt;br /&gt;C) Both A and B&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2986927781120616242?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2986927781120616242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2986927781120616242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/10/back-online.html' title='back online'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8238777705665904014</id><published>2009-09-26T14:22:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T18:35:04.185-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Karina,</title><content type='html'>Given your comment on &lt;a href="http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/cell-phones.html"&gt;this post&lt;/a&gt;, I feel that I need to dedicate a post just for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In 4 words: You just don't understand. (Or is that considered to be 4 1/2 words?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can you &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;NOT&lt;/span&gt; love the iphone? It is the epitome of uh-mazingness. I may eat my words later on, but for right now, there are just way too many great and wonderful things that are only accessible through an iphone. As you said, no, I'm not a joiner. I rarely give in to fads. But I have been extremely happy with my macbook and have never regretted that purchase (well, never regretted accepting that gift). I understand that macbooks are "trendy" but I love mine. It has nothing to do with the fact that other people like them. I'm not just trying to "be cool." I just genuinely love my macbook and I'm pretty certain I will feel the same way about my new iphone. So there!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much Love,&lt;br /&gt;Natalia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sr6yx5HYWoI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/CEztBnaD9fo/s1600-h/DSC02246.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sr6yx5HYWoI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/CEztBnaD9fo/s400/DSC02246.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385938774596803202" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8238777705665904014?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8238777705665904014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8238777705665904014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/dear-karina.html' title='Dear Karina,'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sr6yx5HYWoI/AAAAAAAAA7Y/CEztBnaD9fo/s72-c/DSC02246.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-3365852807018099994</id><published>2009-09-25T19:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-25T19:44:00.321-06:00</updated><title type='text'>the babysitter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrxUEDAYvGI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/gCzMMpmM1TI/s1600-h/dad.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrxUEDAYvGI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/gCzMMpmM1TI/s320/dad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385271682931407970" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It bothers me when people say that "dad is babysitting tonight." It is his child too! It is just as much his obligation to care for the child as it is for the mom. Therefore, it is NOT babysitting. Babysitting is when the teenager down the street comes over to watch the kids. When dad home with the kids, that is called parenting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-3365852807018099994?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3365852807018099994'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3365852807018099994'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/babysitter.html' title='the babysitter'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrxUEDAYvGI/AAAAAAAAA7Q/gCzMMpmM1TI/s72-c/dad.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8003364563295212261</id><published>2009-09-24T20:56:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T21:14:30.180-06:00</updated><title type='text'>cell phones</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Srw1cGNov5I/AAAAAAAAA7I/a5x_LDMyOx0/s1600-h/razr-v3i-v3t.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 284px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Srw1cGNov5I/AAAAAAAAA7I/a5x_LDMyOx0/s320/razr-v3i-v3t.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385238011248689042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm not sure if any of you realize this, but I'm obsessed, yes, OBSESSED with iphones. I've been wanting one ever since they came out. And I AM going to get one SOON. But that is actually not what I had planned on writing about. What I was going to say was that I think it is funny how quickly things change. For example, I watching Devil Wears Prada right now (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; that movie) and their "cool" cellphones happen to be sidekicks and razrs. RAZRs!!! Today it is all about Blackberries and iphones. No "cool" person today would be caught dead with a razr (well, of course, except me... though that is mainly due to the cellphone diasters of 2008 and 2009 which left me without my beloved no-name bar phone and my almost-as-good black cherry chocolate).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8003364563295212261?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8003364563295212261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8003364563295212261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/cell-phones.html' title='cell phones'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Srw1cGNov5I/AAAAAAAAA7I/a5x_LDMyOx0/s72-c/razr-v3i-v3t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2454305066477147610</id><published>2009-09-23T20:22:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T20:27:13.885-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='couponing'/><title type='text'>what a dollar looks like</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrrYIioXs7I/AAAAAAAAA64/XeaOa8E1KCc/s1600-h/DSC02238.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrrYIioXs7I/AAAAAAAAA64/XeaOa8E1KCc/s400/DSC02238.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384853945721533362" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Yep, that is right. $1! How did it happen? Well, the other day I had run into Albertson's to grab some cup-o-noodle for lunch and when I checked out, the cashier was super, super sweet. She then told me that if I went online and filled out a survey about my shopping experience, I could get a $2 off coupon for my next purchase. Given that she was so incredibly nice, I decided she deserved to have at least one person take the survey to say that she did a good job. So I did just that :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2454305066477147610?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2454305066477147610'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2454305066477147610'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/what-dollar-looks-like.html' title='what a dollar looks like'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrrYIioXs7I/AAAAAAAAA64/XeaOa8E1KCc/s72-c/DSC02238.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8909602022966042976</id><published>2009-09-22T20:14:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T20:19:51.211-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love it'/><title type='text'>i love...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrmFHO_W9LI/AAAAAAAAA6w/n8sdi36iIEw/s1600-h/DSC02117.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrmFHO_W9LI/AAAAAAAAA6w/n8sdi36iIEw/s400/DSC02117.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384481188827559090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Coming home and being greeted by a clean room. It makes me feel relaxed. While staying with other people, I make it a point to make my bed every morning before I leave no matter how late I may be running. And I've loved reaping the benefits of coming home and having everything neat and tidy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8909602022966042976?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8909602022966042976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8909602022966042976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-love.html' title='i love...'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrmFHO_W9LI/AAAAAAAAA6w/n8sdi36iIEw/s72-c/DSC02117.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4838364770401324784</id><published>2009-09-21T19:16:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T19:18:00.861-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>happiness is...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Srglq0DVxeI/AAAAAAAAA6o/5TwNbVRAo_k/s1600-h/us.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Srglq0DVxeI/AAAAAAAAA6o/5TwNbVRAo_k/s400/us.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5384094771978814946" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Spending the weekend with my hubby :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4838364770401324784?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4838364770401324784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4838364770401324784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/happiness-is.html' title='happiness is...'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Srglq0DVxeI/AAAAAAAAA6o/5TwNbVRAo_k/s72-c/us.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8915770313193920748</id><published>2009-09-17T20:48:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T20:54:51.785-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the bar'/><title type='text'>i know you're wondering</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrL12KsCJUI/AAAAAAAAA6U/fsqHN1ML1ZY/s1600-h/Failure.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 323px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrL12KsCJUI/AAAAAAAAA6U/fsqHN1ML1ZY/s400/Failure.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382634815591949634" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Lest anyone ask, bar results were released today. Good thing I didn't end up getting a job in Utah. I "celebrated" my failure by paying $50 for a Nevada bar application.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Just because I've told you that I didn't pass, doesn't mean I actually want to talk about it. I'm just letting you know so you don't ask.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8915770313193920748?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8915770313193920748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8915770313193920748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-know-youre-wondering.html' title='i know you&apos;re wondering'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrL12KsCJUI/AAAAAAAAA6U/fsqHN1ML1ZY/s72-c/Failure.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-3773931635673580493</id><published>2009-09-16T19:50:00.010-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-17T13:48:43.719-06:00</updated><title type='text'>i don't get it</title><content type='html'>What is the deal with morning radio shows? Why is it that all they do is talk? I wish I could listen to some music on my way to work, but nooooo. I have to listen to people blabber about random stuff. I've been listening to Luis' most favoritest show ever, Kidd Kraddick in the Morning. He has listened to this show for years and years and years. He and Carolina laugh hysterically over the stuff they talk about on the show. I'll admit I've chuckled a couple of times, but hysterical laughing? Absolutely not.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrGegxVSWBI/AAAAAAAAA6M/IYfl8NeRiUk/s1600-h/Kidd_Kraddick_Cropped.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrGegxVSWBI/AAAAAAAAA6M/IYfl8NeRiUk/s400/Kidd_Kraddick_Cropped.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382257315520075794" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-3773931635673580493?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3773931635673580493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3773931635673580493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-dont-get-it.html' title='i don&apos;t get it'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrGegxVSWBI/AAAAAAAAA6M/IYfl8NeRiUk/s72-c/Kidd_Kraddick_Cropped.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4118179088312204781</id><published>2009-09-15T20:55:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T21:04:19.699-06:00</updated><title type='text'>those crazy drivers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrBT8hkOsNI/AAAAAAAAA6E/92SAff3teOc/s1600-h/traffic+jam.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 260px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrBT8hkOsNI/AAAAAAAAA6E/92SAff3teOc/s400/traffic+jam.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381893853975326930" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I've drive in a few different states and it seems like each state has its little quirks when it comes to its drivers. Utah drivers always complain about California drivers. California drivers complain about Utah drivers. And so on and so forth. Because I understand this, I'm not one to complain too much about people's driving. But today on my way in to work, a guy cut me off! And when I say cut me off, I mean one minute I was in my lane with half a car length between me and the guy in front of me (I try to be super careful when I'm driving a rental) and the next thing I know, this guy quickly worms his way in. Which would be no big deal for other drivers, but you'd think that someone who doesn't even have license plates yet on his brand spankin' new Mercedes would want to take better care of his car.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4118179088312204781?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4118179088312204781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4118179088312204781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/those-crazy-drivers.html' title='those crazy drivers'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SrBT8hkOsNI/AAAAAAAAA6E/92SAff3teOc/s72-c/traffic+jam.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8684548568179395541</id><published>2009-09-14T20:23:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-14T20:23:00.595-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memory lane monday'/><title type='text'>memory lane monday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sq3GAMtgdeI/AAAAAAAAA58/Ap6uE4nk-Xg/s1600-h/Las+Vegas-Natalia-Felipe-Flavio-1992.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 277px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sq3GAMtgdeI/AAAAAAAAA58/Ap6uE4nk-Xg/s400/Las+Vegas-Natalia-Felipe-Flavio-1992.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381174836492006882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I remember being a kid and going on a couple of family vacations to Las Vegas. We always stayed at Circus Circus. I now see Circus Circus on my way to work every morning, and am always reminded of how much fun I had on those trips. We got to ride trams (as you can see in the pic, we always wanted to sit at the front and wave to the other trams as they passed), see cool things, play for hours and hours at the pool, and eat whatever we wanted at the buffets. My favorite trip was one where I was got a ton of tickets at the kids' arcade and redeemed them for a stuffed animal. I believe it was a cat. I don't know why I remember that, but I do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8684548568179395541?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8684548568179395541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8684548568179395541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/memory-lane-monday.html' title='memory lane monday'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sq3GAMtgdeI/AAAAAAAAA58/Ap6uE4nk-Xg/s72-c/Las+Vegas-Natalia-Felipe-Flavio-1992.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2432258125777427553</id><published>2009-09-13T17:05:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T17:11:35.324-06:00</updated><title type='text'>1 in 8 million</title><content type='html'>Go see this: &lt;a href="http://www.nytimes.com/packages/html/nyregion/1-in-8-million/index.html#/naisi_zhao"&gt;1 in 8 million&lt;/a&gt;. I've been watching/listening to several of the profiles featured and I really like them :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2432258125777427553?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2432258125777427553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2432258125777427553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/1-in-8-million.html' title='1 in 8 million'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-6394299998668331892</id><published>2009-09-12T23:07:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T23:09:06.320-06:00</updated><title type='text'>oops</title><content type='html'>I accidentally bought distilled water. Am I going to die if I drink it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-6394299998668331892?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6394299998668331892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6394299998668331892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/oops.html' title='oops'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-670414526968698805</id><published>2009-09-11T20:35:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-11T20:35:00.462-06:00</updated><title type='text'>i have to do this</title><content type='html'>I really want to be part of one of these sometime&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/T22VEBznFVo&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/T22VEBznFVo&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-670414526968698805?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/670414526968698805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/670414526968698805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-have-to-do-this.html' title='i have to do this'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4501951423685752103</id><published>2009-09-10T20:15:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-10T20:15:00.242-06:00</updated><title type='text'>wallets</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqkKtcxV3yI/AAAAAAAAA50/MfQgTpdMh5w/s1600-h/wallet.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqkKtcxV3yI/AAAAAAAAA50/MfQgTpdMh5w/s400/wallet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379843005804306210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Why do men put their wallets in their back pockets? It must be very uncomfortable when they sit down. I don't think I would ever get accustomed to sitting on a lump.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4501951423685752103?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4501951423685752103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4501951423685752103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/wallets.html' title='wallets'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqkKtcxV3yI/AAAAAAAAA50/MfQgTpdMh5w/s72-c/wallet.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-5798828044492529569</id><published>2009-09-09T20:32:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T20:32:00.214-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='weight'/><title type='text'>yikes</title><content type='html'>Holy guacamole. It is almost mid-September. My New Year's resolution to lose a billion pounds has yet to come to fruition (well... I lost 10 but that was due to the ridiculous amount of stress I felt preparing for the bar). But my knee has been hurting a lot lately. And it is hot outside. Man, these excuses are lame. Time to recommit... as soon as I find a place to live and get some sort of regular schedule going.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-5798828044492529569?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5798828044492529569'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5798828044492529569'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/yikes.html' title='yikes'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1227966271747167866</id><published>2009-09-08T21:14:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-08T22:42:56.535-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>all grown up</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqcjpixnXyI/AAAAAAAAA5s/cxJ9UphCfpU/s1600-h/first+day.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 213px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqcjpixnXyI/AAAAAAAAA5s/cxJ9UphCfpU/s400/first+day.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379307476533862178" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This was me as I was walking out the door for my very first day of the first real job I've ever had in my whole entire life. I've never had a full-time job with benefits before. Every job I've ever had has always been just a part-time student gig.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if you know this, but I've wanted to be a lawyer my whole life. Ever since I was little, anytime anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I always told them that I wanted to be a lawyer. And it is kind of crazy that I have actually made it. After all of the hard work, after all of the tears, after all of the disappointment, I was finally doing what I had set out to do when I was just a kid. This morning as I was walking in the door to my very own office (it is tiny, but it is mine), I couldn't help but be so grateful for this huge blessing that I was just given.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my first day went pretty well. I managed only to get lost twice on my way to work and once on my way home (and then once again on my way back home from Walmart). But the people at the firm were great and for the most part I was able to forget about the fact that I miss my husband so so much (up until I talked to him on the phone, and then I cried and cried and cried).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1227966271747167866?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1227966271747167866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1227966271747167866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/all-grown-up.html' title='all grown up'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqcjpixnXyI/AAAAAAAAA5s/cxJ9UphCfpU/s72-c/first+day.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-5426764170001954363</id><published>2009-09-07T20:12:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T20:24:50.267-06:00</updated><title type='text'>just not my style</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqW_8mBF4LI/AAAAAAAAA5k/LHEJu2bB7js/s1600-h/jeep.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 350px; height: 262px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqW_8mBF4LI/AAAAAAAAA5k/LHEJu2bB7js/s400/jeep.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378916377682108594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Since when was this car considered to be "like" a Hyundai Accent? I'm renting a car for a few days, and I asked for a compact car. Something that would be small, inexpensive and would get good gas mileage. The website said that I would get a Hyundai Accent or something comparable to it. Apparently, though, they were all out of those and instead I walked away with a Jeep Wrangler. The 14-year-old Natalia would have loved this car. The 26-year-old Natalia just gets annoyed with how noisy the removable top becomes when driving down the freeway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-5426764170001954363?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5426764170001954363'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5426764170001954363'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/just-not-my-style.html' title='just not my style'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqW_8mBF4LI/AAAAAAAAA5k/LHEJu2bB7js/s72-c/jeep.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1598875472550883460</id><published>2009-09-06T08:18:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-06T08:18:00.753-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='church'/><title type='text'>teaching the kids</title><content type='html'>Today will be our last day teaching the 8-11 year olds in church. As crazy as they can be sometimes, I'm honestly going to miss them. We have had a lot of fond memories these last few months of things we've been able to do with them, questions they've asked us about the gospel, and even some of the funny (but inappropriate for the sabbath) things they've said (we try really hard not to laugh so that we can set a good example for them).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last month, when it was our turn to teach all of the kids (ages 3-11), and I wanted to come up with something where they would all get to participate. I also wanted to just use items that we already had in our house (ok, ok, so I didn't start preparing the lesson until that Sunday morning, and I had to figure out how to make do with what we had). Anyway, I came up with a concept of building a house. Each child received an important piece of the house (which illustrated that each individual in our family is very important). Then they wrote/drew something they can do to help strengthen their family. And then they got to tape it onto the big house blueprint that Luis had drawn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Snppd-0NZoI/AAAAAAAAAxA/ic5HWs1zXmk/s1600-h/kid+house.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Snppd-0NZoI/AAAAAAAAAxA/ic5HWs1zXmk/s400/kid+house.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366717869764470402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I loved how it turned out and the kids were so proud of the house that they built. I still haven't put away the house, and it makes me smile every time I see it sitting in the corner.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1598875472550883460?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1598875472550883460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1598875472550883460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/teaching-kids.html' title='teaching the kids'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Snppd-0NZoI/AAAAAAAAAxA/ic5HWs1zXmk/s72-c/kid+house.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-622067729745115571</id><published>2009-09-05T08:38:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-05T08:38:00.303-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>vegas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sp4CsaPsi8I/AAAAAAAAA4k/cVgJPoDia34/s1600-h/lasvegas_sign.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sp4CsaPsi8I/AAAAAAAAA4k/cVgJPoDia34/s400/lasvegas_sign.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376737967109606338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Last week I had a phone interview with a law firm in Las Vegas and before I knew it, I was packing my bags and driving down for a 2nd interview. It all seemed so perfect. Too perfect. When I hadn't heard anything back by Thursday I was convinced I didn't get the job. But Friday morning that 702 area code started blinking on my phone, and I was offered the job! We know this new change is not going to be an easy one. I will be working a lot, I'll have to take another bar exam, and Luis will be staying behind to finish school because transferring would put him way too far behind at this point (he graduates in April). But we feel that this job is  a &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;huge &lt;/span&gt;blessing for us, and we are both really excited for this next stage of our lives.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-622067729745115571?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/622067729745115571'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/622067729745115571'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/vegas.html' title='vegas'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sp4CsaPsi8I/AAAAAAAAA4k/cVgJPoDia34/s72-c/lasvegas_sign.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4846512431569067577</id><published>2009-09-04T08:01:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T08:01:00.378-06:00</updated><title type='text'>babies look sad</title><content type='html'>I sometimes wonder what babies are thinking. Sometimes they just look so unhappy and I wonder if they are really unhappy or if I just have unrealistic expectations that babies should smile all the time. I mean, look at newborns. They should be the happiest people in the world. Everyone smiles at them and tells them how beautiful/handsome they are, and they do nothing but just stare back. Maybe they're staring at you because they know that they're not as cute as they will be once they're about 6-months old and they're trying to figure out what it is that you see in them. Or maybe they just think we're weird. Or maybe they just haven't developed enough cognitive skills to smile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqCXm9XNkMI/AAAAAAAAA5c/CLU1ZDtia3Y/s1600-h/baby-with-evil-look.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 367px; height: 261px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqCXm9XNkMI/AAAAAAAAA5c/CLU1ZDtia3Y/s400/baby-with-evil-look.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377464650643116226" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;(For the record, I don't know this child)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4846512431569067577?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4846512431569067577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4846512431569067577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/babies-look-sad.html' title='babies look sad'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SqCXm9XNkMI/AAAAAAAAA5c/CLU1ZDtia3Y/s72-c/baby-with-evil-look.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8679670073833392734</id><published>2009-09-03T08:05:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T08:05:00.173-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>feeling like a 16-year-old</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sp9C51sbGuI/AAAAAAAAA5U/OTItqz0Vgfk/s1600-h/phone-hatred.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sp9C51sbGuI/AAAAAAAAA5U/OTItqz0Vgfk/s400/phone-hatred.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5377090041537043170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Remember when you were a teenager and you talked to a boy at school and he got your "digits" so you sat by the phone waiting and waiting, hoping and praying he would call? Well, here I am 10 years later, and am once again having a mild heart attack every time the phone rings. Only this time, instead of it being a boy, it is an employer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8679670073833392734?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8679670073833392734'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8679670073833392734'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/feeling-like-16-year-old.html' title='feeling like a 16-year-old'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sp9C51sbGuI/AAAAAAAAA5U/OTItqz0Vgfk/s72-c/phone-hatred.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8897290443013744537</id><published>2009-09-02T08:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T08:19:00.395-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='about me'/><title type='text'>on being ok</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sp4MOFchXsI/AAAAAAAAA5E/e6LnMotKcuY/s1600-h/crying.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sp4MOFchXsI/AAAAAAAAA5E/e6LnMotKcuY/s400/crying.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376748441246457538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Have you ever seen someone crying in public? I've noticed that when asked what is wrong, people generally respond, "Oh nothing, I'm fine." I wonder why we feel like we need to pretend to be doing fine when obviously&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; something&lt;/span&gt; is wrong. Why is it so difficult to say you're sad? So difficult to say that something isn't working out? So difficult to simply be honest. Someone once told me that when things are rough, "Just fake it 'til you make it." But why should we have to fake it? Everyone goes through hard times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be honest, these last few months have been really, really tough. I have always had extremely high expectations of myself, and it just felt like nothing was going the way it was supposed to. Fortunately I have an amazing husband and wonderful family members who are always there for me when I need words of encouragement and a listening ear. I love them :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8897290443013744537?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8897290443013744537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8897290443013744537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/on-being-ok.html' title='on being ok'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sp4MOFchXsI/AAAAAAAAA5E/e6LnMotKcuY/s72-c/crying.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7244609234378082248</id><published>2009-09-01T07:43:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T07:43:00.543-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>"don't blog about this, they'll think i'm an ogre"</title><content type='html'>I was in the middle of decorating a Twilight cake. As you can see, it was a somewhat labor-intensive, messy process. Luis then comes out of his room, grabs a glass and a pitcher of water and then starts heading back down the hallway. My first thought was why on earth he needed a whole pitcher of water. So I asked. I'm not sure why I asked, I should have known the answer would be dumb, but I did it anyway. "It's just in case I need another glass of water after this one." Yes, you heard it right, he was simply too lazy to get up from his computer again and walk the 10 steps it takes to get to the kitchen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGcPir1ZPI/AAAAAAAAA2E/6BQmKJCYvRs/s1600-h/DSC01958.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGcPir1ZPI/AAAAAAAAA2E/6BQmKJCYvRs/s400/DSC01958.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373247621252343026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;But there is more. He was also using the abnormal quantity of water as a way to stave off hunger. You see, he was also too lazy to make himself something to eat. So then he says, "But if you want me to come out again, you can make me a sandwich." Um, does he not see the entire kitchen in mass disarray and a halfway finished cake that I'm working on right now? No, it is not possible he is suggesting that I make &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;him&lt;/span&gt; a sandwich when I haven't even stopped to make myself anything to eat yet. (These were the actual thoughts that went through my head). My actual response was, "Ok, I'll make you a sandwich, but I'm going to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;have&lt;/span&gt; blog about this!"&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGe09V5QUI/AAAAAAAAA2M/g_gR7u3br1M/s1600-h/DSC01959.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGe09V5QUI/AAAAAAAAA2M/g_gR7u3br1M/s400/DSC01959.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373250463086494018" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;(This is Luis eating his sandwich and begging me not to blog about this)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7244609234378082248?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7244609234378082248'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7244609234378082248'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/09/dont-blog-about-this-theyll-think-im.html' title='&quot;don&apos;t blog about this, they&apos;ll think i&apos;m an ogre&quot;'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGcPir1ZPI/AAAAAAAAA2E/6BQmKJCYvRs/s72-c/DSC01958.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-5666783894640466757</id><published>2009-08-31T08:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T09:06:39.401-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='about me'/><title type='text'>if this were 1960</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpRdfC1K-XI/AAAAAAAAA20/cPSrrCbWnDo/s1600-h/1960.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 303px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpRdfC1K-XI/AAAAAAAAA20/cPSrrCbWnDo/s400/1960.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374023043277060466" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is what I would look like if we were living in 1960: flippy dress, short gloves, white pearls.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-5666783894640466757?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5666783894640466757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5666783894640466757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/if-this-were-1960.html' title='if this were 1960'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpRdfC1K-XI/AAAAAAAAA20/cPSrrCbWnDo/s72-c/1960.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4958943096188735669</id><published>2009-08-30T15:13:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T15:23:16.784-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='church'/><title type='text'>tough issues</title><content type='html'>There are days when teaching the primary kids just breaks my heart. What do you tell an eleven-year-old when a lesson in church is about families and she raises her hand to say that two of her grandparents are dead and the other two hate her? (And you know she is probably not exaggerating).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4958943096188735669?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4958943096188735669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4958943096188735669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/tough-issues.html' title='tough issues'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2572751594927149107</id><published>2009-08-27T08:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-27T08:20:00.836-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love it'/><title type='text'>cake wrecks</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;When professional cakes go horribly, hilariously wrong :)&lt;br /&gt;I love this blog!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWGCoTfJnI/AAAAAAAAA3s/4ZS0vzpYJWM/s1600-h/cw+5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWGCoTfJnI/AAAAAAAAA3s/4ZS0vzpYJWM/s400/cw+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374349110073566834" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWGM3Oa7NI/AAAAAAAAA4E/2HpRZJBxb0I/s1600-h/cw+9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWGM3Oa7NI/AAAAAAAAA4E/2HpRZJBxb0I/s400/cw+9.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374349285877542098" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWGGICKKtI/AAAAAAAAA30/o8CR16700b4/s1600-h/cw+7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWGGICKKtI/AAAAAAAAA30/o8CR16700b4/s400/cw+7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374349170130430674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWF_IdZdWI/AAAAAAAAA3k/FUtMeB3sWVY/s1600-h/cw+3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWF_IdZdWI/AAAAAAAAA3k/FUtMeB3sWVY/s400/cw+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374349049985594722" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWF6Koee-I/AAAAAAAAA3c/WnRSRTCgYXs/s1600-h/cw+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWF6Koee-I/AAAAAAAAA3c/WnRSRTCgYXs/s400/cw+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374348964669586402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWF12wHHzI/AAAAAAAAA3U/ILByM0Ei6XI/s1600-h/cw+1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWF12wHHzI/AAAAAAAAA3U/ILByM0Ei6XI/s400/cw+1.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374348890613423922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com/"&gt;http://cakewrecks.blogspot.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2572751594927149107?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2572751594927149107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2572751594927149107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/cake-wrecks.html' title='cake wrecks'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpWGCoTfJnI/AAAAAAAAA3s/4ZS0vzpYJWM/s72-c/cw+5.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-122801609451378922</id><published>2009-08-26T09:37:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-26T10:11:57.641-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='school'/><title type='text'>luis' big day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;First day of kindergarten and First day of senior year of college&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpRPjO5gCGI/AAAAAAAAA2s/3jT5c3himro/s1600-h/firstday.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 248px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpRPjO5gCGI/AAAAAAAAA2s/3jT5c3himro/s400/firstday.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374007722073131106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpVdCmyX6zI/AAAAAAAAA28/lKD5AP1bYHQ/s1600-h/DSC01980.JPG"&gt; &lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpVdCmyX6zI/AAAAAAAAA28/lKD5AP1bYHQ/s400/DSC01980.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374304029689506610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is my big boy all ready for his first day back at school :) It seems like it was only yesterday, he was getting his little red backpack and tucking in his shirt to go off to his first day of school, ever. And now he is all grown up, refusing to tuck in his shirt and is off to his last first day of school, ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the last couple of weeks I have seen everyone post pictures of their kids going back to school. So I just had to join in on the fun. I wanted to follow Luis to his classes and take pictures of him with his teachers, but he wouldn't let me. And since he doesn't line up with his friends on the sidewalk waiting for the bus to come pick him up, I had to settle for taking a picture of him getting ready and driving off to his first day of school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpVeFqSILMI/AAAAAAAAA3M/NVaXGPgoHuY/s1600-h/DSC01974.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpVeFqSILMI/AAAAAAAAA3M/NVaXGPgoHuY/s400/DSC01974.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374305181679234242" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpVeBpA9M2I/AAAAAAAAA3E/4okK_XhWYpU/s1600-h/DSC01983.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpVeBpA9M2I/AAAAAAAAA3E/4okK_XhWYpU/s400/DSC01983.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374305112619299682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-122801609451378922?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/122801609451378922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/122801609451378922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/luis-big-day.html' title='luis&apos; big day'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpRPjO5gCGI/AAAAAAAAA2s/3jT5c3himro/s72-c/firstday.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8218564699278660482</id><published>2009-08-25T08:20:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T08:20:00.064-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='holidays'/><title type='text'>it's beginning to look a lot like...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpLbKO-K-kI/AAAAAAAAA2U/mKEOZHvtBZs/s1600-h/DSC00657.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpLbKO-K-kI/AAAAAAAAA2U/mKEOZHvtBZs/s400/DSC00657.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373598274270460482" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Christmas? No, we did not just put up a Christmas tree in August. This picture was obviously from this past Christmas season. So why am I blogging about this now? Ok, pop quiz time:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is Natalia blogging about Christmas in August?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A) She thinks Christmas should be celebrated all year long.&lt;br /&gt;B) She is just really excited for Christmas in Texas this year.&lt;br /&gt;C) She didn't post any proper Christmas pictures last December and wanted to make up for it.&lt;br /&gt;D) She has been following a blog of a woman who decorates trees professionally and thinks you should check it out to get some new ideas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Technically this is a trick questions. All of the answers are correct. But, really, &lt;a href="http://teresa-grammygirlfriend.blogspot.com"&gt;this lady&lt;/a&gt; has been doing a series of tips on holiday decorating and you should definitely check her out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8218564699278660482?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8218564699278660482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8218564699278660482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/its-beginning-to-look-lot-like.html' title='it&apos;s beginning to look a lot like...'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpLbKO-K-kI/AAAAAAAAA2U/mKEOZHvtBZs/s72-c/DSC00657.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-6679925257642940979</id><published>2009-08-24T10:57:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T11:21:58.441-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memory lane monday'/><title type='text'>memory lane monday</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;As a child, I absolutely loved candy. Since we lived in apartments, my friends and I would knock on all of our neighbors' doors asking if we could take their garbage to the dumpster in return for a small monetary reward (usually a quarter). We would then run to the little store in the neighborhood to spend all of our hard-earned money on candy. What is it about sugar and artificial flavors that just makes children so happy? I have such fond memories of eating things like Jolly Ranchers, Pixie Stix, Fun Dip, Pop Rocks, Airheads, Jaw breakers... the list goes on and on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I recently bought this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SopKY_h0LGI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/Ct6Z-uFcejk/s1600-h/soap.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 280px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SopKY_h0LGI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/Ct6Z-uFcejk/s320/soap.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371187298823318626" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I smile every time I wash my hands because it smells exactly like these:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SopKRhmq_ZI/AAAAAAAAAzI/-vBklq6Wi44/s1600-h/jollyranchers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SopKRhmq_ZI/AAAAAAAAAzI/-vBklq6Wi44/s320/jollyranchers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371187170531540370" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-6679925257642940979?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6679925257642940979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6679925257642940979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/memory-lane-monday_24.html' title='memory lane monday'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SopKY_h0LGI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/Ct6Z-uFcejk/s72-c/soap.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8212645295411852783</id><published>2009-08-23T13:02:00.008-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-23T13:43:29.654-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outings'/><title type='text'>family fun</title><content type='html'>My brother and sister-in-law took us to Lagoon with them yesterday. Despite having only 5 hours of sleep the night before and the sweltering heat, we had a blast with them! I hadn't planned on actually riding very many rides (you'll see why later), but I ended up riding quite a few and had so much fun playing with the girls when the other adults went on rides that made me want to lie down on the ground in the fetal position with my thumb in my mouth while rocking myself until I made it to my happy place. I even managed to learn a few things:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGT5FOnmZI/AAAAAAAAA1k/W96b2fLjTl4/s1600-h/DSC01935.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGT5FOnmZI/AAAAAAAAA1k/W96b2fLjTl4/s400/DSC01935.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373238439295031698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;1) Putting a child between two  (as Lagoon puts it) "exceptionally large" people on spinning rides is not a good idea. The ride started going and Luis was doing everything he could to work against the momentum pushing him towards me (at one point is sounded like something snapped and we were scared the ride was going to break and we were all going to die).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGXWzcFnQI/AAAAAAAAA10/zPXeMlTbU7U/s1600-h/DSC01948.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGXWzcFnQI/AAAAAAAAA10/zPXeMlTbU7U/s400/DSC01948.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373242248450645250" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;2) Going on roller coasters with your eyes closed is not a good idea. This was one of two roller coasters I actually ended up going on. I wasn't planning on going on this ride, but as I was sitting with Hannah and Lia taking pictures, I noticed that someone was missing. I saw Flavio and Niki in the middle of the cart, but no Luis. When they got off they explained that no single riders were allowed on the ride (apparently Flavio, Niki, and Luis tried to cram into that middle section together... which obviously didn't work... I only wish I could have been there to take a picture of it). So I looked back down at the line and saw Luis just standing there, waiting and hoping someone would come down to rescue him from this unfortunate occurrence. So I ended up riding with Luis... with my eyes closed... because I was scared. When I got off the ride, not only was I hot, tired, and thirsty, but I now also had dizzy and with a little bit of whiplash to add to the list. But surprisingly, I actually enjoyed it :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGUeOYiOVI/AAAAAAAAA1s/ReuQwkGgfEM/s1600-h/DSC01941.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGUeOYiOVI/AAAAAAAAA1s/ReuQwkGgfEM/s400/DSC01941.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373239077407701330" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;1) My 3-year-old niece is much braver than I will ever be. I was dying to go on these water slides. So after sitting with Lia so that Flavio, Niki and Hannah could ride, Luis and I went to take our turn. Hannah loved it so much that Flavio took her up a 2nd time. Herein lies the problem. You had to climb stairs to get to the top of the slides. I'm completely, undeniably, 100% &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acrophobia"&gt;acrophobic&lt;/a&gt;. When I'm up too high, I get so scared that I have irrational thoughts about how to get down (like jumping).  So Luis, Flavio, Hannah and I are climbing the stairs and 2/3 of the way up I start having a full-fledged panic attack. I felt like I was going to start crying uncontrollably, have a heart attack, and die. We were so close to the top but I just couldn't make it the rest of the way. So I faced the walk of shame back down as Flavio had to tell Hannah that I was feeling "sick" and couldn't ride. It was horrible. I was so disappointed in myself for not being able to conquer my fears, not even to do something that I really wanted to do.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGZcf49p0I/AAAAAAAAA18/2Gn4zKItqFs/s1600-h/sad.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGZcf49p0I/AAAAAAAAA18/2Gn4zKItqFs/s400/sad.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373244545305519938" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;(This is Hannah being sad that she didn't get to ride the "big ones")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;But, like I said at the beginning, it was a great day and I had a blast! Thanks Flavio and Niki!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8212645295411852783?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8212645295411852783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8212645295411852783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/family-fun.html' title='family fun'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpGT5FOnmZI/AAAAAAAAA1k/W96b2fLjTl4/s72-c/DSC01935.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7555510292300333275</id><published>2009-08-22T19:04:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-22T19:23:01.844-06:00</updated><title type='text'>martinis are my favorite</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpCXW56BpNI/AAAAAAAAA1U/PEWjzXlFatw/s1600-h/martini.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 202px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpCXW56BpNI/AAAAAAAAA1U/PEWjzXlFatw/s320/martini.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372960775210116306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;As I was about to get into my car after a quick trip to the grocery store this evening, a lady came up to me and said, "Ma'am, can I ask you a question?" Usually I try to not make eye contact with anyone who tries to spark up a conversation in parking lots because they usually either want to sell me something or give them a ride somewhere (and I don't give rides to strangers). But I was feeling especially friendly and said, "Sure." Her question: "Can you tell me where the liquor store is located?" The answer I wanted to give her: "Not around here, I only know where the liquor store is located in Provo because I was told they sold grenadine there so I went one time and not only did they not have it, the employee was rude and I could feel everyone glaring at me as I got out of my little car with the BYU parking stickers."  I figured this was too much information. The answer I actually gave: "Sorry, I don't."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't drink. Never have. But if I did drink, I think my drink of choice would be a martini :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7555510292300333275?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7555510292300333275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7555510292300333275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/martinis-are-my-favorite.html' title='martinis are my favorite'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SpCXW56BpNI/AAAAAAAAA1U/PEWjzXlFatw/s72-c/martini.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4449520305898354249</id><published>2009-08-21T01:04:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T13:08:06.086-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='groceries'/><title type='text'>wonderings</title><content type='html'>I'm not sure if these are any more practical than having a child inside the shopping cart, but why were these not around when I was a child? &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoROC_Vo8LI/AAAAAAAAAyg/qhYPzhrnE5Y/s1600-h/kid+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 336px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoROC_Vo8LI/AAAAAAAAAyg/qhYPzhrnE5Y/s400/kid+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369502469001375922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4449520305898354249?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4449520305898354249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4449520305898354249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/wonderings.html' title='wonderings'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoROC_Vo8LI/AAAAAAAAAyg/qhYPzhrnE5Y/s72-c/kid+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7004650426275956549</id><published>2009-08-20T08:28:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T08:28:00.371-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>home remedy</title><content type='html'>This is probably the best home remedy I have ever come across for healing any sort of heart ailments (including, but not limited to, disappointment, stress, anxiety, and frustration):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Take 1 slumber party with an adorable 3-year-old&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Add 1 part hopscotch&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Mix with 2 parts board games&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Substitute game rules with anything your imagination desires (including pretending game pieces are people playing at playgrounds) &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Let it all simmer for about 3 hours&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Once it has cooled outside, add a trip to the park&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;And voila, you have one happy aunt, and a tired 3-year-old who will fall asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow :)&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SozlwCKKXGI/AAAAAAAAA04/AHFi7MIPL44/s1600-h/hop.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 260px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SozlwCKKXGI/AAAAAAAAA04/AHFi7MIPL44/s400/hop.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371921068922133602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SozmiJyh5TI/AAAAAAAAA1A/Rj6d7zDSAvo/s1600-h/DSC01914.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SozmiJyh5TI/AAAAAAAAA1A/Rj6d7zDSAvo/s400/DSC01914.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371921929963955506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sozm334vxXI/AAAAAAAAA1I/tsf7VPxjUWg/s1600-h/DSC01921.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sozm334vxXI/AAAAAAAAA1I/tsf7VPxjUWg/s400/DSC01921.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371922303115314546" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7004650426275956549?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7004650426275956549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7004650426275956549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/home-remedy.html' title='home remedy'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SozlwCKKXGI/AAAAAAAAA04/AHFi7MIPL44/s72-c/hop.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-470001698153929459</id><published>2009-08-19T15:06:00.011-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T15:24:08.162-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>adventures in babysitting</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;This:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoxqKd8EADI/AAAAAAAAAzo/IvtJZAxFLB8/s1600-h/DSC01892.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoxqKd8EADI/AAAAAAAAAzo/IvtJZAxFLB8/s400/DSC01892.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371785183613943858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Plus This:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Soxqpi0rEXI/AAAAAAAAAzw/IE4xZL32-dI/s1600-h/DSC01894.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Soxqpi0rEXI/AAAAAAAAAzw/IE4xZL32-dI/s400/DSC01894.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371785717501071730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Equals This:&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Soxrd5I1rrI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/FPoa-3u17jU/s1600-h/DSC01897.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Soxrd5I1rrI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/FPoa-3u17jU/s400/DSC01897.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371786616844431026" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;And This:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Soxr3Lx5t1I/AAAAAAAAA0o/JAeSxKMFZA4/s1600-h/DSC01899.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Soxr3Lx5t1I/AAAAAAAAA0o/JAeSxKMFZA4/s400/DSC01899.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371787051345229650" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:100%;"&gt;After I painted Hannah's nails this afternoon, she wanted to paint my toenails. I looked down at my completely chipped pedicure and decided it would be no big deal for her to go to town on them. So I took a chair outside (I was worried about what my carpet would look like if I let a 3-year-old paint my toenails in the living room) and let her choose whichever colors she wanted to use. When I sat down and propped up my feet on our little steps, she gave me a puzzled look and said, "Not those toenails, your other toenails." Oh, of course, she wanted to paint my "other" toenails (i.e. my fingernails). Being the wonderful aunt that I am, I let her do it. And boy did she have fun. As I was taking these pics I noticed that she was being a little too quiet. So I asked her what she was doing. Her response: "Sump-ting." I quickly looked over and realized she had decided to re-paint her nails too. "Beautiful!" she exclaimed admiring her own handiwork.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-470001698153929459?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/470001698153929459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/470001698153929459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/adventures-in-babysitting.html' title='adventures in babysitting'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoxqKd8EADI/AAAAAAAAAzo/IvtJZAxFLB8/s72-c/DSC01892.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7061373532705883319</id><published>2009-08-18T08:42:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T08:42:00.229-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outings'/><title type='text'>this is true love</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SopTJpQFW6I/AAAAAAAAAzY/RCWdSGqBhNM/s1600-h/subway_card.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 250px; height: 185px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SopTJpQFW6I/AAAAAAAAAzY/RCWdSGqBhNM/s320/subway_card.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5371196930749979554" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Luis has had the same Subway rewards card for a long time. He refused to cash in any of his points for free food... ever! I've teased him about it, saying that Subway was going to do away with the point card system and he would miss out on being able to use his points. He had over 300 points on his card! Keep in mind that each dollar that you spend at Subway gives you 1 point, and a free footlong sub is 75 points. But he always said he was "saving them" for the future.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well last night he said something I never thought I would hear him say. We were sitting in the living room and he actually offered to use his points so we could get sandwiches for dinner (which was a shocker not only because he was willing to use his points, but also because he was willing to give up having spaghetti and meatballs for dinner). It was so sweet of him. And I definitely took him up on his offer :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7061373532705883319?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7061373532705883319'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7061373532705883319'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/this-is-true-love.html' title='this is true love'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SopTJpQFW6I/AAAAAAAAAzY/RCWdSGqBhNM/s72-c/subway_card.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-5115912864406670908</id><published>2009-08-17T08:24:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-17T23:53:58.376-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memory lane monday'/><title type='text'>memory lane monday</title><content type='html'>I'm not a camper. I never have been. I find the idea of camping really exciting and fun because everyone always says that they love it. There are even times when I will suggest to a group of friends that we should go camping. I'm always the first to back out. Camping is just not something I grew up with. In fact, the only time I remember ever "camping" with my family was in the summer of 1991. We had gone down to Manti to see the big pageant, and we camped in the backyard of an acquaintance's house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SokUXrPcqYI/AAAAAAAAAzA/NVrjmVpOZrw/s1600-h/Manti-Natalia-Felipe-Flavio-Summer+1991.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 278px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SokUXrPcqYI/AAAAAAAAAzA/NVrjmVpOZrw/s400/Manti-Natalia-Felipe-Flavio-Summer+1991.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370846427593091458" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;(notice the roller skates... a camping essential)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Considering the fact that I married someone who doesn't like to camp either, I don't think I will become a camper. I do, however, have every intention of buying a tent so my future children can have camp outs in the back yard. I'll even go the 2nd mile and get a backyard fire pit so that they can roast marshmallows :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-5115912864406670908?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5115912864406670908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5115912864406670908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/memory-lane-monday_17.html' title='memory lane monday'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SokUXrPcqYI/AAAAAAAAAzA/NVrjmVpOZrw/s72-c/Manti-Natalia-Felipe-Flavio-Summer+1991.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2056954710271047166</id><published>2009-08-16T08:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T08:34:00.671-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='couponing'/><title type='text'>sunday morning happiness</title><content type='html'>Waking up Sunday morning brings happiness into my life. Sunday is the day we get to go to church, and we have a blast teaching our group of kids (there are only five of them ranging in ages from 8 to 11-years-old). But, Sunday is also great because it means that I am greeted at my door by this:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Snpr16cLkaI/AAAAAAAAAxI/BaKnjWrJegE/s1600-h/couponing.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Snpr16cLkaI/AAAAAAAAAxI/BaKnjWrJegE/s400/couponing.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366720479930061218" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My Sunday paper :) This wasteful, non-environmental friendly piece of plastic is a treasure trove. A treasure trove of coupons. I have become addicted to couponing. In fact, when Luis and I went to Hawaii earlier this summer, I requested only one thing from my sister-in-law. All I wanted was that she come by our place every Sunday and bring in my Sunday paper so that no one could steal it. I was laughed at when I made this request. People thought I was dumb for caring so much about my coupons. But a couple of weeks after we returned from Hawaii, there was an article in the newspaper about a lady in our town that got arrested for stealing people's coupons!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2056954710271047166?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2056954710271047166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2056954710271047166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/sunday-morning-happiness.html' title='sunday morning happiness'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Snpr16cLkaI/AAAAAAAAAxI/BaKnjWrJegE/s72-c/couponing.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-7366481733550343385</id><published>2009-08-15T08:20:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T08:20:00.293-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>boy or girl?</title><content type='html'>I came across this Chinese Lunar Calendar online which supposedly accurately predicts what the gender of a child is going to be based on the mother's age and the month in which the child was conceived. From what I can tell, I think it is accurate for 3 out of 4 of my mom's pregnancies (but I'm not sure if I have the ages right). For those of you who have had kids (or are pregnant and already know the gender of the baby), is it accurate for you? &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmuTWCZHKWI/AAAAAAAAAtE/OcIPjx3w5nY/s1600-h/boy+or+girl+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmuTWCZHKWI/AAAAAAAAAtE/OcIPjx3w5nY/s400/boy+or+girl+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362541788123310434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmuTZ2zp6QI/AAAAAAAAAtM/nBllRiF4skQ/s1600-h/boy+or+girl+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 297px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmuTZ2zp6QI/AAAAAAAAAtM/nBllRiF4skQ/s400/boy+or+girl+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362541853732890882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Note: I am in no way, shape or form announcing anything by this post. It is merely for  curiosity/fun :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-7366481733550343385?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7366481733550343385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/7366481733550343385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/boy-or-girl.html' title='boy or girl?'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmuTWCZHKWI/AAAAAAAAAtE/OcIPjx3w5nY/s72-c/boy+or+girl+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8260332311449746418</id><published>2009-08-14T08:12:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T08:12:00.413-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='outings'/><title type='text'>straight from el salvador</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.perdue.com/files/Pupusas_3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 367px; height: 300px;" src="http://www.perdue.com/files/Pupusas_3.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was first introduced to pupusas by a caucasian couple on my mission. All it took was one bite and I was in love. A pupusa is essentially a tortilla that has been stuffed with meat, cheese and/or beans and then topped with a shredded cabbage mix. They have honestly become one of my favorite dishes. I have yet to make them myself (and I'm scared to try... though I've heard that my mother-in-law makes the best pupusas ever... maybe she'll teach me someday).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a little place on Center Street in Provo that makes pretty good ones. It is a teeny little place with fold-up chairs and plastic tables, but really is well worth the visit (even if you don't speak spanish). Each pupusa costs $1.60, you can choose what you want them to be filled with, and they are made fresh on the spot. I usually stick with either plain cheese or a bean and cheese combo. Seriously so delish!&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoUJkpGK5fI/AAAAAAAAAyo/F0hIGKyv5hk/s1600-h/el+salvador+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 219px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoUJkpGK5fI/AAAAAAAAAyo/F0hIGKyv5hk/s400/el+salvador+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369708655820858866" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8260332311449746418?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8260332311449746418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8260332311449746418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/straight-from-el-salvador.html' title='straight from el salvador'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoUJkpGK5fI/AAAAAAAAAyo/F0hIGKyv5hk/s72-c/el+salvador+2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8804911603416314428</id><published>2009-08-13T11:25:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-13T11:34:30.416-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='groceries'/><title type='text'>i love it when...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoRM1RDmYFI/AAAAAAAAAyY/t2RED0JiFWQ/s1600-h/kid+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoRM1RDmYFI/AAAAAAAAAyY/t2RED0JiFWQ/s400/kid+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369501133727752274" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I'm grocery shopping (and totally minding my own business) when a mom will walk past me with her baby in the shopping cart and the baby looks up at me with a HUGE smile and says, "Hiii!" Those babies just seem soooo happy to be out and about seeing new people and trying to grab all of the items on the shelves. I think it is adorable, but it always makes me wonder what the moms are really moms thinking. Some moms will smile at me once I pause what I'm doing to smile and say hi back to the child. Others give me an apologetic look (I'm not sure why they would be apologizing for having a friendly child). And others just seem annoyed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8804911603416314428?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8804911603416314428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8804911603416314428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-love-it-when.html' title='i love it when...'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoRM1RDmYFI/AAAAAAAAAyY/t2RED0JiFWQ/s72-c/kid+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2067924605302508265</id><published>2009-08-12T07:52:00.010-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T08:25:42.067-06:00</updated><title type='text'>definition of crazy</title><content type='html'>For the last couple of weeks, I have meticulously put together shopping lists in order to maximize my couponing deals. But after organizing everything the way I like it, I would get to the store and half of the items would be gone. I've come to realize that couponers are crazy and in order for me to play the game, I would have to be more active. So this morning, I got up at 5:15 to get to the store. And here are the fruits of my labors:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoLKEpQZd6I/AAAAAAAAAyQ/4CdqnyiBUvQ/s1600-h/DSC01771.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoLKEpQZd6I/AAAAAAAAAyQ/4CdqnyiBUvQ/s400/DSC01771.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369075886921971618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;$7.35&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Smith's was having a great deal where you could buy 8 Kellogg's items for $1 each (plus I had coupons for most of the items). But it gets better. Kellogg's is also having a deal going on right now where you get $10 rebate when you purchase 10 participating items. What does this mean for me? Free groceries :) My total was going to be $6.35, but I found 2 packages of yogurt (not included in the Kellogg's sale) on clearance for $1.50 and I had two $1 off coupons. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was all of this worth getting up at 5:15 am? The unemployed Natalia says yes. The rational Natalia who is now exhausted but can't fall asleep again says probably not. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2067924605302508265?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2067924605302508265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2067924605302508265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/definition-of-crazy.html' title='definition of crazy'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoLKEpQZd6I/AAAAAAAAAyQ/4CdqnyiBUvQ/s72-c/DSC01771.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-2704689026235529182</id><published>2009-08-11T08:42:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T08:42:00.338-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>i'm a bad wife</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoEIMuWt9cI/AAAAAAAAAyA/7NahbiXajN4/s1600-h/spaghetti-and-meatballs.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 160px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoEIMuWt9cI/AAAAAAAAAyA/7NahbiXajN4/s320/spaghetti-and-meatballs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368581245497112002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Scene 1: Luis and Natalia celebrating their 1-year anniversary by going out to eat&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Natalia: Mmmmm, don't you just &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;love&lt;/span&gt; my pasta?&lt;br /&gt;Luis: Eh, it's ok.&lt;br /&gt;Natalia: Well, do you like your pasta?&lt;br /&gt;Luis: It's ok.&lt;br /&gt;Natalia: I don't get it. When I make you spaghetti at home you think it's the greatest thing since sliced bread. But when you order pasta at restaurants, it's always just ok?&lt;br /&gt;Luis: You don't understand, spaghetti and meatballs is soooo good!&lt;br /&gt;Natalia: Fine, I'm going to make you spaghetti and meatballs everyday until you get sick of it.&lt;br /&gt;Luis: (with a huge smile on his face) Really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Scene 2: Luis is walking out the door on his way to work in the morning and Natalia is getting ready to apply for a bunch of jobs she is either overqualified or underqualified for.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luis: Ok, I'm leaving&lt;br /&gt;Natalia: What time should I expect you for dinner?&lt;br /&gt;Luis: Um, I'm not sure. I'll let you know.&lt;br /&gt;Natalia: Sounds good. By the way, we are having spaghetti for dinner every night this week just like you wanted.&lt;br /&gt;Luis: .... oh, um, ok :-/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Scene 3: The apartment later that evening as Luis walks in the door from work&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luis: Honey, I'm home!&lt;br /&gt;Natalia: Oh, hi. ....Here's the thing. Dinner isn't ready yet. I was on the phone with my mom so it is going to be another 15 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;Luis: Ok... that's fine.&lt;br /&gt;Natalia: Um, we have a situation... I haven't gone grocery shopping yet this week which means we have no vegetables and no bread. So we are literally only having spaghetti and meatballs for dinner.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-2704689026235529182?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2704689026235529182'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/2704689026235529182'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/im-bad-wife.html' title='i&apos;m a bad wife'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SoEIMuWt9cI/AAAAAAAAAyA/7NahbiXajN4/s72-c/spaghetti-and-meatballs.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-3749876037593990161</id><published>2009-08-10T02:21:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T18:58:26.075-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><title type='text'>playing house</title><content type='html'>As a child I always loved playing house and pretending like I was the mommy. Back then I never realized that I would still love to play house as an adult. This weekend I got to play with baby Lia :) I've mentioned before that I don't have toys for little kids at my house, but it didn't matter to Lia, she just had fun playing with an unopened granola bar and a cell phone that was turned off. &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sn_ZURJxG-I/AAAAAAAAAxo/exzyNEKZDFM/s1600-h/DSC01750.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sn_ZURJxG-I/AAAAAAAAAxo/exzyNEKZDFM/s400/DSC01750.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368248223073901538" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-3749876037593990161?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3749876037593990161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/3749876037593990161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/playing-house.html' title='playing house'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sn_ZURJxG-I/AAAAAAAAAxo/exzyNEKZDFM/s72-c/DSC01750.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-355863860284128491</id><published>2009-08-08T08:07:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-08T08:07:00.669-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='work'/><title type='text'>you know it's time for a real job when...</title><content type='html'>Your glasses break and you don't have insurance to cover the cost of new glasses. So you resign yourself to using half of a popsicle stick, a rubber band, and a twisty tie to hold your glasses together until you can save up enough money for new ones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnplbgTfIrI/AAAAAAAAAw4/wDeAdkNV_1A/s1600-h/DSC01740.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnplbgTfIrI/AAAAAAAAAw4/wDeAdkNV_1A/s400/DSC01740.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366713429167907506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. After this little embarrassment, we grabbed some superglue that I had in the closet. So, no, he is not walking around looking like this. We are crossing our fingers that the superglue will hold for a few days.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-355863860284128491?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/355863860284128491'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/355863860284128491'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/you-know-its-time-for-real-job-when.html' title='you know it&apos;s time for a real job when...'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnplbgTfIrI/AAAAAAAAAw4/wDeAdkNV_1A/s72-c/DSC01740.JPG' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8023319444631873069</id><published>2009-08-07T00:10:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T00:28:04.652-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>wedding day bloopers</title><content type='html'>Rounding out the 3-part series of wedding stuff at &lt;a href="http://www.kellyskornerblog.com/"&gt;Kelly's Korner&lt;/a&gt; is the wedding today's showing of the reception/honeymoon. I've broken down this information into 6 random/funny facts about our wedding. So here it goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Fact #1: We got married on a Wednesday just so that we could stay at our reception venue as late as we wanted. I absolutely LOVED our reception! I loved the exposed brick, I loved the stamped tin ceiling,  I loved that it was small enough that it didn't feel empty but large enough to accommodate a dance floor, and I loved that most of the people that came also had a lot of fun. I LOVED that we didn't have a receiving line. It made it so that people felt comfortable just chatting with our parents without feeling like they needed to hurry along so that the next person in line could congratulate them.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmattgxLMII/AAAAAAAAAqo/W4D5N8ITWao/s1600-h/reception+4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmattgxLMII/AAAAAAAAAqo/W4D5N8ITWao/s400/reception+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361163403833061506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Fact #2: To me, my wedding cake was one of the most important aspects of the reception. I changed designs 3 times. I have always loved wedding cake, and as a child I would always get so disappointed when I saw a beautiful cake at a wedding but didn't get to eat it. So I made sure that there would be enough wedding cake for everyone in attendance. I debated for a while whether or not I should request to do the traditional "cake feeding" with a fork (I grew up eating just about everything with a fork... just ask Luis about eating fried chicken at my parents' house). I eventually decided it would be ok to not use a fork as long as the cake wasn't shoved in my face. Luis complied with that request... but I guess I needed to be more specific and I should have told him to not drop the cake down my dress either.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Smar3RTp6TI/AAAAAAAAAqY/8Qn_PO07neo/s1600-h/reception+10.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Smar3RTp6TI/AAAAAAAAAqY/8Qn_PO07neo/s400/reception+10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361161372458150194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Fact #3: I felt super awkward by the end of our money dance. EVERYONE kept wanting to dance with Luis (including Billy), but I had run out of people to dance with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Smatangp4tI/AAAAAAAAAqg/krgfGghSz7E/s1600-h/Trent+13.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 226px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Smatangp4tI/AAAAAAAAAqg/krgfGghSz7E/s400/Trent+13.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361163079225303762" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Fact #4: One of my parents' friends decided to surprise us with an opera song of some type (I'm not a huge fan of opera so I have no clue what it was, but it was nice). The thing I thought was kind of funny was that at Luis' brother also had a surprise performer at his wedding (though theirs apparently was an awful impersonator of some famous Latin singer/dancer).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnpXBjRNndI/AAAAAAAAAwo/sycU_epifuE/s1600-h/reception+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnpXBjRNndI/AAAAAAAAAwo/sycU_epifuE/s400/reception+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366697590124289490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Fact #5: We weren't sure if we wanted to show our &lt;a href="http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/love-and-marriage.html"&gt;wedding slide show&lt;/a&gt; at the reception. With brick walls, there wasn't really any place to show it and we didn't want to bother with bringing in a TV. But they had this fireplace/water feature thing that ended up being really great.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnpV43PGBeI/AAAAAAAAAwg/NGgcv0TPtDI/s1600-h/decor+09b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnpV43PGBeI/AAAAAAAAAwg/NGgcv0TPtDI/s400/decor+09b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366696341353661922" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Random Fact #6: We didn't want to spend our first night together driving to Las Vegas (a 4-5 hour drive from where we are at). So we stayed at a cute little local bed and breakfast. After we left the reception, we realized that the keys to our room were inside my purse... which I had conveniently forgotten at the reception site. Apparently people had tried to call us to tell us that I had forgotten my purse, but both of our cell phones were also in the purse. So we had to awkwardly return to the reception location to get my purse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnpbTeBXC4I/AAAAAAAAAww/jZ6ElP1N27c/s1600-h/IMG_6367.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnpbTeBXC4I/AAAAAAAAAww/jZ6ElP1N27c/s400/IMG_6367.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366702295999777666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So, yes, there were several mishaps on the day of our wedding (those of you who have been reading since the beginning of Kelly's tour remember the rings, the dress, the cake, the keys... just to name a few). But I was so happy that none of those things mattered. I was able to just laugh and enjoy it all. I know it sounds cliche but it really was the best day of my life :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8023319444631873069?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8023319444631873069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8023319444631873069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/wedding-day-bloopers.html' title='wedding day bloopers'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmattgxLMII/AAAAAAAAAqo/W4D5N8ITWao/s72-c/reception+4.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1852774172474221982</id><published>2009-08-06T10:46:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T12:20:21.322-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>love and marriage</title><content type='html'>After 365 days of seeing each other everyday and doing virtually everything together, I still get a huge smile on my face when he walks in the door at the end of the day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-8608f72efdd7ca2e" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/get_player"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="flvurl=http://v16.nonxt5.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D8608f72efdd7ca2e%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330062459%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D2045CE60A1CFEE12D80530EA51EE8583D43A5BF9.58795B77E7E4890D057430686FDD6B197BE18240%26key%3Dck1&amp;amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D8608f72efdd7ca2e%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DSoqarbTdD-0g8xUihR63mC6c_mE&amp;amp;autoplay=0&amp;amp;ps=blogger"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/get_player" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"width="320" height="266" bgcolor="#FFFFFF"flashvars="flvurl=http://v16.nonxt5.googlevideo.com/videoplayback?id%3D8608f72efdd7ca2e%26itag%3D5%26app%3Dblogger%26ip%3D0.0.0.0%26ipbits%3D0%26expire%3D1330062459%26sparams%3Did,itag,ip,ipbits,expire%26signature%3D2045CE60A1CFEE12D80530EA51EE8583D43A5BF9.58795B77E7E4890D057430686FDD6B197BE18240%26key%3Dck1&amp;iurl=http://video.google.com/ThumbnailServer2?app%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D8608f72efdd7ca2e%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw160%26sigh%3DSoqarbTdD-0g8xUihR63mC6c_mE&amp;autoplay=0&amp;ps=blogger"allowFullScreen="true" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1852774172474221982?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='enclosure' type='video/mp4' href='http://www.blogger.com/video-play.mp4?contentId=8608f72efdd7ca2e&amp;type=video%2Fmp4' length='0'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1852774172474221982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1852774172474221982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/love-and-marriage.html' title='love and marriage'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1536959033017670662</id><published>2009-08-05T11:21:00.009-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T12:56:56.899-06:00</updated><title type='text'>dreamland</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;::STARRING::&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnnTudVyb4I/AAAAAAAAAwY/4XeeYjzrD1I/s1600-h/amy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnnTudVyb4I/AAAAAAAAAwY/4XeeYjzrD1I/s200/amy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366553226092113794" border="0" /&gt;  &lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnnPkKeYWKI/AAAAAAAAAv4/T2AS5RqBaWQ/s1600-h/baby+shower.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 140px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnnPkKeYWKI/AAAAAAAAAv4/T2AS5RqBaWQ/s200/baby+shower.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366548651182676130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnnSRdUOnXI/AAAAAAAAAwI/tVqRSXBSDoE/s1600-h/amy.jpg"&gt;     &lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnnSUA6n9lI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/Sr-ArxIrlDA/s1600-h/jordan.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnnSUA6n9lI/AAAAAAAAAwQ/Sr-ArxIrlDA/s200/jordan.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366551672273761874" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Amy Rogers, a  baby shower,       and Jordan Zendejas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I had this random dream. In the first part of the dream I was pregnant with twins and someone was throwing me a baby shower. But there were only a couple of people at the baby shower and we were all just sitting around watching sports on TV (which I never do in real life). Then out of the blue someone told me that I needed to open up the gifts. As I did, I found that I had received the most random gifts ever: CTR rings in some random language, board games, a broken toy, and used play-doh. I remember looking at the gifts and trying to pretend that I was happy about them because I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. But as soon as my mom and I left the party, I turned to her with tears in my eyes and said, "What am I supposed to do with these? I'm having a baby and she is never going to need any of this stuff."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, out of nowhere, I was in a car with a few other people and I holding a little black baby girl (I'm assuming she was the baby I had been pregnant with, though I'm not sure what happened to the other twin). I was in the passenger seat and we were going down this huge hill when suddenly we drove into a massive fog. The driver honked and slammed on the breaks because we literally couldn't see 5 feet in front of us. I tried my hardest to protect the little girl I was holding, and whoever was in the back seat started yelling at me for not having her in her car seat to begin with (I'm not sure why I hadn't, I would NEVER do that in real life). Fortunately we didn't crash and I quickly put the little girl in her car seat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We then pulled into a park in Provo Canyon. When we got there, we found Luis' best friend's mom setting up. It turned out that her daughter, Amy, was having a wedding luncheon there. We all joined in to finish helping and soon a bunch of other people showed up, including my parents. As we sat down to enjoy a wonderful meal, I heard some whispering about the pavilion not being reserved. When I looked up, I saw that my friends from school, Jordan, was also getting married that day and her family had planned on using the same pavilion for her wedding reception. Her entire family was all dressed up and standing at the entrance to the pavilion giving us dirty looks and trying to decide who was going to be brave enough to come say something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I got up to go talk to them, my father-in-law told me to just leave it alone, but I wasn't having that. So I walked over and began talking with one of Jordan's older sisters. She asked why we were there and why we hadn't reserved the place. I told her that we had spoken with the park reservation people and they said that we could use the pavilion as long as no one else had reserved it. I also told her sister that if they had really wanted to have a wedding reception there, they should have spent the $100 to reserve it. I could see that she was annoyed with me, and she walked away saying that she was going to go figure out how to respond to me. I told her that if they really wanted that particular pavilion, we would be finished with our luncheon in about an hour and we would be willing to stay to help them set up for her reception.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, Amy won out. We stayed at the pavilion having our lunch. I'm not sure whether Jordan's family was going to come back after we finished eating. In fact, I'm not sure why it was these two girls who were getting married. Amy is only 16 right now, and Jordan would never have a wedding reception in a pavilion (I don't think).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1536959033017670662?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1536959033017670662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1536959033017670662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/dreamland.html' title='dreamland'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnnTudVyb4I/AAAAAAAAAwY/4XeeYjzrD1I/s72-c/amy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-8283674830398245391</id><published>2009-08-04T08:12:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T08:12:00.427-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='couponing'/><title type='text'>free milk</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://msnbcmedia2.msn.com/j/msnbc/Components/Photos/070530/070530_dairyprices_vmed_2p.widec.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 430px;" src="http://msnbcmedia2.msn.com/j/msnbc/Components/Photos/070530/070530_dairyprices_vmed_2p.widec.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I got two gallons of milk today for free. Yes, completely free. How did I manage to do this? Well, milk was on sale at Smith's (2 for $3). I had two $0.75 off coupons, and Smith's was doubling all coupons (which then brought up the coupon to $1.50 each).  Now you may be saying to yourself, "But Natalia hates milk, why on earth would she need 2 gallons of the stuff?" Honestly, I don't. We throw out milk all of the time at my house. But my coupons were about to expire and I couldn't pass up the opportunity for the free milk. So I got the two gallons, kept one for us and gave the other to Luis' best friend's family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There were a couple of other items that I should have been able to get for free, but I didn't go to the grocery store until around 6 pm. By the time I got there, the shelves were wiped clean!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-8283674830398245391?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8283674830398245391'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/8283674830398245391'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/free-milk.html' title='free milk'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-463161347635385027</id><published>2009-08-03T08:09:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T08:09:00.271-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='memory lane monday'/><title type='text'>memory lane monday</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnVP_QOzO0I/AAAAAAAAAvw/WH0zKlHQfjI/s1600-h/900.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnVP_QOzO0I/AAAAAAAAAvw/WH0zKlHQfjI/s400/900.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365282479189211970" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;See this spot? It may have no significance to any of you, but there is definitely a story that goes along with this little grassy patch. You see, I would sometimes ride my bike to school as a child. One day, as I was leaving school when I was 8- or 9-years-old, I felt the need to go to the bathroom. I didn't want to get left behind by my friends so I figured I would just go when I got home. Well, somewhere along the way I realized that I wasn't going to make it. As a million embarrassing scenarios crossed my mind, I did the only thing I could think of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I slowed down my pedaling so that my friends would just leave me behind and stopped at the church hoping and praying that it would be unlocked. No such luck. So I ran over to this grassy patch in the parking lot, sat down under the big tree (there used to be a tree there), and pretended like I was just relaxing. A couple of other kids rode past on their bikes while I was sitting there and asked what I was doing. I told them I was tired and just needed to rest (I'm not sure how believable this was considering I was only 2 blocks away from home at this point). A moment later, feeling completely relieved, I got back on my bike and pedaled the rest of the way home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got home a group of kids were already outside playing. Seeing my wet shorts they yelled, "Natalia peed her pants!" I couldn't let this be the defining moment in my childhood, so my response was, "No I didn't, I sat on the grass and it was wet!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-463161347635385027?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/463161347635385027'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/463161347635385027'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/memory-lane-monday.html' title='memory lane monday'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnVP_QOzO0I/AAAAAAAAAvw/WH0zKlHQfjI/s72-c/900.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-5193372153714994587</id><published>2009-08-02T08:00:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-02T02:39:26.699-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>my version vs. his version</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnU3ocmQENI/AAAAAAAAAvg/yy3IlC9gs1E/s1600-h/me+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnU3ocmQENI/AAAAAAAAAvg/yy3IlC9gs1E/s320/me+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365255699092738258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnU3ro6gSMI/AAAAAAAAAvo/-QfwlZLtNXU/s1600-h/luis+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer; width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnU3ro6gSMI/AAAAAAAAAvo/-QfwlZLtNXU/s320/luis+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5365255753938520258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband thinks I "exaggerate" when I tell stories about him. I think he exaggerates when he tells stories about me. For example:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My version: &lt;/span&gt;I went to grab some lunch out of the fridge. I noticed that there was only enough chili left for one person. So I sweetly went to my husband and asked him if he would like me to heat it up and add some cheese and ranch to it for him (that is how he likes it). He said no. So I asked if it would be ok for me to eat it. He said it would be fine. So I heated up the chili and sat down to enjoy my lunch. Not five minutes later, he comes stomping out saying, &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"WHERE IS MY FOOD?!?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;His version: &lt;/span&gt;I was sitting at my computer, minding my own business, when my wife walks in with this wonderful bowl of chili and says, "You didn't want any of this, did you?" I knew she loved that chili and there wasn't enough for both of us, so I said, "No sweetheart, you go ahead and eat it." A few hours later (after realizing I hadn't eaten anything all day), I came out into the living room and solemnly said, "I'm a little hungry, is there anything I can grab to eat really quick?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I don't know. I think my version is pretty accurate, but I'm pretty sure he won't agree. I guess that if we ever want to get to the bottom of this, we are going to need to set up hidden cameras to capture every conversation we have together.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-5193372153714994587?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5193372153714994587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/5193372153714994587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-version-vs-his-version.html' title='my version vs. his version'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnU3ocmQENI/AAAAAAAAAvg/yy3IlC9gs1E/s72-c/me+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1107397050403058291</id><published>2009-08-01T11:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2009-08-01T11:35:50.548-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='cooking'/><title type='text'>taste bud heaven</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmlZXzr-x6I/AAAAAAAAAs0/3z6vf9nSbSA/s1600-h/petit+four.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmlZXzr-x6I/AAAAAAAAAs0/3z6vf9nSbSA/s320/petit+four.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361915096907827106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I've never had petit fours, but in my mind I imagine that they are something like taste bud heaven. I know a lot of people who are obsessed with cupcakes, but quite honestly I'm not a huge fan. A single cupcake always seems to have more frosting than should be lawful to put on an entire cake. Which is why the petit four seems so appealing to me. A think layer of fondant covering a delicate bite-size cake filled with... I don't know what they are filled with, but I bet whatever it is, it must be divine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1107397050403058291?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1107397050403058291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1107397050403058291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/08/taste-bud-heaven.html' title='taste bud heaven'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmlZXzr-x6I/AAAAAAAAAs0/3z6vf9nSbSA/s72-c/petit+four.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-1335870230363155894</id><published>2009-07-30T23:03:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T01:02:46.716-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='marriage'/><title type='text'>the party</title><content type='html'>It is &lt;a href="http://kellyskornerblog.com/"&gt;Kelly's Korner&lt;/a&gt; day again :) This week is show us your wedding party, flowers, and ceremony:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So first of all, a shout out to the people who made it all possible: our parents&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sm_MWqpj5_I/AAAAAAAAAuE/DDVNNXRI0xA/s1600-h/family+03.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sm_MWqpj5_I/AAAAAAAAAuE/DDVNNXRI0xA/s400/family+03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363730370999347186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got married in good ol' Provo, Utah. We had a choice between getting married in Texas (where Luis is from), Hawaii (where my parents live), or in Utah (where we were both living while going to school). We chose to stay in Utah because that was the only way we would be able to have the vast majority of our family/friends in attendance and it was more important for us to be surrounded by the people we love than it was for us to take pictures at the beach. We thought it would be special to get married at the Provo temple because Luis' parents got married there. Luis has always really liked this temple, and he didn't want to get married in one of the other "overcrowded" Utah temples. We knew we would be the only ones there that day, and it was absolutely wonderful. And although, as a child, I always thought the Provo temple was really ugly, I've grown to really love it.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnKVFMGT2CI/AAAAAAAAAvM/qO_RrqllAgI/s1600-h/029.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnKVFMGT2CI/AAAAAAAAAvM/qO_RrqllAgI/s400/029.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364514022531258402" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We loved that we were able to include most of our very best friends in our wedding party. My bridesmaids included my little sister, one of my best friends from college, 2 great friends from law school, and the three roommates I was living with at the time. With everyone being in different stages of their lives (some in college, others recently graduated, and some unemployed), we didn't want our wedding to be a financial burden on anyone. So we opted to not get expensive dresses or tuxes so that they could all participate. And it was wonderful being able to have them all there with us :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I only specified that I wanted the bridesmaids to wear black, short sleeved, tea-length dresses. The rest was up to them. I love that they looked like a cohesive unit and yet each dress matched the girls' personalities. No one was made to feel stupid wearing their dress, and at least it was something they would be able to wear over and over again.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sm_LiEGcyCI/AAAAAAAAAtk/Ln4-Yv4R0wE/s1600-h/girls+05.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sm_LiEGcyCI/AAAAAAAAAtk/Ln4-Yv4R0wE/s400/girls+05.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363729467298334754" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for the boys, Luis got a tux (he insisted on getting one with a vest) and we had the rest of the guys just wear their dark church suits that they already owned. We then gave each of them a sage green tie to wear.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sm_ME-IHwFI/AAAAAAAAAt8/tdFC8ysOK6Y/s1600-h/men+14.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sm_ME-IHwFI/AAAAAAAAAt8/tdFC8ysOK6Y/s400/men+14.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5363730066990153810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is one of my favorite pictures that I posted last week of my bouquet and my ring:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnJ-N5XdKZI/AAAAAAAAAu0/3xqhXk5TdwM/s1600-h/temple+candid+12.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnJ-N5XdKZI/AAAAAAAAAu0/3xqhXk5TdwM/s400/temple+candid+12.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364488883354282386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Luis and I decided to get married, both my parents and his parents wanted to do everything they could to help us. Unfortunately, neither of them live anywhere near us. So I was basically handed the money for the wedding and told to do whatever I wanted with it. In the past when I had thought about my wedding, I had always told myself that I would either go all out or not bother to do anything at all. So when it was time to actually plan my wedding, I tried to get the best of both worlds. I tried to be as economical as I could while still having all of the things I had ever wanted for my wedding.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my roommates at the time, Robin (third from the left in the bridesmaids pictures), had worked with flowers before and she offered to do all of my flowers for me. Since I didn't want anything too crazy or over-the-top, I took her up on the offer. Gerbera daisies are my favorite flowers and I was able to find them really inexpensively through Sam's Club. So the day before my wedding, our house turned into a mini florist shop. There were flowers everywhere,  and all of the roommates (along with a few friends), pitched in to help. I absolutely loved the way they turned out. I loved the contrast of the flower's colors with the bridesmaid's black dresses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was completely uninterested in keeping my bouquet. I know a lot of people keep them and preserve them, but I had no desire to do that. So I didn't even bother to have a second bouquet made for throwing purposes. So when all of the single girls got together for me to throw the bouquet, I threw my actual bouquet. And I have never regretted it. Plus it was cute because my little sister ended up catching it :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-1335870230363155894?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1335870230363155894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/1335870230363155894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/07/party.html' title='the party'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/Sm_MWqpj5_I/AAAAAAAAAuE/DDVNNXRI0xA/s72-c/family+03.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-93941215462852717</id><published>2009-07-30T08:27:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T08:27:00.325-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='home'/><title type='text'>rewiring my brain</title><content type='html'>Luis and I both have mothers who are (for lack of a better word) neat freaks. I haven't spent a whole lot of time at Luis' parents' house, but at my house, cleaning happened on a daily basis. It was not unheard of for my mom to say, "Can you help clean the living room?" And to receive a response of, "Clean what? Everything is clean already!" As a child, it drove me bonkers to have to vacuum, what to me seemed like imaginary dirt particles. But one thing I knew for sure, if I left my room messy in the morning when I left to go to school, it would be spotless when I got home. I liked that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnFgHap1sDI/AAAAAAAAAus/OMyFopasgxQ/s1600-h/Natalia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnFgHap1sDI/AAAAAAAAAus/OMyFopasgxQ/s400/Natalia.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364174311705129010" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now living in my own home, when I leave my room messy in the morning, it is still messy when I come home. I hate it. I honestly feel so much more stressed when I come home to a mess. And, to be honest, I've let my apartment go. For the last two weeks I've completely focused my energy on studying and I've completely ignored my home (Luis: thank you for picking up the slack). I need to change. That is why for the next 30 days, I'm setting about to rewire my brain. I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;need&lt;/span&gt; to create the habit of staying on top of the cleaning on a daily basis so that it never gets out of control again. Do any of you have tips/schedules for keeping your homes clean and organized?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. For those who may be wondering, the bar went ok (I think). I won't get my results for 8-10 weeks. I was super nervous the night before the first day of testing, but I woke up feeling good. On the second day I found myself struggling to concentrate. I was soooo bored with the 200 multiple choice questions. But I finished the exam with a good 30 minutes to spare.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-93941215462852717?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/93941215462852717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/93941215462852717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/07/rewiring-my-brain.html' title='rewiring my brain'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SnFgHap1sDI/AAAAAAAAAus/OMyFopasgxQ/s72-c/Natalia.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-6622264907526406478</id><published>2009-07-29T20:00:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-29T20:00:00.799-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the bar'/><title type='text'>thank you thank you thank you</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmgLuPxeVYI/AAAAAAAAAr0/yiQE1xTQvPs/s1600-h/THANK-YOU-CARD-2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmgLuPxeVYI/AAAAAAAAAr0/yiQE1xTQvPs/s400/THANK-YOU-CARD-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361548245520504194" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;To Luis: Thank you for being there by my side through all of those days where I was frustrated, tired, and stressed. You were patient and loving and, most of all, understanding when I needed you to be. Thank you for pushing me when I was being lazy, and for being in my corner when I was so overwhelmed that all I wanted to do was cry. Lets keep our fingers crossed that we won't have to go through this again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To My Parents and In-laws: Thank you for always praying for us, for believing in us, and for your financial support through these last few months. Without you, we wouldn't have made it this far.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To our siblings: Thank you for your prayers and encouragement throughout this process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And to those of you who have kept up with me on my blog: Thanks for continuing to read even though I'm sure I've talked more about the bar than you would have ever cared to know. I will now return to writing about my reentry into the working world (as soon as I find a job), my nieces, groceries, cooking, and whatever random events/thoughts come across my mind at any given time that I sit down to blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've decided that I'm taking a personal day tomorrow. One day to sit at home, relax, and indulge myself. Does anyone have any great inexpensive home-spa ideas they could send my way?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-6622264907526406478?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6622264907526406478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/6622264907526406478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/07/thank-you-thank-you-thank-you.html' title='thank you thank you thank you'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9PVwZZNIXps/SmgLuPxeVYI/AAAAAAAAAr0/yiQE1xTQvPs/s72-c/THANK-YOU-CARD-2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8945554407677243015.post-4228256884702862439</id><published>2009-07-27T08:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T08:18:00.151-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='the bar'/><title type='text'>rules rules rules</title><content type='html'>Due to the seriousness of the bar examination (there was a 30-page application form for goodness sake), there are several rules which we must follow. Some of my favorites include:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;If you're caught cheating you may face "ejection from the examination site." (I wonder if there is an eject button which, once pressed, sends your seat flying out of the exam site)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;No food or beverage is allowed unless you have a "medical condition" (I wish I were pregnant right now so that I could bring in a bottle of water and possibly some gum)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;They "request" that we come dressed business casual (um, considering the fact that we are facing 13 hours of the most grueling testing we will encounter in our lives, shouldn't we be allowed to wear whatever we feel comfortable in... like yoga pants or something)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The only things allowed in the room are your photo i.d., laptop, and a couple of pens for the essay portion of the exam. On the 2nd day you can't even bring your own pencils for the multiple choice portion of the exam. (Ummm, if purses of any kind aren't allowed, and girls are in pants and/or skirts that likely don't have pockets, where are they supposed to put feminine products?)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I guess they can go in the light jacket or sweater they allow you to bring which will be subject to searching by one of the proctors (though hopefully they won't throw the products away since they are technically not "approved" items)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;Ok, so, um, all joking aside, I guess I'm really going to take this test tomorrow. Part of me can't believe that the day has finally come, and part of me still thinks this summer has gone by way too fast. I'm hoping for the best and just praying that I'll be able to remember enough to pass. And if you'd like to include me in your prayers for the next couple of days, I would definitely appreciate it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8945554407677243015-4228256884702862439?l=mertinso.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4228256884702862439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8945554407677243015/posts/default/4228256884702862439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://mertinso.blogspot.com/2009/07/rules-rules-rules.html' title='rules rules rules'/><author><name>Natalia</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07865107658959672410</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author></entry></feed>
