<?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-2424446098268961838</id><updated>2011-09-21T06:34:44.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How I Married Your Father</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gratuitoushistory.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2424446098268961838/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gratuitoushistory.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>acte gratuit</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SN8jXXlKOGI/AAAAAAAABa4/2SD7nH1wYZg/S220/Profile+Photo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>1</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2424446098268961838.post-7603028544282096461</id><published>2008-11-23T06:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T05:26:15.213-08:00</updated><title type='text'>This is the STORY!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;How I Met, Dated, Courted and then Married Douglas!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Okay. Since this is the month of Gratuitous Posting (thanks &lt;a href="http://www.nablopomo.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;NaBloPoMo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;) I'm going to tell a gratuitous story. The story of how I met Doug. Or at least the first chapter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;This needs to be recorded for posterity anyway, since Doug's memory is shockingly unreliable. (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Puh&lt;/span&gt;-lease...I did NOT flirt as shamelessly as he claims!) (Or, if I did, he can't prove it.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;If you are one of the friends mentioned in this story, please feel free to correct or add to my details. Doug accuses me all the time of being a pathological liar, but in fact, I just have a creative memory. (No. Not like the scrapbook company.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;But I need to start at the beginning. Or at least, I need to start at the beginning of the year. Actually, the end of the year. Actually, Christmas 1999. Okay, I'm just going to start...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-STYLE: italic"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(204,0,0)"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;On Christmas Day, 1999,&lt;/span&gt; I broke up with my fiance.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Over the phone. He was in Utah, I was visiting home in Carlsbad. It was a mutual thing but I'm not gonna lie...it pretty much ruined my day. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. Many tears were shed and one very regrettable e-mail was sent. By me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My sister tried to help by getting me a date for THE VERY NEXT DAY! The guy was in fact very cute, but I'm afraid I wasn't good company...being all listless and staring off into space as I was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My mom's effort to help ended up being more effective. She took me to visit my Uncle Clyde for solace and advice. Now, Uncle Clyde and Aunt Jeannette are two of the best people you'll never meet. Uncle Clyde was my surrogate dad after my parents separated. He helped me get through the last two years of High School with my head on straight. He was also my spiritual advisor, and I was in desperate need of advisement. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;You see, I had met T when I was 16. I had fallen madly in love with him when I was 18. And at 21, I thought I would marry him. So our broken engagement threw me for a loop. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266945098085185474" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 306px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SRfyqUbaN8I/AAAAAAAACB4/U_cFZDCb6wo/s320/Seeing+off+T+at+airport+copy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;(Seeing T off on his 2-year Mission, August 1996.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266945104229811186" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 247px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SRfyqrUZw_I/AAAAAAAACCA/8EA49WrZ60M/s320/Scrapbook+Pictures+Em+and+Tyson+copy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;(This picture could be titled "He's Just Not That Into You". We had just gotten back together after a one year break and he called me the wrong name two times that night. Whoops.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;ANYWAY, back to Uncle Clyde. I went to him for help and that night he gave me a very special Priesthood Blessing*. A blessing that put me completely at ease and helped to heal a lot of my heartbreak. In my blessing I learned two very important things: 1) I had not yet met the man I would marry, and 2) It would be through my friends that I would meet him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of COURSE I was still heart broken. But I was at peace. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Unfortunately, I was stuck in San Diego because T was supposed to have been my ride back to Utah.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fortunately, roommate &lt;a href="http://therklesenbliss.blogspot.com/"&gt;PB&lt;/a&gt; and our friends Jayson and &lt;a href="http://www.ckgrover.blogspot.com/"&gt;Chris&lt;/a&gt; drove out from Utah, celebrated Y2K with me in San Diego, (when I had been hoping to get my ring) and then drove me home to get on with my life. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267270284271664770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 226px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SRkaapX7voI/AAAAAAAACCQ/f56_xtPZ1QA/s320/E,+PB,+Chris,+Jayson+on+Beach.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266934072612716354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 219px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SRfoojV7f0I/AAAAAAAACBo/BCt24eNXNGA/s320/The+Boys+in+San+Diego.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266934055110055810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SRfoniI-F4I/AAAAAAAACBQ/J8Cz4f9vaVo/s320/E+and+PB+on+our+way+home+to+Utah.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life, just then, found me living at The Old Mill with two of my very best friends and my favorite 76 year old German; &lt;a href="http://therklesenbliss.blogspot.com/"&gt;PB (Michelle)&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://rockymountainhughes.blogspot.com/"&gt;Anna, (Banana)&lt;/a&gt;, and Ursula. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5266934060947007426" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 249px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SRfon34m58I/AAAAAAAACBY/6082iaq5dXg/s320/PB,+Annie-Bugs,+and+Em.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And things were pretty good there. Being in our early 20's, we were on the young side in that particular complex. (All except Ursula, of course, who tended to be on the slightly older side.)This meant we got plenty of attention from guys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I resolved that I wasn't going to worry/obsess so much about boys any more. I was just going to date whoever I wanted, keep it casual, and focus on having fun. (Oh, and on school, of course...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thanks to the blessing from Uncle Clyde, I felt that confident that I wasn't supposed to marry T which made it much easier to move on and date other people. Which I did. Frequently. (But not nearly as many as my petite long-haired roommate PB, darn her!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;{In case you're skeptical, I should note here that I used to spend quite a bit of time in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ol&lt;/span&gt;' tanning beds, plus I had access to the wardrobes of two very fashionable roommates. So yeah...I was in top form and quite capable of securing a free meal most Friday and Saturday nights.}&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was towards the end of March when I got a call from Bryant**. Bryant was a friend of a friend and we'd been on one date and hung out a bit. He worked at a ski resort and I thought he was pretty darn cute. Anyway, he was calling because he wanted to go rock climbing and thought maybe my roommate Anna could get us in to The Rock Garden for free! Two other girls living in my complex had been wanting to go too, (Anna had offered) so I called them up and we all went together. Unfortunately, when we arrived, Anna had already gotten off work and none of us had brought money. I was JUST about to give up trying to sweet talk her co-worker into letting us climb when she walked in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Turns out she had left work earlier and--I think-- had gone around the corner to visit her dad. On her way back, she noticed my car in the parking lot and came back in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Just in the nick of time. We were set!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;To be continued...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*&lt;a href="http://www.lds.org/ldsorg/v/index.jsp?vgnextoid=bbd508f54922d010VgnVCM1000004d82620aRCRD&amp;amp;locale=0&amp;amp;sourceId=ab839daac5d98010VgnVCM1000004d82620a____"&gt;The priesthood&lt;/a&gt; is the eternal power and authority of God. Through the priesthood God created and governs the heavens and the earth. Through this power He redeems and exalts His children, bringing to pass "the immortality and eternal life of man" (Moses 1:39). God gives priesthood authority &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"&gt;to worthy male members of the Church so they can act in His name for the salvation of His children.&lt;/span&gt; Priesthood holders can be authorized to preach the gospel, administer the ordinances of salvation, and govern the kingdom of God on the earth. (Definition from &lt;a href="http://www.lds.org/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;LDS&lt;/span&gt;.org)&lt;/a&gt; Don't knock it 'till you've tried it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;**I went on one official date with Bryant and rock climbing wasn't it. He found out I'd never been &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold"&gt;fishing&lt;/span&gt; and decided to remedy that. We drove up a mountain. The road to the lake was blocked off. We parked the car and hiked through snow to the lake. It was cold. The lake was frozen solid. He taught me to "cast" for a few minutes until my fingers were blue and then we hiked back down to the car. It was a bit anticlimactic as far as first dates go, but I still managed to have a huge unrequited crush on him anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;PART II&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;I was about to give up&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; and drive the 4 of us back to Old Mill when Anna walked in to The Rock Garden and saved the day.  She quickly got behind the counter, told the other employees we were "okay", and grabbed us all climbing shoes and gear.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, Doug teases me all the time that I was on a date with another boy when we met.  I maintain that it was strictly a "hang-out" and that Bryant was just there for the free climbing.  This is evidenced by the fact that he disappeared from my side as soon as we had our climbing shoes on.  (I don't deny I had a crush on Bryant, but I am pretty positive the feeling was not mutual.)  (Now that I mention it, I think I'm going to try to find Bryant using &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt;.  Maybe then he can settle this once and for all!) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The point is, Bryant disappeared into the depths of the gym as did the girls from church, and Anna and I did our own thing.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;For me, that meant attempting a "bouldering problem".  For Anna, it meant staring at a long-haired, tattoo-covered, bare chested Tarzan on the wall opposite me.  After awhile, I got tired and sat down to watch also, with a small crowd, as Tarzan attempted the last few moves of a particularly difficult climb.  At some point, someone sat down next to me and somehow we started talking.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was just the casual chatter of two people taking a break before going back to what they were doing a moment ago.  But we chatted long enough for me to draw two conclusions.  1) This guy was hitting on me, and 2) I didn't mind this guy hitting on me.  I do remember feeling vaguely worried that Bryant might walk up and scare the new guy off, but he didn't.  Like I said, he was busy doing his own thing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After a few minutes, we went our separate ways and I wandered over to Anna.  She was still watching Tarzan and made some comment about his climbing magnificence.  I pointed across the room--toward a total stranger as far as she knew--and said "I want to go on a date with that guy!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Part III tomorrow!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Just kidding, I'll keep going.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So anyway, Anna &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;hadn't&lt;/span&gt; seen me talking to this person so she was a little baffled that I was pointing to someone random in the crowd. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Awhile later it was time to go.  I'd kept my eye on "the guy" and noticed he was also leaving.  After my bold declaration to Anna, I determined I really did want to go on a date with him.  He was good looking, seemed nice, and was a rock climber.  But I could make the first move.  Dad said girls don't call boys.  And I didn't.  Nor did I approach them and ask for phone numbers.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was all in his hands.  But I was running out of time and was giving up hope.  He didn't know my name and definitely didn't have my number.    He had his shoes on and all that was left was for him to drop off the climbing shoes and leave. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He set them on the counter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He turned towards the door.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then miracle of miracles...he turned around and caught my eye.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He walked over to me on the bench where I was changing shoes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Bryant was nearby but not conspicuously close.)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We started chatting again and I quickly learned the following facts:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1) His name was (and amazingly still is) Doug&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2) He was going to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;BYU  (Score!  This meant he was likely a good student.  You need good grades to get into "The Y".)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3) He was majoring in Zoology and planning to go to Dental School  (EXCELLENT!  He actually had a real major and a PLAN!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4)  He'd done a Semester Abroad in Jerusalem  (Bonus!  He obviously valued culture and travel.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5)  He'd been on a 2-year mission to Germany  (Righteous!  'Cause, you know...he's righteous.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6)  He was four months older than me  (Seemed important to him, but whatever.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have no idea what I said to him or what info he gleaned from &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;me&lt;/span&gt; other than my name and probably school, but I guess it was enough.  Just before walking away he said, almost as an after thought;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;"Hey, I'm going climbing with some friends this weekend, do you want to come?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, I really will do Part III tomorrow.  Don't want to use all of my best material when I still have 15 more posts to write this month...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Hasta&lt;/span&gt; Manana!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0);font-size:100%;" class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;&lt;a href="http://actegratuit.blogspot.com/2008/11/how-i-met-your-mother.html"&gt;(Read Part I here&lt;/a&gt;, and &lt;a href="http://actegratuit.blogspot.com/2008/11/how-i-met-your-father-part-ii.html"&gt;Part II here)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 102, 0);"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;PART III&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey, I'm going climbing with some friends this weekend, do you want to come?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is probably the first and last lie Doug ever told me.  He made it up on the spot.  And I knew he made it up on the spot.  And I was thrilled!&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me:  "&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Um, &lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;YEAH&lt;/span&gt;!  Let me get write down my number for you!&lt;/span&gt;"  (as I leap towards the front desk to grab paper and pen.)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went home happy!  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Doug went home and called his friends to make arrangements to climb that weekend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This was a Tuesday.  On Wednesday, I got my first phone call from Doug.  We made plans to climb on Friday.  He would bring a friend and I would bring a friend.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Friday came.  Doug arrived with his &lt;a href="http://www.lmdunn.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt; Mike&lt;/a&gt; (a very nice guy who was planning on going to Law School) and picked up my &lt;a href="http://rockymountainhughes.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt; Anna&lt;/a&gt; and I in the car he shared with his brother &lt;a href="http://www.mrsdub.com/"&gt;Dave&lt;/a&gt;. (an old Taurus named "The Maroon Marauder")&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anna was actually dating her future husband Travis at the time but she came as a favor to me...and 'cause she loves climbing. (And Travis loves climbing.  So I'm sure he totally understood.  Right, Travis???)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;***Unimportant Aside:  As we were pulling away from The Old Mill, I saw something in the road and made Doug stop so I could grab it.  It was a key chain of a cartoon character holding flowers behind his back.  When you push his button, he blushes. The cartoon character's name is Doug.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 304px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SSF2A2-VwZI/AAAAAAAACDs/W9dIrGYxkIs/s320/Doug+Keychain.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269622796129255826" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I found it ironic.  I kept it.  (I keep everything)  He currently resides in my underwear drawer--He's happy there.***&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, if you'll recall, because of my recent painful break up, I had determined that I wasn't going to care deeply about boys anymore.  I wasn't going to try too hard, put on an act, or take myself--or dating--too seriously.  I was just going to have fun.  And I did.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We went up to Rock Canyon and while I waited my turn to climb, I made jokes and played in the dirt.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here is my creation photographed by an amused Doug:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 273px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SSFzD5GPt9I/AAAAAAAACDc/R6Ttdp91NJQ/s320/Dirt+Land.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269619549704009682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here is my butt in a harness:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SSFzDoAPEWI/AAAAAAAACDU/wg7nmaZiehU/s320/Em+Climbing+Rock+Canyon.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269619545115398498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And here I am climbing: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 85px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SSFzD7mCf8I/AAAAAAAACDk/uBiMXySBtF0/s320/Hard+Core.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269619550374232002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Do I look hard core?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Because I am.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm super hard core.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Please note my casual attire.  Baggy shirt and pants.  Hair up in a twist.  I was probably thinking derogatory thoughts about girls who get manicures while I climbed.  ('&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Cept&lt;/span&gt; not you &lt;a href="http://therklesenbliss.blogspot.com/"&gt;PB&lt;/a&gt;.  You're still hard core even if you do have nice nails.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The day was great.  The climbing was great.  Everyone was laughing and joking and having a good time.  Everyone was relaxed and seemed happy.  Mike knew Anna had a boyfriend, so there was no pressure there.  They both seemed to have fun anyway.  On the way back to the car, we started talking about food.  I mentioned that I was going to a dessert party at &lt;a href="http://www.bluelilyphotography.com/index2.php"&gt;Wendy's&lt;/a&gt; that weekend.  I jokingly invited Doug and Mike to come.  Doug said okay!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As we continued to walk, Doug asked me if I had plans for that night!  Now, it was a Friday night.  If I were following "The Rules", I wouldn't have accepted a date on such short notice.  But I'd decided not to play games.  I didn't have plans, and I was happy at the prospect that our date would continue.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He took me home and arranged to come back a few hours later.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When he picked me up, our first stop was a little hole in the wall (basement) sandwich shop in Provo called &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Gandolfo's&lt;/span&gt;.  If you've been there, you know it's awesome.  It's a local favorite and is always packed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While we waited in line, I blew the wrapper off of my straw and hit Doug in the face with it.    When we got our food, Doug asked the cashier "Do you take American?" while holding out his money. (I laughed.  She stared in confusion.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes, this is the foundation upon which we built our eternal relationship: Dirt Land, straw wrappers, and general silliness.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next stop was the local bowling alley where we reconnected with Mike and some of his female friends.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(I probably bowled between 60-70.  I stink at bowling.  I usually get one or two strikes and 5 or 6 gutter balls.  That's just how I roll.  (pun intended.))&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last stop was a typical last stop for Provo dates: Village Inn for dessert.  Of course, even though it was late, it was packed.  While we waited for a table, I made myself comfortable by sitting on Doug's lap.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; say the rest of the seats were taken.  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;He&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; says I'm a brazen hussy.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Tomayto&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Tomahto&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;During dessert I continued to sweep Doug off his feet by dumping a packet of sugar onto my tongue and blowing it at him starting a sugar-spitting-fight.   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's hard to be as mature as I am.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's a real burden.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;That night, Doug dropped me off precisely at midnight.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(Did you know &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;BYU&lt;/span&gt; students have to sign an Honor Code in order to attend school there?  They do.  And it includes a 12 o'clock curfew.  Doug was one of the only guys I ever dated who actually kept curfew.  I couldn't help but be impressed&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;.***&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He gave me a hug at the door.  I don't want to brag, but it was a pretty darn good hug.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You might think after my earlier performance I wouldn't get asked on a second date.  You obviously underestimate my hugging ability...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;To Be Continued...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(yet again.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 153, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;***&lt;/span&gt;Alright, alright Zoobies!  I stand corrected!  The curfew meant that the opposite sex had to be kicked out by midnight (or 1:30 on Friday).  Which means I had probably invited him in and he declined and THAT'S why I was impressed.   Anyway, you get my drift...!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This--for you non-BYU-alumni out there--should give you further insight as to why the Provo Denny's and Village Inn were always packed in the middle of the night.  CURFEW!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;PART 4&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Two days after our first date&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, Douglas joined me at my cousin Wendy's apartment for a dessert party.  Wendy(Rama) and I got together with our Carlsbad friends semi-regularly and the functions usually revolved around food of some sort.  Usually dessert.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.bluelilyphotography.com/index2.php"&gt;(Who knew that Wendy would one day be a FAMOUS PHOTOGRAPHER!?!?!?!?)&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Doug and I arrived at Wendy's apartment at The Riv where we were joined by Kristen and Shawn (married), Wendy, (maybe her latest boy-toy?) probably some of her roommates, and Mindy and Matt who were dating.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It just so happened Wendy's parents were in town.  My fabulous Uncle Clyde and marvelous Aunt Jeanette.   (Remember Uncle Clyde has already been mentioned as an important character in this saga!)  They stopped by that night and Doug and Uncle Clyde immediately hit it off.  My Uncle Clyde is a dentist.  He actually served in the military in the Vietnam War as a dentist.  I watched them talking animatedly and felt happy that Doug was with me.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(When they went home to Carlsbad, they gave my mom, who was living there at the time, a very favorable review of the boy I brought to Wendy's party.  Doug had earned their seal of approval.  They weren't the only one's he impressed.  All my friends told me later that they really liked him.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The thing about that night was, I had an additional engagement scheduled for &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;after&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; the party that I hadn't discussed with Doug.  When the party was wrapping up, I told Doug that Matt had asked me for some help and asked if he'd like to come with me.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.matthewcarlson.blogspot.com/"&gt;Matt&lt;/a&gt; was a film major and that night he'd gotten permission to use a local photography studio for a few hours to work on a film project for school.  He was making a Mac Computer commercial and had asked Bryant and I to be in it.   Yes, the same Bryant from the Rock Garden.  (I met Bryant through Matt and Mindy.  They were all in the same ward.)  (Yes.  I did find Bryant on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt;.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The instructions Matt had given me for that night went something like this:  "bring a really sexy outfit."  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Hmm&lt;/span&gt;.  Okay.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The premise of Matt's commercial was this:  A man (Bryant) has a choice between two doors.  He walks up to door #1 and looks in the peep hole.  He sees a ravishing and fantastically beautiful woman... (that would be me, people).  He then goes to door #2 and looks in the peep hole...he sees a Mac computer.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He picks door #2  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(jerk.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(just kidding.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(It was actually a really funny commercial.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When we got to the studio, Matt and Mindy were setting everything up to do Bryant's part first.  Matt led us into a dressing room and offered me his theater make-up telling me to get prettied up.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then he left us alone sitting in front of the dressing room mirror.  For the next hour or so, we talked.  We talked about life and school and family and friends and all sorts of things.  The conversation flowed smoothly while we stared into each other's eyes by way of the mirror.   (Did I ever mention that Doug has the BEST blue/green eyes?  They're very pretty!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was sorry when we were interrupted...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"I thought you said you knew how to put on liquid eye-liner!!!"  Matt rebuked when he entered the room.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He then proceeded to put it on for me and thus began my film career.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, you know how when Oprah started out, her show was pretty trashy?  Well, my job that night was to sit on a stool in a short skirt and look seductive.   (Hey!  You take what you can get in Hollywood!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was woefully unprepared for the part.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As you may have noticed from reading my blog, I don't take myself very seriously. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I had no other acting skills to speak of.  I never took dance as a kid, (which involves using your body to relay a message to the audience...usually while wearing spandex of some sort)  or drama or acting...I took 10 years of violin lessons.   And I was never, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;EVER&lt;/span&gt; required to look seductive at a recital.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This was entirely new territory for me.  I was so embarrassed I couldn't do anything but blush and giggle.  I made Mindy and Doug leave the room but it didn't help.  (Little did I know they were right around the corner and were still watching and listening.)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Matt tried to coach me and coax me into hamming it up.  "Come on!  Pretend you're a Playboy  model!!!" he joked.  It didn't work.   I couldn't relax and I couldn't make myself stare deeply into the camera and wink.  I just couldn't do it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Matt DID finish the commercial, but my acting career began and ended that night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On the way home, Doug let loose on Matt.  "I can't believe that guy!  That was totally inappropriate!  I was THIS CLOSE to telling him off!"  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was shocked and amused!  We'd just met and yet he wanted to defend my honor!!  I had to laugh and assured him Matt really was a good guy and my virtue was still intact.  (He eventually forgave Matt.  They're friends now.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night I came to an important conclusion.  But before I tell you what it was, we need to jump even further back in time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Flash back to June, 1994&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I was 16.  I was the last kid left at home living in Salt Lake City with my parents who were NOT happily married and hadn't been for as long as I could remember.   (Six months later I would move with my mom to Carlsbad.)  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In my Mia Maid class at church, we had a lesson on marriage.  We talked about what kind of person we wanted to marry.  We were then asked to list everything we wanted in our future spouse, in a letter to ourselves.  We were given stationary and told to seal the letter and keep it for the future.  We could open it later when we found the man of our dreams to see how he measured up.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;Remember how I said I keep everything?  Sometimes being a pack rat pays off.  This is the letter I wrote in June of 1994:  (It currently resides in my Wedding Album.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SSlY5XrhRVI/AAAAAAAACF0/vxaP1LPR_fE/s320/What+I+Want+in+a+Husband.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271842581446214994" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;And now back to April, 2000.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Shortly after meeting Doug, I started keeping a mental tally in my head of his pluses and minuses.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Pluses;  Goes to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;BYU&lt;/span&gt;, has a definite career goal, (good aspects...I mean prospects!!) spiritual, handsome, funny, down-to-earth, rock climbs, similar family values, gentleman, worthy priesthood holder, loves his family....CHECK CHECK CHECK!   &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Minuses; played tennis in High School* and listens to Country Music. (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;bleh&lt;/span&gt;!) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I decided those last two were of no eternal import and decided to forgive him.   Oh, &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and&lt;/span&gt; he was tall, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;BLONDE&lt;/span&gt;, and handsome instead of tall, DARK, and handsome as clearly specified on the reverse side of my letter.  But I let that slide too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That night I made a decision.  It was our &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;second date&lt;/span&gt; and I distinctly remember thinking;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-large;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 0);"&gt;  "I could marry this guy!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:medium;"&gt;And four months later, I did!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:24px;"&gt;The End&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;(Was that too abrupt?  Should I go on?  You tell me.  I'm just really tired tonight.  But  I'm just here to make &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;you&lt;/span&gt; happy, so tell me what you desire!!!)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*Sorry tennis players.  It's just that at the time I associated tennis players with short white shorts and sweaters draped over shoulders.  I've since forsaken that evil view and now look very favorably upon all the tennis players of the world.  (Country music still sucks, though...)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2424446098268961838-7603028544282096461?l=gratuitoushistory.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://gratuitoushistory.blogspot.com/feeds/7603028544282096461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2424446098268961838&amp;postID=7603028544282096461' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2424446098268961838/posts/default/7603028544282096461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2424446098268961838/posts/default/7603028544282096461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://gratuitoushistory.blogspot.com/2008/11/this-is-story.html' title='This is the STORY!'/><author><name>acte gratuit</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SN8jXXlKOGI/AAAAAAAABa4/2SD7nH1wYZg/S220/Profile+Photo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_S74GB5Xy6hM/SRfyqUbaN8I/AAAAAAAACB4/U_cFZDCb6wo/s72-c/Seeing+off+T+at+airport+copy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
