<?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-6329884</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:09:07.457-04:00</updated><title type='text'>seeking susan</title><subtitle type='html'>in search of greater satisfaction</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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>57</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6329884.post-108208808997312024</id><published>2004-04-16T00:00:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-16T00:05:28.746-04:00</updated><title type='text'>i've moved.</title><summary type='text'>you can find me here. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108208808997312024'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108208808997312024'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108208808997312024' title='i&apos;ve moved.'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108203928160792736</id><published>2004-04-15T10:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-15T10:36:46.543-04:00</updated><title type='text'>that type of girl</title><summary type='text'>my beautiful, witty friend P has not had the best dating luck in the past couple of years.  following the demise of a four year relationship, she's been single for two years with a series of bizarre flings, none of which have culminated into something lasting. she's the law student turned talent agent (who now has four interviews lined up--i'm impressed).  she called me upset last night. one of</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108203928160792736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108203928160792736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108203928160792736' title='&lt;em&gt;that&lt;/em&gt; type of girl'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108196547411565247</id><published>2004-04-14T13:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-14T14:01:50.186-04:00</updated><title type='text'>nerves</title><summary type='text'>so, today while taking a break from my "job", i decided to tally up how many days are left until i quit for good.  46 work days, and i have to take a total of 5 days off during that time for a wedding. that means 41 days.  June 17 is my final day. whoo hooo!with that excitement brought a complete panic attack.what if i leave here with nothing to show for it? what if we can't find an </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108196547411565247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108196547411565247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108196547411565247' title='nerves'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108195272821878520</id><published>2004-04-14T10:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-14T10:31:41.640-04:00</updated><title type='text'>this is getting ridiculous</title><summary type='text'>i've been waiting for blogger to reintroduce upgrades since i started this blog, and i'm becoming impatient.  can anyone recommend another service that is inexpensive and allows me to post images and such? i'm feeling better today, though still blowing my nose quite a bit.  my boss (begin dark, threatening music) has returned, and has stomped off to his office because he lost some files.  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108195272821878520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108195272821878520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108195272821878520' title='this is getting ridiculous'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108187783030296078</id><published>2004-04-13T13:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-13T13:42:34.920-04:00</updated><title type='text'>WHERE ARE YOUR FRIENDS AND BOYFRIEND WHEN YOU NEED THEM????</title><summary type='text'>not here, that's for sure. not sitting with me in front of my television, wrapped in a down comforter.  not watching bad movies with me.  not feeding me leftover easter candy and bringing me herbal tea for my sniffles.  nope.  it's just me, the insane boss went out of town for his son in law's funeral (him: we decided suicide was probably the best thing that could have happened to him. me: </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108187783030296078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108187783030296078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108187783030296078' title='WHERE ARE YOUR FRIENDS AND BOYFRIEND WHEN YOU NEED THEM????'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108187476929447752</id><published>2004-04-13T12:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-13T12:50:04.233-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>woke up this morning to the sniffles and cold rain outside.  buried my head under the covers, tucked kitty under my arm, and went back to sleep, hoping that when i awoke the sun would be shining and i would breathe easily. no such luck.  so here i am in my chilly office with a runny nose and cold fingers.more later perhaps.  i'm going to see if L has any chocolate. </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108187476929447752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108187476929447752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108187476929447752' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108180000574791337</id><published>2004-04-12T15:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-12T16:06:27.360-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Things That Made Me Feel Like White Trash (WT) This Weekend</title><summary type='text'>1. Nearly getting T-boned by an extended cab pickup with big yellow lights and a personalized, state of Indiana "JESUS" license plate in the front. I imagine that to get the coveted JESUS plate rather than something more subtle, like TRSTHIM, HESAVS or BLIEV is difficult.  you probably have to line up outside the Department of Motor Vehicles at 3 am.  it's probably even more difficult than </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108180000574791337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108180000574791337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108180000574791337' title='Things That Made Me Feel Like White Trash (WT) This Weekend'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108143906179907355</id><published>2004-04-08T11:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-08T11:52:54.716-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Weird Stuff</title><summary type='text'>Weird Stuff1.I learned to talk before I was 16 months old, but I still nursed.  My dad taught me to say “I want tits!” when I wanted to nurse.  My mother was not amused.2.Until I was about eight years old I would scream and cry when putting on my socks in the morning.  If the seam touched my toe and wasn’t properly lined up, I would howl in pain. “It hurts, it hurts!”  My mother thought I was</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108143906179907355'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108143906179907355'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108143906179907355' title='Weird Stuff'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108135943222897769</id><published>2004-04-07T13:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-07T13:40:58.950-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>can anyone think of a good reason why i should be allowed to go home three and a half hours early?  it's not quite worth feigning illness, or a trumped up family emergency, but it's 70 degrees outside and i want to sit on my deck and read, then possibly nap.v told me last night that he went to do his laundry and noticed a terrible stench when he opened the lid to the washing machine.  inside</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108135943222897769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108135943222897769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108135943222897769' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108135027218588537</id><published>2004-04-07T10:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-07T11:09:29.640-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>living alone has been an interesting experience. at first i thought it was great, but that feeling has slowly dissipated as the reality of being alone most of the time has set in.  i had roommates all through college and grad school, so it's been a big change.  it's made me a neater person, since there is no one to blame for the mess but me.  at first i neurotically cleaned the floors and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108135027218588537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108135027218588537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108135027218588537' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108127410680588025</id><published>2004-04-06T13:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-06T13:58:52.700-04:00</updated><title type='text'>good and bad news</title><summary type='text'>the bad news **************************************************************my boss just yelled at me.now, there  are plenty of reasons he could find to yell at me.  -- i come late, leave early and take a long lunch (not everyday, but about once a week)-- i email, sometimes IM, surf the web and shamelessly blog at work-- i take personal calls-- i look for other jobs all of that is fine,</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108127410680588025'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108127410680588025'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108127410680588025' title='good and bad news'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108117848246813021</id><published>2004-04-05T11:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-05T15:26:55.950-04:00</updated><title type='text'>six of one, half dozen of the other</title><summary type='text'>hmmm. i must respond to a comment Michael left on my blog. in case you don't feel like scrolling down to see the comment, this is what he said.My opinion is this: I don't think that you feel you are living life right now. You are in a job that you don't want. You are in a career you don't want. You anticipate the weekend trips with rabid drooling of the mouth. I would bet that when you talk to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108117848246813021'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108117848246813021'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108117848246813021' title='six of one, half dozen of the other'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108113557900875614</id><published>2004-04-04T22:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-04T23:31:58.950-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>my weekend--two movies: eternal sunshine and (oops, i did actually see this and it wasn't as bad as i thought it would be) taking lives--basketball. though oklahoma lost,  i did get to see duke, my Least Favorite Team Ever, lose.  reasons behind this are rooted deep in my psyche, and would take too long to explain here.  suffice it to say that watching the tongue wagging huskies beat the blue </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108113557900875614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108113557900875614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_04_01_archive.html#108113557900875614' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108068329107153015</id><published>2004-03-30T16:38:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-04-05T15:27:42.810-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i emailed a bunch of nonprofit groups in LA last week about volunteering, you know, UNPAID, just to try and make some contacts if I move there.  none of them responded, except one man who shot me down..."I'm sorry, we don't have a need for graduates of top universities who studied exactly what we do here  to work, even if it is for free."  i was feeling kind of mopey about that and didn't even </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108068329107153015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108068329107153015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108068329107153015' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108022562912726688</id><published>2004-03-25T09:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-25T09:49:43.966-05:00</updated><title type='text'>early bird</title><summary type='text'>today i got up, hopped in the shower, packed all my belongings, gave kitty her last round of meds, grabbed the car keys and (OOPS!) it was only 7:30.   somehow, i had managed to get up an hour before i needed to.well, i thought, i'll take advantage of this and get to work at 8 instead of 9.  unfortunately, i got here and my entry card to the building wasn't working, so i sat on the stoop and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108022562912726688'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108022562912726688'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108022562912726688' title='early bird'/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108013844908102915</id><published>2004-03-24T09:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-24T09:43:13.466-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>rather than exercising OR having martinis, i opted for a nap and some retail therapy.  what i had planned: going to a few stores and finding great jeans at half price, you know, the type of jeans that make you want to shake your ass in front of the three way mirror because even though the lighting is reminiscent of a funeral parlor and you never ever like seeing yourself from all angles, the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108013844908102915'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108013844908102915'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108013844908102915' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-108007708967531880</id><published>2004-03-23T16:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-23T16:29:50.233-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>today i would like nothing better than to head to a bar, have three dirty grey goose martinis  (at happy hour prices) and then curl up to watch the season finale of america's next top model.  who will win?  i don't know, but i imagine i will be more surprised if i am feeling the warm, pleasant buzz of vodka in my blood.everyone i know--including two coworkers and my former roommate--is having a</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108007708967531880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/108007708967531880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#108007708967531880' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107998988245155966</id><published>2004-03-22T15:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-22T16:20:26.920-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>one of the things i hate the most at work is the following scenario:i'm in the bathroom and exiting my stall at the same time that someone else is finsihing up a stinky crap and also exiting their stall.  it's awkward.  what to say? sometimes we wash our hands in silence and no words are exchanged.  other times, like just now, we acknowledge one another and it's just as bad.   what i want to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107998988245155966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107998988245155966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107998988245155966' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107973047636080701</id><published>2004-03-19T15:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-19T16:15:21.153-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>it is so hard to be at work today.  the weather is lovely and i'm the only one in the office.  i had to take my sweet kitty to the vet this morning.  she handled the situation like a stealthy tiger--i felt like a proud parent.  while another cat was yowling in the next room about merely having a nail trim, she barely made a sound while getting poked, prodded and shot with three different needles.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107973047636080701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107973047636080701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107973047636080701' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107962674154783169</id><published>2004-03-18T11:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-18T11:22:20.950-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>email from miss pdid i explain my macro- v micro-skilled definitions to you?macro-skilled guys are guys who don't necessarily have the most nimblefingers and mouths but once they get close enough you want to fuck them,and do, and they're amazing at it overall (examples: K, C)micro-skilled guys have hands and mouths you want on you forever and whocares if sex actually occurs (examples: R, J)</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107962674154783169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107962674154783169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107962674154783169' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107955259479759228</id><published>2004-03-17T14:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-17T14:46:51.373-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>memoriesthe big blackout, august 2003the blackout did not affect kentucky, but that thursday i left work early and started driving north to see V. listening to the radio in northern ohio i heard that the power had gone out from new york to detroit.  i arrived as the sun was starting to set, and waited outside, sitting on the curb in  a dirty white t shirt and jeans.  it was miserably hot.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107955259479759228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107955259479759228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107955259479759228' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107945740158295145</id><published>2004-03-16T11:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-16T12:19:58.403-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>ok, can someone who knows more than me please tell me whether I've just totally screwed up my hormones and made myself susceptible to baby making?I forgot to take the last pill in my pack this month, and then when I got my period a day early i realized it.  when i start the new pack on Sunday, will my ovaries be working overtime, trying to create squalling children?  it seems Unlikely, given </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107945740158295145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107945740158295145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107945740158295145' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107901510536919255</id><published>2004-03-11T09:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-11T09:28:53.060-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>my cousin is in town this week with her new baby girl, whom i will meet tomorrow. while browsing for bargains at value city, i found this cute pink terry cloth robe with a hood.  on the hood was a little bunny wabbit, with wittle ears.  as i waited for the cashier to ring this up, she started chatting with me.  i've had this cashier before, and she's pretty slow--i'm talking mouth breathing, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107901510536919255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107901510536919255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107901510536919255' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107897184351476831</id><published>2004-03-10T21:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-10T21:30:34.450-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>why my day was lousy1. i got roped into ridiculous web design issues that are not part of my job description, and finally told my employer to head to the IT department because paying me to spend 40 hours on something that should only take 4 hours is a big fucking waste of money.2. i ate lunch alone. again. here.  yes, it's really that strange of a place.3. it gave me indigestion. again (does </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107897184351476831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107897184351476831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107897184351476831' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107894567597175350</id><published>2004-03-10T13:59:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-10T14:13:05.513-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>why, when faced with the potential expenses of a move and unemployment, do i make appointments to have nearly 800 dollars worth of dental work done??no, i'm not some toothless kentucky hag, for those of you who are wondering.   my teeth are naturally very straight and i have all of them.  i have two fillings. i floss daily and brush twice a day. but i have these little ridges on my two front </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107894567597175350'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107894567597175350'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107894567597175350' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107876267642543348</id><published>2004-03-08T10:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-08T11:24:02.250-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the weekend flew by, and i felt ill for the majority of it. friday i had pizza with my mom, and the woman sitting across from us told me that i looked just like jodie foster "from the nose up".  ben used to tell me that, and so it kind of gave me the creeps when she said it.  the only two celebrities that i've been compared to have been jodie foster and samantha morton.  i think i only resemble</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107876267642543348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107876267642543348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107876267642543348' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107851522416819255</id><published>2004-03-05T14:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-05T14:38:33.873-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>its 75 degrees here today.  we get such odd weather in Louisville--unpredicatable highs and low at strange times.  I'm not complaining about the warm snap however. Last night I called V before going to bed.  he was in a bad mood, down about the lecture he had given that night, convinced it was shit.  I talked to him for quite a while, babbling away while he responded minimally, until eventually</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107851522416819255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107851522416819255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107851522416819255' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107843192385733588</id><published>2004-03-04T15:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-04T15:29:37.390-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i found out today that three people i grew up with were arrested for trafficking over a million dollars worth of marijuana from canada in to the united states.  the major kingpin, if you will, in this operation was the boy who lived across the street from me as a child.  i've never trusted jason since he pushed me off his slide when i was three.  when he started wearing a fez and built a massive </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107843192385733588'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107843192385733588'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107843192385733588' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107833057044439699</id><published>2004-03-03T11:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-03T11:19:09.326-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i thought that my illness had passed, but it took a turn for the worse.  my breathing sounds like the raspy wheeze of a pack a day for fifty years smoker, i'm coughing like a barking dog, and my entire chest hurts.  if that's not enough, then the antibiotics i'm taking to disinfect the discolored matter from my lungs is giving me severe stomach cramps.i'm unable to be relfective, anecdoctal or </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107833057044439699'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107833057044439699'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107833057044439699' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107819503021806731</id><published>2004-03-01T21:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-03-01T21:45:13.170-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>sick day!i suppose i could have gone into work today, but i didn't.  i developed a sore throat and a nasty cold over the weekend, and decided i would rest and lounge about my house today.  i never would have missed class with the degree of sickness that i am currently experiencing, but with work it seems perfectly valid.  after all, it's not like i have any big projects due this week or a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107819503021806731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107819503021806731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_03_01_archive.html#107819503021806731' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107791083507761176</id><published>2004-02-27T13:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-27T14:49:33.856-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i just got suckered into a mary kay beauty consultation.  this girl in the department down the hall told me if i let her do my makeup on monday i would be helping her get a diamond ring as her first mary kay prize...her next prize after that is the pink grand am.  i didn't have the heart to tell her that we just rented a grand am in california and it was, by far, the crappiest rental vehicle i'd </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107791083507761176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107791083507761176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107791083507761176' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107781653062552419</id><published>2004-02-26T12:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-26T12:31:41.263-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>ok, i'm back.  and jetlagged as can be, and not being productive at work even though i thought i would be after a nearly week long vacation.we had a wonderful time in california visiting people, eating amazing mexican food, seeing sights.  am i going to move there? i don't know.  in addition to being really far away, it seems psychologically far away to me as well...but i think i could be </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107781653062552419'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107781653062552419'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107781653062552419' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107722343463588852</id><published>2004-02-19T15:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-19T15:46:35.530-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>today has been busy--i'm trying to get everything finished before i go to california.  i am SO excited.  i went on my lunch hour to return a shirt i bought last week, and rather than getting back my money i ended up buying another shirt and two lipglosses. i have a problem with shopping sometimes...for the first time in years i have a real income as opposed to a student income, and so i tend to</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107722343463588852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107722343463588852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107722343463588852' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107716279896778077</id><published>2004-02-18T22:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-18T23:08:50.826-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i cannot believe that after sitting at a desk all day i'm writing more, but i had a long workout tonight and i'm filled with energy.  i don't feel like reading, or watching tv, and definitely don't feel like cleaning. i had to send an email and then the kitty got in my lap, so now i feel i should sit here for a while. i do not, however, have the emotional energy to discuss ben.  so let me skip </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107716279896778077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107716279896778077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107716279896778077' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107711903940378753</id><published>2004-02-18T09:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-18T12:49:38.250-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i am hating my job this morning, even though it's easy.  i've been stuck with the job of fixing our outdated web site, even though (let's check the resume) i know nothing about web anything.  i'm slowly, painfully learning, and it takes me about an hour to change the color of the font after clicking on a link. oh, page settings. doh.  like i said, it's easy, but somehow it's not. i guess i think </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107711903940378753'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107711903940378753'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107711903940378753' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107704985764625971</id><published>2004-02-17T14:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-17T15:38:48.543-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i've realized no one really writes about positive things in blogs.  it's the same principle as the news--no one wants to hear about mr. and mrs. steinwitz celebrating their 50th wedding anniversary with their cute new puppy that never shits on the floor, unless of course you know them personally and even then it's not all that exciting. i'm no different, finding myself drawn to tragic tales in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107704985764625971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107704985764625971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107704985764625971' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107695076653848897</id><published>2004-02-16T11:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-16T12:05:48.810-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>not only did i eat continuously pretty much all weekend, but now all my coworkers are bringing in leftover candy so that they won't eat it.  of course, tiny candy bars that can be eaten in one bite and just two chews don't count as calories, so i've had two mini snickers while drinking my coffee.yesterday while walking to breakfast, a young father in distress asked me to help him.  i live in </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107695076653848897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107695076653848897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107695076653848897' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107652569941916369</id><published>2004-02-11T13:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-11T13:59:56.420-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>after returning the chariot of death to the car dealer, i stopped and treated myself to the tastiest lunch ever of lentil soup and homemade pita.  it's sunny and 45 today, and i plan on taking a walk after work. today's a good day, i think.  tonight i'll go to my yoga class, which will be nice because my back is bothering me (stiff from sitting all day and then getting no exercise the past few </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107652569941916369'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107652569941916369'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107652569941916369' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107642544864047711</id><published>2004-02-10T09:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-10T10:10:34.890-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>what the hell? is today a secret holiday that no one told me about? did the staff go to disney world and not tell me?i'm still the only one here this morning, and this makes me annoyed because i rushed to get here at 9.  why does it get harder every year to wake up early?  i'm waiting for that time (my parents swear this will happen) when you wake up at 6 every day for no reason...it might be </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107642544864047711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107642544864047711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107642544864047711' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107634041292588461</id><published>2004-02-09T09:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-09T10:29:19.936-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i'm very shortly going to be acquiring some credit card debt.  took the car in on friday for a "routine" repair and turns out the entire airbag needs to be replaced.  how does that happen?i'm not going to get into the details since they're wholly uninteresting, but i'm out around 1,000 and won't have my car back until tomorrow. the only thing softening the blow is that they've given me a brand </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107634041292588461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107634041292588461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107634041292588461' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107599766197092851</id><published>2004-02-05T11:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-05T11:19:35.653-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i think as punishment for my unkind words yesterday regarding conservative republicans before our staff meeting everyone in the whole world brought food to the meeting and i pigged out.  eh, whatever, i went to a two hour yoga class as compensation and worked some of it off i hope.this mornign has been been spent researching state environmental liability laws, a completly manageable but dull </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107599766197092851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107599766197092851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107599766197092851' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107591752225848424</id><published>2004-02-04T12:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-04T13:01:02.920-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i'm working, actually, and this poulenc piece came on the radio.  it took me a minute to realize i used to play it, in fact, i won a competition performing the very song in high school.so many things i used to do well, or at least know how to do, that i no longer do.1. piano, for 14 years2. violin3. my french was excellent4. after doing so well at #3, i became a classics major at the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107591752225848424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107591752225848424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107591752225848424' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107590564362239381</id><published>2004-02-04T09:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-04T09:43:03.530-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>you know how when you're in a hurry to get someplace (work, dinner) and your'e running late, you always get stuck behind some slow moving vehicle like a dump truck, with rocks in the back of it?  you know, the kind of huge lumbering machine that takes 10 minutes to accelerate and causes you to go so slowly that all the other cars pass you, and you're not even going fast enough to switch lanes, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107590564362239381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107590564362239381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107590564362239381' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107584073003307304</id><published>2004-02-03T15:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-03T15:41:09.153-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i am going to california! i have no money! these things may seem to cancel one another, but not in my world.i got paid on friday. i paid a $135  heating bill (for a SMALL apartment) on Sunday, rent on monday, an $800 credit card bill today, and have $500 worth of work to be done on my car this week.  that is my entire paycheck.  it's gone. i'm done for the month.  but i'm still going to </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107584073003307304'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107584073003307304'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107584073003307304' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107573595829418091</id><published>2004-02-02T10:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-02T10:40:01.360-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I haven't had a drink since January 17th.  Ok, this might sound normal to some of you, but for me it's kind of a long time...Sometime in grad school my friend P and I began drinking heavily a few nights a week, drinking to the point of passing out at least once a week. We broke many of our previously established rules of drinking--drinking on a weeknight, drinking mixed drinks sure to give us </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107573595829418091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107573595829418091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107573595829418091' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107561569649489926</id><published>2004-02-01T00:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-02T10:10:18.576-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>god. just got home , from doing nothing.  saw monster, by myself.  first movie i've ever seen by myself, which is strange. strange that i've never seen a movie by myself before, that is, because it's hardly a social activity.i'm not tired even though it's getting kind of late, having slept off and on for most of the afternoon.  i don't know, maybe i'm depressed.  i went to the gynecologist a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107561569649489926'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107561569649489926'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107561569649489926' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107540077138476223</id><published>2004-01-29T13:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-29T13:28:23.450-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>one positive thing about living near my parents right now is that they've started to understand where i'm coming from regarding my job, my interests and the choices i make in my life.  i've also started to realize (now that i'm in my mid twenties) that i don't have to make choices to please them.  they got married young, and everything fell into place in a very conventional way.  i think they </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107540077138476223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107540077138476223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107540077138476223' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107530667932110509</id><published>2004-01-28T10:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-28T11:20:10.090-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I've developed a twitch in my left eye.  Actually, it's the muscle below the eye, most likely. This happened once before, a couple of years ago, in grad school, when I was teaching, taking lots of classes, spending hours compiling data like a big dork and not sleeping enough.  I attributed it to stress and a poor lens prescription.But now,  I'm not sure what is causing it.  I recently had an </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107530667932110509'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107530667932110509'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107530667932110509' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107521473696897279</id><published>2004-01-27T09:33:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-27T09:50:52.310-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>last night i gave in and watched the entire episode of Average Joe: Hawaii without flipping back and forth to CSI Miami and missing the last 10 minutes.  As promised by my dear friends in Boston (I'm convinced they really only like the show because of Brian with the Boston accent), the programming provided satisfaction in that guilty way, similar to eating a bag of potato chips. They make you </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107521473696897279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107521473696897279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107521473696897279' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107480209750548873</id><published>2004-01-22T15:07:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-22T15:10:20.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i've been having this weird feeling the past few days that none of the things i do are real...i mean, no one knows me.  i do everything alone, and so i feel like it doesn't really happen.  i keep thinking of the episodes of law and order where no one believes the suspect was at home, talking to no one, making no phone calls, watching tv for two hours on the night of the murder.  THAT WOULD BE ME!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107480209750548873'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107480209750548873'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107480209750548873' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107478304733297086</id><published>2004-01-22T09:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-22T09:52:50.030-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>today i am actually going to be productive, so this must be brief, and no one reads it anyway, so it doesn't matter.i lost my keys in the squalor of my apartment and was late to work. i had spares to the car, but not to the office, so i had to have my boss let me in, late. there are still krispy kremes and bagels with cream cheese in the library and i can see them every time i get up from my </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107478304733297086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107478304733297086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107478304733297086' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107469556327614017</id><published>2004-01-21T09:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-21T09:34:44.030-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>i am the master of my mood.  the bad mood does not control me, i control it. everything is bothering me today, and i just got to work. i think it's all stemming from the anticipation of being forced to get on the scale tonight, except that i'm actually choosing to humiliate myself, which makes me wonder what the hell is wrong with me for doing this to myself.  i'm also feeling like a complete </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107469556327614017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107469556327614017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107469556327614017' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107461897842754724</id><published>2004-01-20T11:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-20T12:23:03.983-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the four day weekend was terrific.  now back at work, i'm not working.even though it was V's turn to visit me (and has been his turn the past two turns, but keeping track is petty and so of course i haven't noticed or anything) i decided to hop in the bird shit encrusted audi and drive almost 400 miles north to see him. he lured me to ann arbor, land of the cold, which had a snowstorm and </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107461897842754724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107461897842754724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107461897842754724' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107411243934907759</id><published>2004-01-14T15:21:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-14T15:36:54.233-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>if you wonder why i'm not more productive in the workplace, let me give a  description of what is happening on the second floor here during the three o'clock hour.--my boss has gone home to nap and recover from jet lag after his month long trip to micronesia (scuba diving).--the admin assistant is off at some other meeting, not to return for the rest of the day--L and S are talking in L's </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107411243934907759'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107411243934907759'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107411243934907759' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107410589472735411</id><published>2004-01-14T13:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-14T13:46:59.246-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>&lt;!--Begin Ultimate Counter code--&gt;&lt;!--h='';h=h+'h=h+escape(document.referrer); if ((navigator.appName!='Netscape')||(navigator.appVersion.charAt(0)&gt;=4)) { h=h+'&amp;d='; (navigator.appName!='Netscape') ? h=h+screen.colorDepth : h=h+screen.pixelDepth ; h=h+'&amp;s='+screen.width; } var now=new Date(); h=h+'&amp;t='+now.getHours();h=h+'&amp;j='+navigator.javaEnabled();h=h+'" border="0"&gt;';document.write(h);/</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107410589472735411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107410589472735411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107410589472735411' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107410507377555116</id><published>2004-01-14T12:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-20T12:27:34.543-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>since i started my job i sleep all the time, yet i'm still tired.  i think there is an undocumented force of nature that demands that when you sit at a desk all day, just feeling your butt spread out, you get sleepy.  it's also entirely possible that because my building used to house headquarters for an oil company, that i'm slowly being poisoned with lead, or asbestos, or oil (though i'm not </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107410507377555116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107410507377555116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107410507377555116' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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-6329884.post-107410258013160472</id><published>2004-01-14T12:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-14T12:51:31.466-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>annoying.  i created a different blog and for some reason can't log on.  i think i misspelled my name or something the first time.just to forewarn everyone: i'm not a bad speller, but i am a lousy typist, so when you see words like "fueannly i'm foinf ito tstart aweblof" know that it means "finally i'm going to start a weblog." we don't need every letter anyway, just the first and last of each </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107410258013160472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6329884/posts/default/107410258013160472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://satisfyingsusan.blogspot.com/2004_01_01_archive.html#107410258013160472' title=''/><author><name>susan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17038380905828141700</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>
