tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29040311580559989302024-03-12T19:02:02.920-07:00Purely PurnellPlanet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.comBlogger34125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-39194848736926867712012-08-08T15:20:00.002-07:002012-08-08T15:22:03.296-07:00Captcha<i>"Captcha--a type of challenge-response <span style="color: black;">test used in </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Computing" style="color: black;" title="Computing"></a>computing as an attempt to ensure that the response is generated by a person."</i> Or, in people speak terms, those two annoying words you have to type in to make sure you are you and not a computer. Sad really, because I would love to read the comment a computer would leave on my blog. Something quite random I'm sure.<br />
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Am I the only one who has problems with the captcha? I can't be. They have refresh buttons for a reason. And they should. Not only are the letters of the captcha incredibly small, but they are also blurry and all smushed together. They make no sense, and every single time I'm asked to type in the 'words above' I get them wrong. And it's not just once, or twice where I've made that mistake. There have been times when the number of tries is much higher (I won't share how high. Let's just say it's high enough to make one question my smarts).<br />
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Besides, doesn't the captcha violate a computer's first amendment rights? I bet that's what finally puts the machines over the edge...Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-51008977148391774382012-06-21T00:11:00.001-07:002012-06-21T00:13:05.679-07:00MusingsThey say blogs are now a thing of the past. Sigh...that seems so sad. Even though I did not regularly blog myself, I enjoyed reading the blogs of other people. So much nicer than a short facebook paragraph or these mysterious tweets I keep hearing about. Besides, how am I ever going to make a fortune as a famous blogger if no one reads blogs anymore?<br />
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I realize that in order for that to happen I would actually have to write on a consistent basis. Since I don't see that happening anytime in the next decade, I guess my blogger dreams will never be realized. I'll just have to write a best selling novel and then put a tweet link on my facebook account. Yeah...<br />
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<br />Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-49210609864153830912011-07-02T21:01:00.000-07:002011-07-02T21:05:24.302-07:00Adventure at Boy ScoutsThough, according to Bryant, there really was no adventure. Wednesday evening my sister got a call from her husband. Wait - let me backtrack a bit. This past week my son, nephew and bro-in-law all went to scout camp. They left Monday morning, at 4-freakin-am. (in our house 4 am is a bedtime) The call on Wednesday was to let us know that their scout troop was trapped on the wrong side of a flooded river. Apparently everything, merit badges, mess hall, and the road home, were on the opposite side. According to the local news (it actually made it into the paper) it was a precarious situation with food being passed to the trapped boy scouts by a rope and pulley system. Needless to say I was anticipating an exciting story when Bryant finally made it home. We weren't sure - because of the terribly precarious situation -when the boys would actually make it home. To my surprise Bryant walked in the door today around noon. When I asked about his ordeal he rolled his eyes, scoffed, and said it was 'no big deal'. I was a little grumpy this morning, er...afternoon, and did not appreciate the teenage attitude, especially when I was expecting something exciting, something worthwhile to blog about. Alas, thanks to my almost fifteen year old boy, I have nothing.<br />
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The week before Lauren was at girls camp. This past week Bryant was at scout camp. Of course, as a good mother, I missed them both terribly and could not wait for them to get home. However, as a bad mother.....and I believe I'll stop right there.<br />
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</a></div>Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-80389716746831695242011-06-22T16:25:00.000-07:002011-06-22T17:39:01.708-07:00Sniff....We had to get a new car. It's shiny, and sleek and doesn't smell like fifteen years of use. I don't like it. I mean, as a car it's fine, but I miss the old one, the one that was completely paid for, the first car Carl and I bought together, I miss our little red corolla. So what if the paint was chipping off, it shook when you drove it, and we had to jimmy rig the handle with wire to get it to open...hold on I'm having a hard time remembering my point. New car vs. old car...new car not as good as old...why is new car not as good as old? Did I mention that the corolla was totally and 100% paid for? Let's be honest, that's a big bonus point in the corolla's favor. That and the fact that after fifteen years, 338,000 miles, and at least a dozen spilled smoothies, we didn't have any problems or issues with the corolla (besides the funky smell of dried smoothie sitting in the sun. Yowza! That'll clear the sinus's.) not one! The day Carl traded-in the corolla I texted him and told him to take a picture. He texted back, "I already did." Sigh...what sentimental old fools we've become.<br />
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A very blurry picture of the corolla. Sadly it doesn't show my attempts to 'repaint' and 'recover' the fading and chipping paint. I won't say anything more on that subject except Carl still shudders when he sees me with paint in my hand. <br />
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I thought we would simply get another corolla but apparently I was wrong. Carl wanted something sportier. (the whole 'accelerating on it's own' thing with the newer corolla's didn't help either) Carl might have said sportier, but I heard <b>smaller</b>. How in the world was my six foot six macho man going to fit into something smaller? He already drove the corolla with his head touching the ceiling. And it's not like corolla's are known for their vast and roomy interior. A friend suggested we get a Lexus. Why I don't know. So far we haven't hit that independently wealthy part of our marriage. Plus, a Lexus isn't Purnell friendly. My mom had a Lexus and our experience with it wasn't exactly Lexus ownership encouraging. Carl was just too tall. If he wanted to ride in it, or drive it, he had to open the sun roof so his head would have someplace to go. I would have made fun, but I had my own issues. Whenever I drove I had to sit so close that, every time I checked my blind spot, my chest would honk the horn. Needless to say we did not get a Lexus. We got a Honda Civic Coupe - two door. And Carl actually fits better in it than he did in the corolla. The seat sits back and low so his height is an advantage. As for my height, there's no way I'll be driving the new car. Not unless I can figure out a way to see over the dashboard and get my feet to touch the pedals at the same time. But, on the bright side, at least there will be no chest honking. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AHCLJZS9upM/TgJ5u1HawZI/AAAAAAAAAcg/PPEHHxSFVSw/s1600/new+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AHCLJZS9upM/TgJ5u1HawZI/AAAAAAAAAcg/PPEHHxSFVSw/s320/new+car.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-40282764059618160882011-06-11T00:17:00.000-07:002011-06-11T01:14:02.942-07:00I hate BloggerI guess I really can't blame them for my own technical handicap....though it's much nicer than blaming myself. I had purchased a domain for my other blog, planet tiff. (I know, super creative name right) I guess it required an annual payment, which I did not pay. Now my blog is gone and I can't figure out how to get it back! You'd think the people at blogger would make it easy for me to give them money. Apparently no...you have to be some sort of computer genius - like build your own dvr and stuff. (have I ever mentioned that my baby sister brought such a person into our family? My bro-in-law literally built himself a dvr. I can't even operate one and he built one!) Sigh...you'd think after a semester of some sort of computer class - taken in 1992 - would give me the knowledge I would need in a situation like this. It hasn't helped at all and I don't think my less than stellar grade in the class has any bearing on the situation either. Maybe the fact that computers in 92 were the same size as a kitchen table but definitely not my grade. <br />
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One of my family members - I won't say who - made the comment that blogs disappear after six months of inactivity and that's why my other one has faded into oblivion. Hahaha. To think I gave this non-mentionable person life. Not to mention that I allowed him to watch a six hour 'The Nanny marathon with me.' Hmmm, wait....maybe there's a connection there.<br />
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I'm actually supposed to be writing a talk for Sunday. (at our church people from the congregation speak, not a paid clergy) As you can see I'm working really hard on it. I figure I'll just get up there and wing it. What's the worst that can happen? Oh yeah. Me. Speaking. In front of people. Bad, bad and more bad. I'm sure at some point something inappropriate will come out of my mouth. Not intentionally mind you...it just kinda happens on it's own. Considering I'm a lousy secret keeper, that's a lethal combination. Oh well, wish me luck! (and that you've never told me anything embarrassing, illegal or otherwise incriminating.)<br />
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I leave you with my current favorite picture. My baby girl is growing up so fast! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-2741541344610162632010-11-19T00:07:00.000-08:002010-11-19T00:13:40.690-08:00Almost resolution time!Are you ready?<br />
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Being in the fitness industry I hear, a lot, about people's different resolutions. 99.9% of them have to do with weight loss. Since my job depends on just that I am incredibly supportive and encouraging of their efforts. Here is where it gets real. Most of these people will not make it to the end of January. Why? Because Hershey's, Cadbury, and the makers of M&M's somehow make their chocolaty goodness addicting. I can think of no other rational explanation. Why else would someone, not me of course, but someone, eat an entire bag of M&M's in one night? Why I ask you? <br />
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Through hard earned experience, I have learned some very valuable keys for effective and lasting weight loss. The first is very simple, don't eat an entire bag of M&M's yourself. Second, the use of a pedometer can be a great asset. A very great asset indeed.....if you remember to put it on. Sitting on the couch waving it up and down, while a great idea in theory, does not work. I don't know why, it just doesn't. Third, and the last for tonight, use a scale. Mine is an excellent prop for some unstable shelving. It is just the right height and very sturdy.<br />
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Following these steps will help you achieve your resolution of lasting and effective weight loss. Now where did I put that bag of m&m's?Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-62312984922283210682010-11-17T22:31:00.000-08:002010-11-17T22:32:44.484-08:00My bookI have decided to post the first chapter of my book. I'm hoping that some of you will actually read it and let me know what you think. Carl says I'm procrastinating the whole publishing thing...and he's right. So, I figure that if I get some feedback first I might get the guts to actually do something with it.<br />
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The link is on the right side of my page, and it's entitled 'The Chronicles of Sheila.' Good luck and happy reading!Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-78592288255260171052010-11-17T17:27:00.000-08:002012-08-13T12:31:24.646-07:00Is it pathetic to make yourself laugh?Or find your own post funny? I sincerely hope so. I'd like to be pathetic for something other than being in my pajamas's all day. I was reading through all my previous posts (all five of them) and came across this one. What I find funny is the fact that I am in the same place (bookwise) now that I was then. Sigh.... <br />
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I, Tiffany P., have written a book. Not surprising to anyone who had the sad privilege of growing up with me. As a kid I could spend hours creating different stories and fantasy worlds for my brother and I to act out. (No matter what we played my brother always insisted on being called Steve. For the life of me I don't know why, especially since his name is Reed. I tried explaining to him that vampires, monsters, and fairy princess's, even the manly ones, don't go by the name Steve. Somehow during this explanation Reed would end up crying, or mad, and I would get into trouble. I don't remember why I was always the one in trouble, but I'm pretty sure it was Steve's fault. One of the problems with an overactive imagination is that the lines between fantasy and reality become blurred. If that line is not kept strictly in check, you chance the possibility of ending up with one incredible, albeit talented, liar. As we all know lie's, like boomerangs and acne, always have a way of coming back to you. Before you know it you'll find yourself in a crowded room, as the 'expert' football commentator, even if you've never actually watched a football game before in your life. Not that I ever did that or anything. <br />
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Getting back to my point, I have written myself a novel...or is it a book? I'm not quite sure what differentiates a novel from a book. Is it the heaving bosoms? Which brings me to another point. What does a bosom look like when it heaves? To me the word heaves is associated with tummy trauma. I may be wrong here but that seems like somewhat of a passion killer. Although, the only reference I have in that department is when someone, (I'm not saying who since I promised Carl I wouldn't use his name), accidentally burped in my mouth. I did not feel passion.<br />
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This book I have written has done nothing but sit and collect dust for the past year. I've toyed with the idea of trying to get it published, but have never really done anything about it. Well, this week, I decided that I was going to do it! I went on-line and got submission guidelines from a few different publishing companies. One of these companies requires you to fill out an author questionnaire. I was happily filling it out when I came to a really weird question. They wanted to know: 'what is your<u> pens</u> name?' I'll admit, for the thirty or so years I've been around, I've never been asked that. Never. Since I'm not a publisher, nor ever been one, I figured they could ask whatever they like. So I wrote down Bic (my pens name). Apparently there was no S at the end of pen. It's amazing the power that one tiny consonant has. So if you ever see a book written by the author Bic, you'll know who it is. I don't know how, but something tells me Steve was involved.Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-61247606456048849492010-11-16T15:18:00.000-08:002010-11-16T15:33:40.589-08:00Christmas SpiritCarl says, even though it's a little over a week away, that I'm not allowed to have Christmas Spirit until after Thanksgiving. I say BAH HUMBUG to him! If it were up to me the Christmas decorating would start the day after Halloween. Forget all this orange and brown. Give me green, red, and silver. The more sparkles and glitter the better.<br />
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I started my Christmas protest by decking out my blog in yuletide happiness. Next come the outside lights. This weekend the Purnell house will be blinging it Christmas style. I'll probably wait until Thanksgiving day to start the rest of my decorations, but only because I'll be too tired putting up the outside lights (it's the only time of year the bushes and shrubs are pruned. Gotta look good for the lights, even if it does take me an entire day, two ladders, and a pack of energy drinks to get it all done).<br />
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My big decorating project is my Christmas Village. Way back in the olden days, the 90's, my mom started collecting the Dept. 56 North Pole Village. Eventually she had over fifty houses! I guess that was too much because she split her village between the five kids, only keeping a few houses for herself. That was the start of my own North Pole craziness. Thankfully Bry loves the village as well. Every time I add something new to my collection I tell Carl it's really for Bry. I know he doesn't buy it for a second but it makes me feel more justified (although Bry heard me say that and now he calls it OUR Village. It doesn't bother me at all).<br />
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Below is <b><u>MY</u></b> village the first year I displayed it. We'll pretend, for Carl's sake, that this is still the extent of my village. Although this year I have the train depot and train set, as well as the Polar Bear palace. I especially love the palace because, well, it's a palace. <br />
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</tbody></table>I will never-ever-never put it behind the couch like that again. First of all, how is anyone to feel like they are actually in the North Pole if there is a big green couch in the way? No, that just won't due. Secondly, anyone who sat on the couch came away with fake snow and glitter stuck to them. Every few days or so I'd have to add more! Geesh, what a pain.<br />
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I'm really excited to put it up this year, but am dealing with a space crisis. It's gotten so big I might have to use all of the living room furniture to pull it off. Nobody actually uses the living room....right?Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-3017477752851267522010-11-15T12:37:00.000-08:002010-11-16T14:57:25.067-08:00Exercise...why?I have this crazy idea in my head that I am going to lose five pounds and get in better shape, at least that's what my brain has decided. My body on the other hand enjoys sitting on the couch eating a variety of chocolate products. I've been running three times a week. Actually, I don't know if I would call it running. Fast walking while wheezing and dry heaving would be more realistic. Anyway, I haven't noticed much of a difference on the scale. (could be that when I'm not 'running' I'm on the couch partaking of the chocolate goodness.)<br />
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One of my running hindrances is an injury. A couple of months ago I tore my hamstring and it just won't get better, even when I try to placate it with chocolate. I hurt it doing yoga, something that is supposed to <b>prevent</b> an injury like that. I was in the middle of class, teaching of course, and tried to go into a really challenging pose, that I knew I couldn't do. Apparently I thought the audience would somehow enable me to do said pose, they didn't. "POP" went the hamstring. I'm pretty proud of myself for not bawling hysterically (I saved it for the stall in the woman's bathroom) and finishing out the class (we laid on our mats in corpse pose for fifteen minutes). Anyone else ever dealt with something like this? How did you let it heal and work out at the same time?<br />
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Needless to say, my motivation is somewhat lacking, even if I am watching Regis and Kelly while stomping away on the treadmill (have you seen that woman's arms?!? Double dog dang!) So I thought I'd get my kids involved to help out. Sounds like a good idea right? We decided that we'd go hiking up at Round Valley, a beautiful regional park a few miles from our house.<br />
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Here we are in the car, at the start of our first co-workout together. Notice the enthusiasm, the happy faces, everyone looks ready to roll. (and I am rethinking the teeth-together grin, maybe even a wax or two before my next close-up) The park is less than ten miles from our house. It took us almost an hour to actually get there. If you ask the kids they'll say it's because I got lost. I contend that I was merely taking the scenic route.<br />
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After touring the back roads of Brentwood, we finally made it to Round Valley. The kids insisted we have another photo op. Wisely I chose to stay out of this one. If you look closely you'll see the strap across Laurie's chest. Bry and I tried to convince Lauren to carry a camelpack, but she insisted on carrying her Indiana Jones bag. I told her that it was, in actuality, a purse and not a real Indiana Jones bag. For those of you who know my Laurie-girl you can imagine how well THAT went.<br />
Things were going well, we were having fun,...until our first hill. The second hill was even more miserable than the first. Lauren spent the rest of our uphill ascents telling me, bry, the coyotes, and anyone within a mile radius, just how miserable she was and how much she hated hiking. Bry didn't complain. No, he had us stopping every five minutes to take a 'break.'<br />
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This is one of our many, many pit stops (and there were a lot of them). Bry, as smurf-like as ever, is still smiling away, (probably because he knew we were only five minutes from another break.) Lauren on the other hand paused her complaining long enough for me to take this picture. That's her 'I'm in hell' smile. Do you see the notebook in her hand? (just one of the many unusual things she pulled out of her 'bag'.) She was composing a hard copy list of her complaints. So, just in case I wasn't listening to her, I could read about it later. Great.<br />
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In spite of the complaints, plethora of stops, and general slow pace, we finished our hike in just under two hours. Good times. We haven't had a group workout since.<br />
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<span id="goog_1961928333"></span><span id="goog_1961928334"></span>Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-4187767482609410472010-11-10T23:28:00.000-08:002010-11-11T01:01:48.040-08:00Let's give it another tryI've decided that my blogs don't have to be unbelievably amazing, and/or earth-shattering to be read. In fact, this can be the most boring blog in the world and people will read it! Why? Because eventually people get bored enough and will read anything.<br />
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So I've been thinking of a way to summarize, in three sentences, the last year of my families life. So here it goes:<br />
Carl and I both had surgery, less than two months apart, and find that when unsupervised our kids can and will eat a week's worth of groceries in a day. Pain killers make Carl hallucinate, when Carl hallucinates he wakes me up at all hours of the night, which in turn makes me grumpy. (make that grump<i>ier</i>, having no food to eat makes me grumpy) Bryant started High school, Lauren's in Jr. High, and they still eat like a varsity football team.<br />
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Speaking of a varsity football team...I think tomorrow is Veteran's day. What I do know is that my kids don't have school. So here it is 12: 45 in the morning and I'm thinking I get to sleep in. Wrong! I totally forgot that I have to teach cycle in the morning. Drats, I hate having to act perky when I'm so tired. (it's bad enough when I'm not) I wonder what my class would do if I brought in a lounge chair and cue cards. Instead of yelling motivational things at them I could just hold up a card and wave it around a bit. Better yet, I could get someone else to hold up the card for me! Wait a minute, my kids don't have school tomorrow. And they thought they weren't going to do anything fun.Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-27261366143959261772010-03-10T23:48:00.000-08:002010-03-10T23:48:39.533-08:00How pathetic I am reduced to 'borrowing' from my other blog. I keep saying I'll blog more on here, but obviously I don't. Sigh...<br />
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One of my sisters recently asked why I don't post more pictures. After I got done laughing, and realized she was serious, I tried explaining that it would be cruel to do that to my readers (all three of them). The writings of my brain are scary enough as it is. Adding pictures would be nothing short of traumatizing. Why you ask? Because I've seen the selection and it is not pretty.<br />
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First of all, my nostrils never cooperate with me. Without fail, just when a flash is about to go off, my nostrils flare to the size of a couple of quarters. Well, maybe not a quarter. I tried sticking a quarter up my nose once, just to see if it would fit, and thankfully it did not! (I mean no disrespect to those few who have super pliable, or unusually large quarter fitting, nostrils). Once I realized the quarter wouldn't fit I tried a nickel, which totally fit. I haven't decided if that's a good or bad thing yet. How do you determine appropriate nostril size? I imagine the size of one's nose, or bridge of the nose, would be important. As would the length. Do the rest of the face ingredients matter also? I mean, if you have small eyes would it make large nostrils even larger? What about someone with super puffy lips? How about small eyes, puffy lips, and no chin? (again I mean no disrespect to the small eyed, puffy lip, chinless, pliable nostril people out there. Although, if you do fit that description I would love a picture to help with my nostril sizing quest). Yes, these are just one of the many things I wonder about. That and spiders. <br />
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I should probably mention that shoving a nickel up your nose isn't exactly pleasant. First of all, you're putting a nickel up your nose. Nickel's do not smell good. In fact, they smell like a nickel. Secondly, if you push the nickel up to far you risk the chance of it getting stuck. If you are an adult who just 'happened' to stick a nickel up your nose, and it gets lodged, no one is going to help you get it out. They will laugh...hard, and most likely take a picture or two, but you will be left to dig that nickel our on your own. (FYI; do NOT use a toothpick. Unless your looking to give yourself another nostril). It's not like you can go to a doctor either. I mean, I guess you <b>could</b> go to a doctor...and forever be known as gold-digger girl. (apparently nickel-digger girl doesn't sound quite as good). ~by Planettiff.com~Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-38428214920844759252009-12-27T21:27:00.000-08:002009-12-27T21:35:06.619-08:00Another blog attemptI swear this is my last attempt. Okay, so it may not be my <i>last </i>attempt, but I'm sure it's pretty close to being my last. Yes, I have started another, just for me, blog. This year my New Year's resolution, (my running record for resolutions is three days) is to post on both blogs at least twice a week. So, for the readers of my blog, which consists of me and my mom, I will do my best not to disappoint. Without further adieu I give you Planet Tiff! <br />
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www.planettiff.comPlanet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-16064195036119833292009-12-27T17:46:00.000-08:002011-06-22T17:49:27.213-07:00So what now?<blockquote>Christmas is really over. I am dealing with the after Christmas melancholy. It feels like this Holiday season just started and now it's over. (and I don't think it's because I procrastinated pretty much everything.) I'm thinking of starting a petition to merge Thanksgiving and Halloween. Which is a pretty wonderful idea if I say so myself. First of all, there would be no required baking for the Thanksgiving dinner. This is a good thing for those of us not gifted with the baking gene. Everyone eats the Turkey feast and for dessert we trick-or-treat. Not only do you get a little post-dinner walk, you also have the costume option. Think about just how convienent that would be! A large, roomy costume with lots of give is just perfect for such a day of feasting. No more tight pants or loosening of the belt.</blockquote><br />
As for Christmas, everyone knows we like to party Purnell style. Purnell style almost always includes mishaps and/or injuries of varying sorts. This year we almost made it without any injuries...almost. Our safety record was broken by a kid wielding a vegetable peeler. How is it possible that such a tiny cut can bleed so much? As for the mishaps...how was I to know that you should put Ham in the oven for at least an hour? You'd think after all the raw and undercooked meals I've accidentally served my family they would be smart enough to give someone else Pork duty. I tried to convince them that a little salmonella poisoning would guarantee a memorable Christmas but did they listen? No. Apparently now that my kids and nieces and nephews can read lying isn't as easy as it once was. I could just stop lying, but where would the fun be in that?Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-58953750472116396782009-11-30T11:52:00.000-08:002009-11-30T11:52:39.683-08:00The truthSo here it is, nothing held back, the honest to goodness truth...I like to write. In fact, I've written a novel. For some reason admitting that is very difficult for me. I don't know why. I've searched my brain for answers, wrote down some of my weirder dreams, (Freud would have a field day!) and tried hypnotism. Quick note; it is very hard to hypnotize yourself. For a second I thought I might have succeeded, but then realized I had dozed off. Even with all of this extensive research, I am no closer to discovering why. Although, I believe that is why my Christmas cards get sent out in July and my blogs aren't very regular.<br />
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The only reason I am actually blogging today is to get out of cleaning. We started our Christmas decorating on Saturday. (when I say we I really mean me. I am married to Carl the scrooge.) I forgot that decorating is WORK. Cleaning up after all that decorating is even more WORK. Urgh. It was so much easier when I was a kid. The only thing required of me was to put ornaments on the tree. Later, when she thought we were sleeping, my mom would take all the ornaments off the tree so she could redecorate it. It sounds tedious, and you may wonder why she went through the effort. Actually it wasn't much of an effort for her since we had a tendency to put all the ornaments on the same branch. Not only was our mode of decorating efficient, it also made sneaking the candy canes that much easier. Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-70767644513085085572009-11-25T13:39:00.000-08:002009-11-25T13:56:35.568-08:00A star is bornLast week Bryant was in his Jr. High's production of 'The King and I'. He played the Prince with the hard to pronounce name. Not only was he the cutest actor on stage, but he was also the best! I claim no motherly prejudice or impartiality when I say this. He really was the best. (and if you don't believe me just ask his dad)<br />
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</div>Last year we were privileged to sit through all three performances of the "The Music Man.' While it was enjoyable, I have to say one night of watching a Jr. High musical is very preferable to sitting through three nights of a Jr. High musical. (esp. if your cute actor kid is the one adjusting his 'costume' onstage. As a mother, how do you mention to your teen son that everyone, including said mother, saw him do this? Simple answer...you don't.) Rumor has it they are doing 'Oliver' this spring. Pray for me.<br />
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</div>Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-29292792561712078002009-11-13T23:19:00.000-08:002009-11-15T21:03:31.113-08:00I've got an excuse and, believe me, it's a good one...and once I figure out just what it is, I'll let you know. Hmmm.....what's a good excuse for a blogging hiatus? (besides laziness) <br />
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Okay, okay, I know it has been a LONG time since I've updated. Good heavens, Halloween has already come and gone, leaving me with nothing but tight jeans and inferior candy. Why, I ask, do I buy the good candy knowing my kids will bring nothing in return but a bag full of bubble yum and smarties? (Our Canadian family should know that American smarties taste like little disks of chalk sprinkled with pixie sticks. Together this mix makes some killer teeth fuzz. Orange juice and Doritos are also good at this.) I think there should be a sliding scale for trick-or-treaters. We'll ask what their parents are giving out, and if it's not one of the big chocolate five, raisins it is.<br />
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As for my arch nemesis, 'The cat who Poops in my yard,' his evil genius status is confirmed. Long story short, Mr. Kitty made the mistake of doing his evil business in my sister's yard. (she lives three houses away from me) This infuriated her husband, Adam, into action. It took him three days, and a variety of food, but finally Adam caught the cat! (as well as a skunk-but that's another story) He took 'The cat who Poops in my yard' for a little drive. (no black bag or shovel included) A blissful week followed in which there was no cat fragrance to fill my nostrils. All of Mr. Kitty's poo bombs were disabled leaving us free to frolic at will. Yes, peace was restored to our land. Then, frightfully, little signs began to appear. Things like the occasional whiff of something nasty, or a suspicious looking pile on the lawn. Also, there was a decidedly evil presence in the air. Oh, I tried to deny the signs. I looked for any possible or plausible explanation, (my family vehemently denied any culpability) but deep down I feared the worst. Alas, my fears were confirmed. 'The cat who Poops in my yard' had undeniably returned. It was a black day for the Purnell house. A black day indeed. I fear the future may involve a paint-gun and Bryant's commando p.j.'s.Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-35272131529533225202009-10-07T08:18:00.000-07:002009-10-07T11:13:58.161-07:00Too earlyI can't sleep. No matter how hard I've tried, my body has decided that it is time for me to get up. How did this happen?!? My body NEVER wants to get up before ten. (and that's on a good day) I'd say hell has finally frozen over but my arch nemesis, 'The cat who poops in my yard,' is still going strong. (and apparently eating quite well)<br />
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I have to give 'the cat who poops' some kudos. He has so far been able to elude not only me, but animal control as well. A friend suggested that I try sprinkling my yard with cayenne pepper. Since I'm a 'more is better' person, I bought a dozen or so bottles of the stuff. First of all, Mr. Kitty did not mind the cayenne. Seems he fancies a little spice in his life. (bad pun intended) It did, however, bother me......as well as my husband, the neighbors, the mailman, Fed Ex guy, newspaper delivery boy, and anyone who was unfortunate to have walked by. And that was BEFORE the sprinklers hit.<br />
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Since I wasn't having much success on my own, I brought in the big guns. Thankfully my 11 year old nephew agreed to help. He brought over his cat trap, (I've learned not to ask questions anymore) and rigged it using tuna fish as bait. Mr. Kitty, it seems, has a refined palette. He prefers things such as my newspaper to a can of tuna. As if it wasn't bad enough to find him still free,'the cat who poops in my yard,' did just that....right in front of the trap. I can't decide if Mr. Kitty is an evil genius, or just really, really dumb. For the sake of my pride, let's go with the first.Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-72117853128193704732009-10-03T14:08:00.000-07:002009-10-03T14:08:52.641-07:00Bored kids are obnoxious kidsOur school schedule is a little different from most. It's like a modified-modified version of year round. The kids start school the last week of July and end the first week of June. During the school year there are three major two week breaks. We are currently in the middle of two week break #1 and I have realized something very important...bored kids are obnoxious kids. (and they know all my hiding places)<br />
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I've tried giving them things to do, but everything I suggest they think is lame. According to them no kid wants to spend their break cleaning or making sock monkeys. I tried using Julio, my personal sock monkey, to persuade them otherwise but they just gave me that 'my mom is SUCH a dork' look. (I told them to be nice, dorkiness is a genetic abnormality and it they get it from both sides) If the last week is any indication, my children have decided that fighting is a TERRIFIC way to spend their break. I haven't decided which is worse, bored and obnoxious or bored and snippy.<br />
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These children have been threatened repeatedly with beatings. I think that's why they've stopped bathing regularly. I tried forcing Lauren into the shower, but she's got me by 3 inches and 10 pounds. (and, according to her, a whole lotta rage) You turn the shower cold on your kids a couple of times and suddenly they don't want to bathe. I just don't get it.Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-46782128457489423152009-10-01T23:54:00.000-07:002009-10-01T23:56:31.286-07:00New SiteOriginally this blog was meant to be a family blog. Somehow, not sure how, but somehow this blog hasn't turned out as intended. SO, starting RIGHT now, Purely Purnell will truly be about the entire Purnell family. HOWEVER, I know I cannot quite writing about my own personal escapades, so I have developed another site. Give a big hand for.....<br />
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TIFF's TANGENTS!!!<br />
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I am currently looking for a better name so if you have any suggestions please......suggest them.. Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-86119956595297183472009-10-01T22:53:00.000-07:002009-10-01T22:54:52.263-07:00If silence is golden, then duct tape is silverI can't take credit for that brilliantly, brilliant insight. That was straight from the lips of my thirteen year old. (he's a genius...takes after his mom. You know, the parent who's not allowed to touch power tools) My little man just returned home from Pismo beach in which he; rode a dune-buggy, enjoyed a sand storm, and survived a tsunami. What more could a scout ask for?Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-52571409202842950592009-09-17T22:35:00.000-07:002009-09-18T08:39:18.495-07:00Golf, golf and more golfI write this as I am sitting in a golf cart. Why am I in a golf cart? It’s not because I am currently involved in a golf game. No, I am sitting in a golf cart as a show of support to my Carl. You see, my parents have been out visiting for the last week or so, (we are on the ‘or so’ part) and one of my parents favorite things to do is golf. My dad plays while my mom sits in the cart and does her counted cross stitch. Carl decided that we too should do this. (Golf, not counted cross stitch) We are now on the eleventh hole. I was done after the third. Turns out driving a cart isn't as fun as it seems. (FYI, they do not allow or condone the harassment of the golf course geese.)<br />
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The current golf game aside, having my parents visit has been very nice. It seems that my children’s behavior improves dramatically when they are around. I believe it has to do with the amount of sugar and junk my dad buys them. They know the better behaved they are (meaning then quieter they are. Let’s be honest, my parents don’t really care if my kids are being naughty or not, as long as they are being quiet.) the more candy and junk they get. In less than a week my children have turned into saints. Not even Super-Nanny could perform a miracle like that. <br />
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Other than golf we haven't done too much of anything.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yeah, Lois is going to kill me for that. I've already done worse, so I figure what the hey. You see, a few nights ago she went out for her nightly walk. I did not know that my mom went outside for a nightly walk. Since it was night, and I do live in California, (another reason one would not expect to find their mother outside at 11 pm) I locked my doors. By the time my mom returned I was brushing my teeth, completely unaware of her predicament. Thankfully Bry heard and let her in. According to Lois, she knocked and rang the bell for almost five minutes. BUT, according to the timer in my toothbrush, it couldn't have been more than two. Since the time discrepancy really wasn't all that pertinent, I apologized and told her Carl's 'snake story.* <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As for Wayne . . . .Lois and I have decided he needs more sleep and less sugar. We made this decision after he spent a solid fifteen minutes using an English accent. (no toothbrush timer required) I have to admit, however, his English accent was rather impressive. Besides the accent and golf, Wayne has also been doing water aerobics. It started out as merely lap swimming. Half-way through his laps he noticed the pool filling with bathing suit clad seniors. Somehow the instructor bribed Wayne into trying the class out. I had the privilege of peeking in . . . he was so cute! By far the class member with the most energy. (and who can blame him? They were grooving away to some wicked Neil Diamond remix. And as anyone who has ever tried water aerobics knows, that class is not easy...especially if your swimming method of choice includes the words 'doggy' or 'paddle.' Which Wayne's does not.) I know he's my dad, but in my expert opinion (as a certified aqua instructor who has never actually taught an aqua class), Wayne is a natural aqua student. (as well as a fine Englishman) <br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> *One of the things that Carl and Lois have bonded over is their mutual fear of snakes. A few months back Carl came home from the gym and found a 'visitor' hanging out by the front door. What followed is commonly referred to as Carl's snake story. (he freaked, ran over and got me at my neighbor Holly's house, Holly tried to corner the snake, Carl stood across the street yelling, "You're so brave Holly! So brave!", I laughed and laughed and laughed and then told everyone) <br />
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</div>Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-35065565106315428942009-09-17T20:49:00.000-07:002009-09-17T22:54:05.169-07:00And he's going. . . . .To TEXAS!<br />
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</div>Congrats Ry on your mission call.<br />
<span id="goog_1253245507737"></span><span id="goog_1253245507738"></span>Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-40524323670899780832009-09-10T21:47:00.000-07:002009-09-12T13:17:07.853-07:00How we Purnell's like to party<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_efH7ombwqm0/SqwBdJi25cI/AAAAAAAAAN0/Ww_enyBK87E/s1600-h/IMG021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a></div>It's amazing how frank our society has become. I am constantly shocked at some of the questions I get asked. Like yesterday, somebody asked me if I was still happy after 14 years of marriage. I tried to think of some witty way to say, "none of your bee's-wax," but the person asking was a bit too quick. (probably because I've been married to him for 14 years) Seriously though, I do get asked that question a lot and not always by my hubby. I guess it's hard for some people to believe that Carl and I would still find each other interesting after so many years, and what is our secret? I simply tell them that is the beauty of mental illness. Crazy people are interesting people. They laugh, realize I'm serious, and never ask me anything again. That could explain why we're not invited to more social gatherings, but I digress. Honestly, I find that life is interesting enough no matter what your mental state and Carl and I have had enough interesting experiences to last a lifetime. Heck, most of our anniversaries would fit under the 'interesting' category.<br />
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Our first anniversary was spent with a 3 week old baby in Richmond Utah, at a Carlson reunion, with my dad. Wayne graciously agreed to watch Bryant so Carl and I could go out to dinner. I believe we hit the Wendy's drive through and continued on to the only private place we could think of...the Richmond cemetery. At the time hanging out in the cemetery seemed perfectly logical. Looking back, however, I can see that spending your first anniversary in a cemetery can be considered...well...weird. (just another example of a mental illness bonus-everything is weird, therefore nothing is weird...which, in a way, is weird)<br />
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Another memorable anniversary is the one where we 'camped.' As a kid I loved camping. Maybe because all my camping experiences involved my grandparent's fifth wheel, meaning we always had running water and flushable toilets. Thinking myself to be some great outdoors-man, who just loved roughing it, I eagerly suggested camping for our 3rd anniversary. (doesnt' that just sound like such fun?) Carl, who claims memory loss at any of these events, agreed and so we pawned Bry off on our friends, packed up our meager camping gear, and headed up Logan canyon. Four hours later we headed down Logan Canyon, stopped at a store so I could use the bathroom, and home we went. In my defense, it was my very FIRST experience with an outhouse. I discovered that you take a certain number of risks when using an outhouse. The most memorable being, bug bites itch no matter where they are.<br />
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After so much fun Carl decided I was no longer allowed to plan our anniversaries. For our tenth he wanted to go all out and party Purnell style. I found out that Purnell style is almost as much fun as Tiffany style. Our destination: the beautiful white sand beaches of Cancun, Mexico. Unfortunately, that was also the destination of one hurricane Emily. Looking back, our spidey senses should have tingled a bit when we noticed how many people weren't on the plane with us or the line of people waiting to LEAVE Cancun. But no. We were blissfully clueless and ready to party 'Purnell' style. I don't want to put all the blame on the category 5 hurricane. We probably could have still made it the romantic week of our dreams even with a hurricane roaring all around us. No,it wasn't Emily that killed the romance, it was the 30 other people bunking in with us. That's not to say that our time spent with these 30 people wasn't entertaining. It was. Somehow Carl and I ended up with the east coast crowd. New Yorkers to be exact. Take a roomful of New Yorkers, add in an open bar (for those that drink), and you have the formula for hours upon hours of endless entertainment. Good times. (here's a question: why do drunk people particularly enjoy conversing with sober people? Carl in particular.)<br />
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in<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_efH7ombwqm0/Sqv-8HQJkwI/AAAAAAAAANc/1_s3e01i0H0/s1600-h/FH000018+%282%29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_efH7ombwqm0/Sqv-8HQJkwI/AAAAAAAAANc/1_s3e01i0H0/s320/FH000018+%282%29.JPG" /></a></div>Carl looking quite<br />
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Our nifty hallway haven--<br />
until they made us move<br />
(something about safety,<br />
windows, and flying broken glass)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_efH7ombwqm0/Sqv_cB410MI/AAAAAAAAANs/DcHw2PW9fJE/s1600-h/IMG024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_efH7ombwqm0/Sqv_cB410MI/AAAAAAAAANs/DcHw2PW9fJE/s320/IMG024.JPG" /></a></div>This is a few days after the sixth Harry Potter book came out (you can see it lying<br />
between Carl and I) Desperate people, who didn't have the same brilliant foresight<br />
as myself, were offering me ridiculous amounts of money for it. In my brilliance---I said no.<br />
Sadly, that is one of the smartest things I did on this trip.<br />
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The girl next to me was one of our 'open bar' buddies. Carl and I didn't have the heart to tell her<br />
she didn't have any cell service.Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2904031158055998930.post-2670790320685868832009-09-03T22:22:00.000-07:002009-09-03T22:22:47.049-07:00Urgh!For some reason I can't make comments on anyone's page. (including my own) I don't think it's user error (which is the most likely explanation) but whatever the cause, I am reading everyone's posts. (and loving them!)Planet Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03372576329003497703noreply@blogger.com0