<?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-28839980</id><updated>2011-04-21T16:34:59.451-06:00</updated><title type='text'>She Blinded Me With Science!</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>13</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-116890848039590702</id><published>2007-01-15T17:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-01-15T17:53:12.690-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Is It Spring Yet?</title><content type='html'>Well, I've been stuck in a snow drift for the past month. Not sure what happened exatlly. All I remember is I was going about my business as usual, when all of the sudden the skys opened up and dumped 23 inches of snow right on top of me. I was nearly barried up to me arse. Just when I thought I was able to free myself, the snow plows came through in droves throwing the snow higher and higher over my head. For the next two weeks it snowed and snowed and snowed. Then to top it all off, the temperatures dropped to around -20C. I think I lost cosciousness at that point. Don't remember a damn thing until today when a dog pissed on my snow drift. The warm piss and the warm sun started melting the snow and I broke out. What a f#(k*%g  mess! Where's the beer? I've an awful thurst.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-116890848039590702?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/116890848039590702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=116890848039590702&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/116890848039590702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/116890848039590702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2007/01/is-it-spring-yet.html' title='Is It Spring Yet?'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-115802839375540848</id><published>2006-09-11T19:25:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-11T20:38:23.513-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Leaves Are Changing</title><content type='html'>Isn't fall wonderful? I was walking home from the bus stop, and the leaves of the trees were glistening gold, the smell of a fireplace was wafted through the cool evening air. Wunderbar! Have you ever taken a minute to really look at the beauty surrounding you? I took a different bus stop today which was by a couple of cotton wood trees. Being at my stop early (I missed the previous bus, so stopped in for a couple of pints), I looked around, and gazed at these beautiful trees around me. Now, I recycle, ride the bus, and conserve water, but I don't consider myself as a "Tree huger" sort. But what was the first thing I wanted to do as I gazed at these massive creatures? Hug Them!!! Well, I didn't hug them, but I did touch them. These trees must have been at least one hundred years old because I could not fit my arms around them (if I had tried to fit my arms around them). I just looked up into their massive leaf structure, (nearly falling over myself after the 4 pints I had had), and took in the beautiful energy they had to offer. Fall is one of my favorite seasons because there is such a change in the landscape. But, the trees I stood by today will be just as massive and beautiful when winter comes, and all their leaves are gone. Their beauty has been here long before me, and will last long after me. I guess what I am trying to say is, stop, look, and listen. Stop and look around you during your morning commute, take in the beauty that is surrounding you, and listen to everything (it may benefit you later).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love to all my blogging friends&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-115802839375540848?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/115802839375540848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=115802839375540848&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115802839375540848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115802839375540848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/09/leaves-are-changing.html' title='The Leaves Are Changing'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-115791864445171245</id><published>2006-09-10T13:57:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-09-10T14:04:04.463-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Who, When, What, Where (How)</title><content type='html'>Who do you truly love (or hate)?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When was the last time you cleaned out your refrigerator, and what did you find?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are some of the things you want to do before you die?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where is the most inspiring, spiritual, and/or beautiful place you have ever been?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many times have you said, "I am never going to do that again" and then repeated the undesirable offense?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-115791864445171245?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/115791864445171245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=115791864445171245&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115791864445171245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115791864445171245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/09/who-when-what-where-how.html' title='Who, When, What, Where (How)'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-115620981544386763</id><published>2006-08-21T18:55:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-08-21T20:05:06.490-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh Shit, I'm Late!!!</title><content type='html'>No, not that kind of late. I woke up late for work this morning. The alarm went off, hit the snooze button twice as usual, and that's the last thing I remember. Besides the erotic dream I was experiencing. I remember this dark haired, dark skinned, shirtless, incredibly gorgeous man playfully yet passionately kissing me. Slowly kissing his way down my neck, unbuttoning my shirt, and.... Well it wasn't the X rated dream version, but definitely PG-13. OK enough already. Who the hell is this guy? (This is what I thought hours after I woke up.) The man in my dream does not represent anyone in my life at this time. He may be similar to a man I went to college with seven years ago (and never dated by the way because he was umpteen years younger than me), but it was definitely not the feeling of that guy in my dream. If I have never met this man before, how the hell did he get into my head? (Manny, was that you?) Anyway, after thoroughly enjoying the bliss I was experiencing, I woke up, looked at the clock, and yelled, "Oh shit!" Fixed a pot of tea, took the bus an hour later than usual, and during the entire ride to work, I kept going over this dream in my head. What does it mean? Maybe it means that I work too damn much and I need to get laid. Oh my God!!! I can't believe I just said that! He was probably a fantasy guy aberration I have been conjuring up since I was a wee lass. Oh well, at least I have a grand imagination. Have you ever had dreams involving someone you do not know? (And enjoyed the hell out of them?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm running to the kitchen now to get a fortune cookie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fortune for the day is, "Many receive advice, only the wise take it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning it was a mocha latte. I'm out of beer now. Where's my pale ale?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-115620981544386763?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/115620981544386763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=115620981544386763&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115620981544386763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115620981544386763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/08/oh-shit-im-late.html' title='Oh Shit, I&apos;m Late!!!'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-115405299780596245</id><published>2006-07-27T20:03:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-07-27T20:18:53.833-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Buenas Tardes</title><content type='html'>Just wanted to say hello to all. I love reading all of your posts, but am not always inspired to write one myself. Don't give up on me. By the way, you guys and gals are hilarious!!!! Inspire me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Dijo la sarten a la caldera, quitate alla ojinegra. &lt;/em&gt;Cervantes&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-115405299780596245?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/115405299780596245/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=115405299780596245&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115405299780596245'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115405299780596245'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/07/buenas-tardes.html' title='Buenas Tardes'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-115241599004724960</id><published>2006-07-08T21:31:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-07-08T21:33:10.046-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Peace</title><content type='html'>I just read a fortune from a cookie. It said, "If you want people to like you, like yourself first." Just a reminder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-115241599004724960?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/115241599004724960/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=115241599004724960&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115241599004724960'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115241599004724960'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/07/peace.html' title='Peace'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-115241073673883385</id><published>2006-07-08T18:16:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-07-08T21:29:38.116-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I am Such a Bitch!</title><content type='html'>A week or so ago, an old boyfriend of mine called. The number came up as "Caller ID Unavailable", so I didn't answer. A message was left which was, "This is Conway calling to say fuck you", CLICK. This happened around 6:00 pm mountain time which is about 2:00 am Ireland time (where Conway is, supposedly). Shall we have another drink and sink deeper into our delusions? Maybe I should start from somewhere else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Met Conway in Oct., 2000, dated for 2 years, were friends for 2 years after all that, went to Ireland together in Dec., 2004, and then moved in together in Jan., 2005. The moving in agreement was that my daughter and I would have the ground floor and he would have the basement. Things were fine for a while. He was late on utilities a time or two, but always caught up. Sometimes he would drink a bit much, but I enjoy a few cocktails at times as well. Seemed like things were working smoothly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Smoothly, until one night I mentioned that I was ready to date again. It had been two and a half years since I had dated, and I was finally ready. Conway agreed that he thought it would be a great thing for both of us. What he failed to tell me was that he was still in love with me, and I should not date anyone but him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I started dating a nice man of Scottish and Irish blood (god, I do love you Brits and Celts). Conway went nuts! It seemed like all of the sudden I was the unfaithful and ungrateful wife. I tried to keep things cool and talk to him, but there was no talking to the Irish blood, Jersey born, drunk on vodka man that he is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong, I can put up with a lot of shit. Maybe I am a bit too soft and caring, but can you really be too caring. The breaking point happened one night when my daughter had a friend over. I was fixing dinner and Conway was painting the basement. When dinner was done, the girls got their plates, I was fixing a small plate for myself, and Conway came upstairs and said, "Where the hell is my dinner?" Pardon me, but I thought we were living separately and he was a grown man that could provide for himself. At the time this happened, I was working part-time because I had just lost an incredible full-time government job. (Lost my job due to budget cuts. Happened just after Bush sent troops in.) Conway was working a construction job, but was not sober enough to get there everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to dinner. Conway said, "Where the hell is my dinner?" I said, "I was letting the girls get their plates and you were working downstairs. I didn't know you wanted any." He said, "I don't give a shit about your fucking kid. I'm fucking starving." Well, I shut off after that. Sorry, but if you can afford a liter of vodka, you can afford dinner. Am I wrong? He is after all a grown man that should be able to provide for himself. Hell, I have been divorced for 10 years. Went out and got my degree, found a place to live, provided for my child, and will continue providing for her. You would think a 37 year old white American male could find a way to provide for himself. A 40 year old white American woman did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, his call really bothered me. Despite the drunken escapades and verbal abuse that I endured after we moved in together, I still care for the man. Yes, I am the broken soul trying to help another. (Seems like we American women love a challenge. Does this happen elsewhere?) Regardless, I love the man as a friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Conways' call came 1 year after he moved away. Should I slam this door shut forever, or hope that he will forgive me for whatever I have done? I am sure you are thinking I am fucking nuts for even thinking about the bloke, right? Well, Conway has two sides to him. The man I dated and the man I went to Ireland with was the normal, nice, mostly agreeable Conway. Drunk Conway is a whole different person, that I am sure I do not have to explain. I know I don't need to deal with this shite, it just hurts to loose a friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line, am I a fucked up ungrateful bitch, an unfaithful whore, or just a little screwed up? I think it is time for some bitch music. What do you girls of other countries want to hear? I think I will go for Christina Aguileras'&lt;em&gt; Fighter&lt;/em&gt; or Meredith Brooks' &lt;em&gt;Bitch.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Would love to hear all comments. I'm not giving up on you men, you can just be sodded dogs at times. (English readers, is that the correct term?)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guy in the downstairs flat keeps slamming his door. Should I go down with a couple of tinnies and ask him, "Whaaaaat's up?", or lean over the balcony and yell, "What the FUCK is going on down there?"? Please help me get out of this rut I am in. I have been saying the F word too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Aequum est Peccatis veniam poscentem reddere rursus." Horace&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's up, what's up with you girl, what's up, what's up with you girl, what's up, what's up with you boy, what's up what's up with you boy?" Nothing like the Black Eyed Peas to put you in the right mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am such a fucking bitch (or not). Love all of you anyway, Veronica&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-115241073673883385?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/115241073673883385/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=115241073673883385&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115241073673883385'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115241073673883385'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/07/i-am-such-bitch.html' title='I am Such a Bitch!'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-115125635648067090</id><published>2006-06-25T11:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-06-26T17:39:30.133-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Up for a Pint Anyone?</title><content type='html'>I think I was a bit toasted when I wrote that last post. Speaking of toasted, I went to the local brew festival in Old Town yesterday. Got there about 11:30 am when things were a bit quiet, and the music was warming up. Tasted a fine blonde ale out of Boulder. It was my favorite throughout the day. Next I tasted a Weiss which tasted like a good Hefeweissen straight out of Bavaria. Another of my favorites was the Pinstripe Red Ale out of Durango. Yum, yum. Each beer taster is supposed to be 6 oz, but after three tasters I was felling a bit fuzzy and warm. I may have been receiving the heavy pours because of the shirt I was wearing. Anyway, I went to my favorite Japanese restaurant for some lunch (instead of gnawing on one of the many juicy brats being offered), and then hit the bricks again for some more fine drafts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By this time it was around 1:00 pm and was getting quite busy. After fighting the crowds, tasting numerous more beers, and standing in the sun for hours, it felt more like a beach party than a beer festival (without the ocean and sand of course). I saw more nipples, pierced, tattooed, and bare, more bum cheeks firm and not, and more six packs (and I'm not talking about beer) than I've seen since my 20s. What a way to spend a Saturday. I was bumped into, stepped on, spilt on, pissed on (yes, it happened), sprayed with Super Soakers, and filled with great beer. 'Twas great fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to wear my jean mini that Ruby calls my flirty skirt, but should I really wear something like that at my age? Many of the women at the festival were wearing minis, and some of these women were much fatter and showing all their giggly bits. I suppose if you have the legs and the attitude to pull it off, it works. What do you think?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are my favorite picks form the festival:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Major Tom's Pomegranate Wheat, Fort Collins Brewery&lt;br /&gt;Twisted Blonde Ale, Twisted Pine Brewing Co.&lt;br /&gt;Pinstripe Red Ale, Ska Brewing Co.&lt;br /&gt;5 Barrel Pale Ale, Odell Brewing Co.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you see any of these at your local store, give them a try. You won't be sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it is back to work tomorrow so I guess I had better behave myself the rest of the weekend. Hope all of you do not follow suit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gutten Abend Freundin&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-115125635648067090?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/115125635648067090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=115125635648067090&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115125635648067090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115125635648067090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/06/up-for-pint-anyone.html' title='Up for a Pint Anyone?'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-115103256148387429</id><published>2006-06-22T20:11:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-06-25T10:54:31.140-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Home of the Free?</title><content type='html'>Hey, what's up? I'm just sitting here sipping a beer and listening to a Dean Martin CD that Ruby gave me. It makes me think of my parents.&lt;br /&gt;My father was 40 when I was born. Dad was a hard working, full-time pilot. And not just a pilot, but an acrobatic pilot at the time. Later, he became a sales man, and after many years and many promotions he became a test pilot. My father loved his job. I'm sure it was not perfect every day, but he loved what he did and died doing it. I've missed him for 23 years now.&lt;br /&gt;When Dad was 17, he went into WWII. He was always very proud of our German heritage and went to fight that raving lunatic. Born on the 4th of July, he was a true blue American man.&lt;br /&gt;My mother was 34 when I was born. What a happy, loving, beautiful woman. She was mostly a housewife, but worked part-time at different jobs. When I was a teenager, I think she regressed. We use to have so much fun in her 1964 Mustang (which is what I learned to dive in) going to school or driving down main street. She looked like my sister, not my mum. She was always high on life. Smiling, laughing, whatever it took to make someone else smile. What a great friend I had. I've missed her for 2 years now.&lt;br /&gt;I love and miss my parent implicitly and could not ask for better parents in the world. And when I say I wish Bush would f*#@ *#*, I feel my father rolling over in his grave. When he was at war, Dwight D. Eisenhower was president. Maybe I feel he does not approve of my opinion because I am not a devote Republican like he was. Times are different now compared to when Mom and Dad were around. I would love to talk to Dad about what is going on in the world right now. Only wondering what he would say. Could only hope he would want to get Bush out of office, and our troops back home. Never voted for the man and can't wait until his time is up. But, who will be next?&lt;br /&gt;I saw in the local newspaper today that people in Austria spoke out against Bush and what he is doing. All I can say is Prost! I honestly think the monkeys in the Monster.com commercial could do as good of a job at running the country. Well, now my father is really rolling over (or maybe not) and the CIA are after me, so enough of politics.&lt;br /&gt;Now I am listening to a Doors CD. Getting back into my childish years. Grooooovy! So, peace, love, and happiness, drugs, or sex; depending on what decade you are from.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;V&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-115103256148387429?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/115103256148387429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=115103256148387429&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115103256148387429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115103256148387429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/06/home-of-free.html' title='The Home of the Free?'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-115076877927815509</id><published>2006-06-19T19:40:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-06-19T20:07:07.636-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweltering Colorado</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Hello All. Sorry I have not written lately. I have been busy reading other blogs and posting responses. There is some great stuff out there. And this awful heat we have been having. Makes me want to book a flight to Reykjavik and do naught. Anyway, I promise I will post something later in the week (unless we get profit sharing checks and I am out for pints), so please visit again. Until then, the words of William Shakespeare:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000000;"&gt;Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?&lt;br /&gt;Thou art more lovely and more temperate.&lt;br /&gt;Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,&lt;br /&gt;And summer's lease hath all to short a date.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,&lt;br /&gt;And often is his gold complexion dimmed;&lt;br /&gt;And every fair from fair sometimes declines,&lt;br /&gt;By chance, or natures changing course, untrimmed;&lt;br /&gt;But the eternal summer shall not fade,&lt;br /&gt;Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,&lt;br /&gt;Nor shall Death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,&lt;br /&gt;When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st.&lt;br /&gt;So long as men can breath or eyes can see,&lt;br /&gt;So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-115076877927815509?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/115076877927815509/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=115076877927815509&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115076877927815509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/115076877927815509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/06/sweltering-colorado.html' title='Sweltering Colorado'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-114939882171524820</id><published>2006-06-03T22:43:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-06-04T09:12:07.753-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I Don't Want To Be A Stupid Girl</title><content type='html'>Someone accused me of being out on the town Friday driving the men crazy. I'm not sure if I was driving the men crazy (in a good way of course) or they were driving me crazy. So, I was out for a while last night. My car is in a heap in the parking lot, so sometimes I catch a ride with a friend at work. Usually goes like this, B: "Need a ride home?" Me: "Sure that would be great." B: "Where are we stopping for beers first?" What am I to say? "Oh no, please just take me straight home." I don't think so. Who can say no to a cold beer when you have been working your ass off all week, it's 90 outside, and there is no one waiting for you at home? So, we head out to B's Mustang, slide into the seats, and put the Black Eyed Peas in the CD player. B. Likes his music loud. Imagine the volume at an intensity that makes the side mirrors on the car vibrate. Down the street we go, jamming to the Peas, headed to B's favorite watering hole. Now back in the day, this watering hole was a nice little pub. Now it is a big dive and a huge meat market after 9:00 pm. Since it was only around 5:00 pm when we arrived, I didn't think there would be any wolves prowling about. We go in, mingle with the crowd a bit, and I spot some people I know. I sit down with the friends to chat it up, and this is where I start going crazy. One of the friends is a certain man, who is a very nice man mind you, but gets increasingly "friendly" with the amount of alcohol he consumes. He has had two beers, the conversation is normal. Three beers (his beer count not mine) and it's "I really like you, you have helped me out so much in the past, you are a great friend." Four beers, "Can I get a hug, you are really great, can I buy you a beer?(touch on my arm)" Five beers and a shot later, "I love you baby (his hand is on my leg, without my permission), you need to call me, do you have my number, I love you (in for the hug without permission), call me, you are really special." How much of this fanciful banter can one girl take? I am sure after a six pack and a half, numerous shots, and a trip to his place, he would love me. But what about the next morning when he can't remember where he was or how I got there? I will definitely pass on this one. I suppose if it is romance I am looking for, the dive downtown is not where I am going to find it. So girls, when you are out at the local dive watch out for the wolves. Be selective, and don't believe a damn word they say after a six pack. And men, stay romantic and interesting. I suppose the men can also watch out for the rare woman that wants to take you for all you are worth (I don't know any of those women by the way).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is currently 11:30 pm and I am watching an old clip of Saturday Night Live. The host tonight is none other than Paris Hilton. Are you familiar with the song by Pink, &lt;em&gt;Stupid Girls&lt;/em&gt;? Stay smart women and stay cool guys!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Con amore, Veronica&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-114939882171524820?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/114939882171524820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=114939882171524820&amp;isPopup=true' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/114939882171524820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/114939882171524820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/06/i-dont-want-to-be-stupid-girl.html' title='I Don&apos;t Want To Be A Stupid Girl'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-114874842055563910</id><published>2006-05-27T10:34:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-05-27T21:11:51.023-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dead End Job</title><content type='html'>Do any of you out there truly love your jobs? If so, I am total jealous. I suppose I should just be happy to have a job. But the day after day, endless grind is wearing away at me. Oh, and that piece of paper I received yesterday is a pathetic excuse for a paycheck. To work your ass off all week and get paid enough to pay the rent and buy some bread (and of course beer) hardly seems worth it. If one of the guys I work with (Hitler) would leave, I could probably handle it a bit longer. Most days I want to kick him in the knee and punch him in the Adam'&lt;br /&gt;s apple, but violence is not my way. So I deal with his bullshit by not taking it and deal with his presence by ignoring him. Well, enough of my complaining. Please send me advice and comments on how to get out of this rut.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/28839980-114874842055563910?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/114874842055563910/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=114874842055563910&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/114874842055563910'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/114874842055563910'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/05/dead-end-job.html' title='Dead End Job'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28839980.post-114874689488411063</id><published>2006-05-27T10:13:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-06-19T20:08:56.603-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Zen Moments</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/1600/Water%20lilies.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/320/Water%20lilies.jpg" 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/28839980-114874689488411063?l=sciencegoddess.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/feeds/114874689488411063/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=28839980&amp;postID=114874689488411063&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/114874689488411063'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/28839980/posts/default/114874689488411063'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sciencegoddess.blogspot.com/2006/05/zen-moments.html' title='Zen Moments'/><author><name>Veronica</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14472119133239316795</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/8072/3060/640/Tat%20Blarney%20Castle.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
