tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17945505199375272502024-02-06T21:20:50.841-08:00AnchorlessSamanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-47076643166776552622011-01-16T22:22:00.000-08:002011-01-18T21:08:02.299-08:00On home visits<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3Fz5MZr6c3kp1EhtbWQ6i0cC5MnkbmhVUZKBqdygk2t4qpdTuOAWNjppr0xah-Gj-faCv_Ujhavh8yASY0xRK-AwicbJvEktDRDUgUUaMkrav6N33B6ONZ_itfh0WWIR21OZ_-5YysUV/s1600/DSC05373.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie3Fz5MZr6c3kp1EhtbWQ6i0cC5MnkbmhVUZKBqdygk2t4qpdTuOAWNjppr0xah-Gj-faCv_Ujhavh8yASY0xRK-AwicbJvEktDRDUgUUaMkrav6N33B6ONZ_itfh0WWIR21OZ_-5YysUV/s400/DSC05373.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563037038013081090" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><br /></span></u></span></div><div>Going home gets more bittersweet every time. Everyone is growing up, things are changing, and I find myself unfamiliar with so many things that I once knew like the back of my hand. Seeing them is always so great, but I'm not sure leaving them is something I'll ever get used to.</div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-22352609858935202552010-12-28T21:55:00.000-08:002010-12-28T22:16:58.986-08:00On being cranky<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_neYt4Y3WHUmDQJa_HF4erM5JKLqAibc8LBwinh2mi1CkhEXkWwHwHY0pZb9uLY-7UbHxnuZZQT2irbxBvZeDMJbQq45sPeJr2ZFzuC1tBh_HYhT1Lxohlu-qStwxyUsMldL5dGnjDUv/s1600/DSC05178.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE_neYt4Y3WHUmDQJa_HF4erM5JKLqAibc8LBwinh2mi1CkhEXkWwHwHY0pZb9uLY-7UbHxnuZZQT2irbxBvZeDMJbQq45sPeJr2ZFzuC1tBh_HYhT1Lxohlu-qStwxyUsMldL5dGnjDUv/s400/DSC05178.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5555983175834630962" /></a><br />It might be the holiday season that's put me in this mood. It might be working too much, and not getting paid enough. It might be the fact that I'm far away from my family, or losing touch with my friends, or missing out on my nephew growing up. It might be that turning twenty two this week doesn't seem that exciting, or that my work socks all have holes in them. I can't put my finger on it, but something has gotten me into a cranky rut I can't seem to climb out of. I'm going to try some relaxing. I'll keep you posted.Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-49787418180078301842010-12-16T23:07:00.000-08:002010-12-28T22:22:16.618-08:00On nothing drastic, and requited love for snow.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_OMR8WoE_wB8nGmwVFtg1h2ehGSim3R5bXcd257OmGEJlgjP3SKEAOpg8-hoZqnddEFeNcvXRUaMiwoeHYeMzBIRSVqfECL7snft1FhN7IDR9f-iGoyFopiAxnaDaa028L-NBaTU1XgH/s1600/DSC05022.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5_OMR8WoE_wB8nGmwVFtg1h2ehGSim3R5bXcd257OmGEJlgjP3SKEAOpg8-hoZqnddEFeNcvXRUaMiwoeHYeMzBIRSVqfECL7snft1FhN7IDR9f-iGoyFopiAxnaDaa028L-NBaTU1XgH/s400/DSC05022.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5551549379379597682" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">It's been way too long since I've done this. I always get grumpy about the fact that not enough people look at this, but it's my own fault for not updating enough. I just forget a lot. Such is life.</div><div><div><br /></div><div>I'd like to be able to come back from my unintentional hiatus with some drastic changes, but I have none to report. I've been successful so far in getting through the holiday season unscathed, and things are generally pretty calm in my life. The photo above was taken during my first snowfall here in Seattle a few weeks ago. It snowed for one whole day, and I couldn't possibly have been more excited about seeing my city all covered in white. Even when it turned into ice and I could barely keep my balance while walking to work, my love for snow remained, and still remains, unconditional. I feel it is not unrequited. </div></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-9743876224037378542010-10-03T01:28:00.000-07:002010-12-28T22:23:42.679-08:00On just loving those clouds outside.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHWOYjOgWK_eACQIN3_X8UUqPU1xemgHLZ6gZ2NrDPCwXaHAfIfChAPbbrfQu_98TYtcHdvLrb-DuSJ0Yu1TCjAWuUtiGf93q1YjBgFTZ8CcCAshuzhj9fBVwwtcEUoWVgVwVLg8a3PHq/s1600/DSC04867.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHWOYjOgWK_eACQIN3_X8UUqPU1xemgHLZ6gZ2NrDPCwXaHAfIfChAPbbrfQu_98TYtcHdvLrb-DuSJ0Yu1TCjAWuUtiGf93q1YjBgFTZ8CcCAshuzhj9fBVwwtcEUoWVgVwVLg8a3PHq/s400/DSC04867.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5523734473227376754" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">I know, I know. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I just said I was learning to appreciate summer- </div><div style="text-align: center;">but that doesn't mean I can't get excited </div><div style="text-align: center;">when the sun starts to frequent my eyes less often, right? </div><div style="text-align: center;">I just love those cloudy skies,</div><div style="text-align: center;">you already know.</div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-11662132733664744642010-08-25T18:22:00.000-07:002010-08-26T11:53:20.602-07:00On sort of appreciating summertime.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-u9wKBvuOB6ujGZg_KNdSWDA98krksVT2MIL8OiS-u5eOnIrpsXBiKNe3llAVxROQaM5bDZoGDDStTmEH8UC3ESaTYM92phYKYU-rjfKytFvf9f2DZbQltGqA7bUgR_MIIru6jotGibG/s1600/DSC04888.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP-u9wKBvuOB6ujGZg_KNdSWDA98krksVT2MIL8OiS-u5eOnIrpsXBiKNe3llAVxROQaM5bDZoGDDStTmEH8UC3ESaTYM92phYKYU-rjfKytFvf9f2DZbQltGqA7bUgR_MIIru6jotGibG/s400/DSC04888.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509524188341210882" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi590tqhScEdqqCTtwxdjNkZYegDYGGRyoebwGVZ2Nel8tiINapcaspd1_YFAeMtOzwTRCkP2Z975059i00RC_lSDJNgGUx9YUqIj1qOw-af88kxwHujWS3K5WGL05BOBOkT9w3mglRMYQ5/s1600/DSC04781.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi590tqhScEdqqCTtwxdjNkZYegDYGGRyoebwGVZ2Nel8tiINapcaspd1_YFAeMtOzwTRCkP2Z975059i00RC_lSDJNgGUx9YUqIj1qOw-af88kxwHujWS3K5WGL05BOBOkT9w3mglRMYQ5/s400/DSC04781.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509524171423508754" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbg1Wmg-L8P_JkLfKkoL7zrkVUxRkYcJgFbcYx-dm_7xD1jJkHqfMRl6WyKFAUZU9DqFrFLu2PVPxuq2B49r7Gi1_Z2dVKJgOfTQaN7MyxB_Px3H2MeRb0GEG1AWUpc8bt4aKAopZVRNu9/s1600/DSC04853.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbg1Wmg-L8P_JkLfKkoL7zrkVUxRkYcJgFbcYx-dm_7xD1jJkHqfMRl6WyKFAUZU9DqFrFLu2PVPxuq2B49r7Gi1_Z2dVKJgOfTQaN7MyxB_Px3H2MeRb0GEG1AWUpc8bt4aKAopZVRNu9/s400/DSC04853.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509524166422939826" /></a> Those of you who know me, know that summer has always been my least favorite of all the seasons. Summer in Seattle hasn't changed that completely, but it's definitely made my dislike of summer shrink a little bit. When the temperatures are mild, I can appreciate the sun. I can appreciate blended margaritas, lemonade, and pineapple mango salsa (pictured above) on hot days. I can appreciate the flowers that are out, and the sailboats on the water. I can appreciate enough hours to pay my rent, even if it means dealing with tons of clueless tourists. Summer, I'm still not your biggest fan, but I sure don't mind you half as much now-a-days.Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-69457041030574435772010-07-28T01:39:00.001-07:002010-07-28T02:28:39.576-07:00On cooking<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5mnMrI7ltHHCV1IBdngV3C_Bm5U7RB4d-wQD2sidb0kSXmofXH_pEPNy8xDsqwAxbuK8FrTGHN-krQ-fdSdQyVluX5dJAhTUBrXuudlqAC0vjwW79KUSJEokTlk_Yqlq8b8Z8UWpVBrb/s1600/DSC04668.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT5mnMrI7ltHHCV1IBdngV3C_Bm5U7RB4d-wQD2sidb0kSXmofXH_pEPNy8xDsqwAxbuK8FrTGHN-krQ-fdSdQyVluX5dJAhTUBrXuudlqAC0vjwW79KUSJEokTlk_Yqlq8b8Z8UWpVBrb/s400/DSC04668.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498885474260076258" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">There's something so comforting in finding something you're really good at.</div><div><br /></div><div>Something you know will be an unwavering go-to when you feel like you're not sure about much else. At the end of the day, cooking is mine. I can sit down with a cook book and create, recreate, measure, stir, bake, fry, and sauté my heart out; knowing the end result is something I can be proud of. Something I can put my confidence into and share with others.<div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's healthy to toot your own horn sometimes. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Toot, toot.</div></div></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-36454239136265016762010-06-30T02:48:00.000-07:002010-06-30T03:01:01.814-07:00On just throwing that out there.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDaNTvFhgYiheAb47UBmW9SHxSl3BCXi_8nfW3i8dSpgzdn2BoyRvphNISKYoqKgRiv8VubQxYj-Gcl7jzx2HXxI4M5arC9srNt1yFm3NkyI9VCTWmO-MfGs-Cas1DalL3y5h50PJr7HH/s1600/DSC04270.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFDaNTvFhgYiheAb47UBmW9SHxSl3BCXi_8nfW3i8dSpgzdn2BoyRvphNISKYoqKgRiv8VubQxYj-Gcl7jzx2HXxI4M5arC9srNt1yFm3NkyI9VCTWmO-MfGs-Cas1DalL3y5h50PJr7HH/s400/DSC04270.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5488502045030208146" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Life is strange and hard and so, so good.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'd like to have someone to share it with, </div><div style="text-align: center;">and some other things</div><div style="text-align: center;">eventually,</div><div style="text-align: center;">you know?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-85462031592717384212010-05-14T00:02:00.001-07:002010-05-30T22:02:51.219-07:00On the smell of home<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvQEmMZf4_wH3TmeCeOerJYcD3MqDxryMzME63g9_8OpMOh6vQV87YAxyKEehyFcC4oyn5mLy2xeqrt0-I4whWkIFYMhwQuDrbD7n1-Ip8YDFH0xZeXBqWjDWtOlw3jSFFPeY-nBjA_IT/s1600/DSC04629.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvQEmMZf4_wH3TmeCeOerJYcD3MqDxryMzME63g9_8OpMOh6vQV87YAxyKEehyFcC4oyn5mLy2xeqrt0-I4whWkIFYMhwQuDrbD7n1-Ip8YDFH0xZeXBqWjDWtOlw3jSFFPeY-nBjA_IT/s400/DSC04629.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477291909915913074" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div>Last night my bed smelled like the house I grew up in. It wasn't my pillow or my blanket in specific, it was just how it smelled when I laid down. I inhaled, and inhaled to try to pinpoint what it was to recreate it but I couldn't pin it down. Sometimes it's difficult for me to wrap my head around smelling it only twice a year. <div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>But this city is so beautiful, and when I am away from it, I miss it.<div><br /></div></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-70714256093110424812010-05-09T17:33:00.001-07:002010-05-09T17:46:45.272-07:00On le faux.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJypw6DcqMvkxoRl7Q7X-w22nveOKnllQWJxz29dqxtT2aRYFUSxKEZjxyLVISAwp7tCuM4BB6gvoWTPK04gF952l5wO6MvhOXClNWqoNSSC97S3AqOXR_WlB-Zf0Q0cjdBf7IiJQ2gz3z/s1600/DSC04341.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJypw6DcqMvkxoRl7Q7X-w22nveOKnllQWJxz29dqxtT2aRYFUSxKEZjxyLVISAwp7tCuM4BB6gvoWTPK04gF952l5wO6MvhOXClNWqoNSSC97S3AqOXR_WlB-Zf0Q0cjdBf7IiJQ2gz3z/s400/DSC04341.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469433755931365042" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">When things start going south, </div><div style="text-align: center;">all I have to do is think of drag Britney.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Suddenly, all is okay in the world.</div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-80983329373146325992010-04-02T12:56:00.000-07:002010-04-09T10:37:44.677-07:00On decisions<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGWb76Yu3VoDzJnnI_UqOTyanhdxuRDKxZzSK1aV2pa74HCg2g_-F_-QkUVoSNSrXcxJd8sy-MJle2ovuyKdujokn_rh-6F6qMspJ7_hLh1nK4rTjiT-5nJYbOKFptTwSMBtBRFW4XETI/s1600/DSC04142.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLGWb76Yu3VoDzJnnI_UqOTyanhdxuRDKxZzSK1aV2pa74HCg2g_-F_-QkUVoSNSrXcxJd8sy-MJle2ovuyKdujokn_rh-6F6qMspJ7_hLh1nK4rTjiT-5nJYbOKFptTwSMBtBRFW4XETI/s400/DSC04142.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455632460427418354" /></a>There comes a time when you realize the patterns your mind works in. Most people are cautious decision makers who think with their head. People who weigh both sides carefully, and factor in important things, waiting patiently for the correct time and place. <div><br /></div><div>I've learned that I usually just close my eyes, open my heart, and jump in headfirst.<div><br /></div><div>(Don't fail me now!)</div></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-82385810814904825512010-03-23T14:44:00.000-07:002010-03-23T14:51:37.268-07:00On hopeless things and love.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAkZxXDo7qlzu_mq0IiU5-taFrLtpuDERbm_AeJ6dXOlGlOX8-VDXZXE7l_Vd30MBrE5qaxbeX1NTpJa-Cddn8anptOdYGxmI_uihPziNWYR8IB7T8qMnpLhc65_Mvjg30kS-FzQFjG-G/s1600-h/DSC04103.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxAkZxXDo7qlzu_mq0IiU5-taFrLtpuDERbm_AeJ6dXOlGlOX8-VDXZXE7l_Vd30MBrE5qaxbeX1NTpJa-Cddn8anptOdYGxmI_uihPziNWYR8IB7T8qMnpLhc65_Mvjg30kS-FzQFjG-G/s400/DSC04103.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451949028753971090" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">I love the impossible, always.</div><div style="text-align: center;">This time, maybe it's the impossible that loves me.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-64721437552233500092010-02-23T12:59:00.000-08:002010-02-23T13:30:12.512-08:00On sometimes remembering that I'm pretty okay.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitu948ScRdn0zC3zfaKZIhC7YAQxMaqbq_WysgiP9FL9aGtgigkKAzmgDIe7r-1slL3ARzgdA0OXWf8QpyRj_hjnyK8Txh7Sg-ew086cd66WVj3foTxdLiKtWsHBNULJEpnliIfl8vhQyq/s1600-h/DSC04005.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitu948ScRdn0zC3zfaKZIhC7YAQxMaqbq_WysgiP9FL9aGtgigkKAzmgDIe7r-1slL3ARzgdA0OXWf8QpyRj_hjnyK8Txh7Sg-ew086cd66WVj3foTxdLiKtWsHBNULJEpnliIfl8vhQyq/s400/DSC04005.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441547589536637058" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcvqLDI_eiFwq4e4oPVbpZMmTSqat0628dQUIVkErb0gq9w0QXRwRquwLSa577_WjOJI3kxvYABQD8yk89SorDHt_OWkanVtmJICZMJV1020TZfLUvBnjZPg4uTkx9sVg0H6HrzYZhSbj/s1600-h/DSC03861.JPG"><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOcvqLDI_eiFwq4e4oPVbpZMmTSqat0628dQUIVkErb0gq9w0QXRwRquwLSa577_WjOJI3kxvYABQD8yk89SorDHt_OWkanVtmJICZMJV1020TZfLUvBnjZPg4uTkx9sVg0H6HrzYZhSbj/s400/DSC03861.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441547576523738898" /></a>Sometimes I make strange decisions, and have bad days. Sometimes I don't pay my credit card bill on time and get homesick. Sometimes I don't sleep enough, don't remember to think before I speak, or read directions. Sometimes I forget to take my vitamins, do the dishes, and call people back.<div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I am really loyal. Sometimes I remember to send thank-you notes, and am really good at listening. Sometimes I am a hard worker, and sometimes I would do anything for the people I care about. Sometimes I am a good daughter, a good sister, a good cousin, and a good niece. <div><br /></div><div>Sometimes when I'm feeling really insecure, I just have to remind myself that I am pretty okay.</div></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-37507268598902354572010-02-02T14:15:00.000-08:002010-02-02T23:24:38.170-08:00On moving closer to the water.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKfmLL9ijTpMFSKzqUb5R8149wfdl0_-FGQq5bPE1XU7pZJ_uo6x1giBDQ0W7p5KatQifzShyI62R04iG2UXwdVCNLH7o7SomEJL4trZuMD15An-d0nWimBbDW09Kl_eNkrPMNnVBCk_A/s1600-h/DSC03864.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPKfmLL9ijTpMFSKzqUb5R8149wfdl0_-FGQq5bPE1XU7pZJ_uo6x1giBDQ0W7p5KatQifzShyI62R04iG2UXwdVCNLH7o7SomEJL4trZuMD15An-d0nWimBbDW09Kl_eNkrPMNnVBCk_A/s400/DSC03864.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433773706149994594" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJHDaMd2TiHI0Q6wbpJQsFBPbM3boSKaR_A49IuONAf6AcJ-wFSU6cyysXG0o1E_Mq51IsKaB9LjX1Wz4DCqT5Fig2bV498i6WT9MJy5a2WATCV4FDMqloHRhrffc3cPrG7Lw256Ib0RQ/s1600-h/DSC03840.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJHDaMd2TiHI0Q6wbpJQsFBPbM3boSKaR_A49IuONAf6AcJ-wFSU6cyysXG0o1E_Mq51IsKaB9LjX1Wz4DCqT5Fig2bV498i6WT9MJy5a2WATCV4FDMqloHRhrffc3cPrG7Lw256Ib0RQ/s400/DSC03840.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433773695793559586" /></a><br /><div>I don't think that I've written yet of my move across town. I just recently moved to lower Queen Anne Hill (pictured on the right of the first picture). I live in a little brick apartment complex with creaky wooden floors and old pictures hanging in the hallways. Grocery stores and delicious ethnic foods are on every corner, and book and record stores are in much to close a proximity to my place of residence for my wallet to handle. I am a few blocks from Kerry Park, where you can walk up the hill and look over the city in all of it's entirety, and a few blocks from Elliott Bay and all of it's shimmering glory. I know I talk a lot about how much I love this city. I must sound like a broken record sometimes, but really... who can blame me?</div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-44608811190960792872010-01-26T17:42:00.000-08:002010-01-26T22:04:55.088-08:00On savoring youth & winter<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuicD7uOJljF9vD8M0hi5vV7H3eClDNuHyeTsDDHHYE7t_rG2sAy_DZlnpK3jqdGz1k6z2V2mdgSe3HGf_cC-Z0DchHuUNDtQBA6WuE9EAP2e_jVFay6z0wkfZ3AzmV2Cx5LBKf-zDK90y/s1600-h/DSC03874.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuicD7uOJljF9vD8M0hi5vV7H3eClDNuHyeTsDDHHYE7t_rG2sAy_DZlnpK3jqdGz1k6z2V2mdgSe3HGf_cC-Z0DchHuUNDtQBA6WuE9EAP2e_jVFay6z0wkfZ3AzmV2Cx5LBKf-zDK90y/s400/DSC03874.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431239517922053138" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">Winter is so cozy. Slow, dreary and cozy. Coffee and umbrellas and wearing wool sweaters always make sense. I know soon I'll have to figure out what I'm doing. Plan out my next steps and start putting them into motion, but not for now. For now I will continue sleeping in too late, reading, cooking, and enjoying cable television. For now I will continue living paycheck to paycheck, [and only worrying about it sometimes], continue to fill my lungs with crisp cool air, go on long walks and write letters to friends far away. For now I will just enjoy living life young, and care-free before the hard stuff comes my way. I know it will eventually, I just want to make sure I've lived enough to welcome it.</div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-2241629164743968982010-01-07T10:29:00.000-08:002010-01-07T10:44:49.299-08:00On missing creaky bunkbeds.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxtRB4b2My_PiHgfQLguGI4qmDVUkwOc9rJKebnN2hWM0BAmXVKUsQvNZyw-QZv9yHYaN3JkXMGZGRZh1qfsVv0GH6pMMz-VXpwIC7PISZzYwF07a20xh1NyQIbbG2rMnQA66vwbca9rV/s1600-h/DSC02865.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtxtRB4b2My_PiHgfQLguGI4qmDVUkwOc9rJKebnN2hWM0BAmXVKUsQvNZyw-QZv9yHYaN3JkXMGZGRZh1qfsVv0GH6pMMz-VXpwIC7PISZzYwF07a20xh1NyQIbbG2rMnQA66vwbca9rV/s400/DSC02865.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424067822739812738" /></a><br /><div>Do you ever find yourself missing strange things? Like the sound of the creaky bunkbeds from the summer camp you went to as a child, or the smell of cigars and air freshener in the back of your grandpa's semi truck? Like the way it felt when you got your cartilage pierced, or the way your mother's robe felt against your tired skin when she embraced you in the morning? Like driving in an '88 Buick on the interstate, listening to the Matches and not being sure if you'll make it to your destination or not? Like family vacations where your dad picks up smoking again and your sister tours rest areas and you play the license plate game? </div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe it's just me.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-67706057813846362382009-11-27T20:10:00.000-08:002009-11-27T20:13:54.489-08:00On maybe having a little bit of guilt.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifB06iZoVlPo7wSNmFGnW4Jx46zl7oLg6BzyYrBRPxdaAIf4ZjX833HKo6vCIV3iMMWKqrdS5cAHs31jCKqeF6Q0X5fj3flXZuWRwoWC84AaaF_BOfd_HWoaH_X9GTXZPuHzl1bfmYATZ4/s1600/DSC03564.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifB06iZoVlPo7wSNmFGnW4Jx46zl7oLg6BzyYrBRPxdaAIf4ZjX833HKo6vCIV3iMMWKqrdS5cAHs31jCKqeF6Q0X5fj3flXZuWRwoWC84AaaF_BOfd_HWoaH_X9GTXZPuHzl1bfmYATZ4/s400/DSC03564.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409002583799034674" /></a>Is it wrong for me to be home with my family, and still feel so homesick for Seattle?Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-28746704838184912102009-10-20T12:50:00.000-07:002009-10-22T12:28:07.469-07:00On pumpkin patches and wild things.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-TY4JYR3rmP2OdMKFlcGS-XNC_XSNolif20Vt0NXfy6UzRYxukklMvIrectofIqhMXwfM1TmhWUoWv9XCoP7yQb7b71mLJ40FQKaG8OI_tBw8lHxbelXldJk2ftr2qXxe8bhxjmAYc7YY/s1600-h/DSC03530.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-TY4JYR3rmP2OdMKFlcGS-XNC_XSNolif20Vt0NXfy6UzRYxukklMvIrectofIqhMXwfM1TmhWUoWv9XCoP7yQb7b71mLJ40FQKaG8OI_tBw8lHxbelXldJk2ftr2qXxe8bhxjmAYc7YY/s400/DSC03530.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5395507041916225170" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.iwatchstuff.com/2007/12/12/where-wild-things-are-sun.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 450px; height: 254px;" src="http://www.iwatchstuff.com/2007/12/12/where-wild-things-are-sun.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div>I picked my own pumpkin at a pumpkin patch in Kent, WA. I carried my own nineteen pound pumpkin down the muddy road and placed it on a scale before I took it home. I wholeheartedly believe that is an experience everyone should have once in their lifetime. (Though, perhaps it's only so overwhelming to me coming from a place like Florida.) </div><div><br /></div><div> Later, I went to the Pacific Science Center Imax theatre and watched Where the Wild Things Are on a 6 story screen. I couldn't have loved it more. So cute and sad and great. I mostly worship the ground Dave Eggers walks on and I can't wait to finally pick up my autographed copy of the novel adapted from the screenplay!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-46347825392262525032009-10-13T21:22:00.000-07:002009-10-13T22:31:19.349-07:00On being pleased to make Fall's acquaintance.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenJNnR9fdn1Q5MP4o1AV5HMEy6bu44KWNisPFndBWJVUdPIQu_z-TAkttcGyMJTPrdEBbvnbOfy-XM79slUTlLwHMu89oG-JYeGro1vt66TEEnB84W6dcXK_xVpqV_hAmL4amOE6mFw83/s1600-h/DSC03493.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgenJNnR9fdn1Q5MP4o1AV5HMEy6bu44KWNisPFndBWJVUdPIQu_z-TAkttcGyMJTPrdEBbvnbOfy-XM79slUTlLwHMu89oG-JYeGro1vt66TEEnB84W6dcXK_xVpqV_hAmL4amOE6mFw83/s400/DSC03493.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392309201799583314" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxggrlTi0ULhZTTDJu7CVQHs750i_h9gIdE_PSLPDxmmdtjNOJWUl4BjwCs7QXRJ-F752qr3zDHGg1a5dWxIriqbBVtwr7ZonvZNLZQ7RIA-pks0JGmf1fipVmTTWHpthy7hm4xwyjZi4/s1600-h/DSC03509.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsxggrlTi0ULhZTTDJu7CVQHs750i_h9gIdE_PSLPDxmmdtjNOJWUl4BjwCs7QXRJ-F752qr3zDHGg1a5dWxIriqbBVtwr7ZonvZNLZQ7RIA-pks0JGmf1fipVmTTWHpthy7hm4xwyjZi4/s400/DSC03509.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392309190190798690" /></a><br /><div>Hello, Fall. It's nice to see you here. </div><div><br /></div><div>So, I have to admit (although it makes me a little sad to say) I've never really been properly introduced to you. I've never watched the trees turn from big green clusters atop trunks, to scattered red assortments of leaves on bare branches. I've never felt such a sudden and obvious shift in weather, the strong craving to drink coffee and hot cocoa, the urge to put pumpkin in all of my baking, the need for cute flap-over mittens and to come home and cozy up under a few layers of covers. I'm not really sure how I've lived without making your acquaintance, Fall; but i've surely grown very fond of you already.</div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-10314553185273770422009-09-11T12:32:00.000-07:002009-09-14T12:25:17.681-07:00On small portions and tickets to the theatre.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQWHz1Uwmrrvs5B0g-CX_Du783I9FkGVvi3hyvM1SPuLxO29oPOfrQVLj9zjaLFaMWTyvMyuc10baD6pm314PcgMuqFC6UFLt1iauj0lBjBGAP56qbL0fNCynDPhTHwmVw30Rge7FzWSQ/s1600-h/DSC03341.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYQWHz1Uwmrrvs5B0g-CX_Du783I9FkGVvi3hyvM1SPuLxO29oPOfrQVLj9zjaLFaMWTyvMyuc10baD6pm314PcgMuqFC6UFLt1iauj0lBjBGAP56qbL0fNCynDPhTHwmVw30Rge7FzWSQ/s400/DSC03341.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380295977361012866" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizudS2kDcHdNeJXlFH5NPGInihuexi4Tr8-xzGFUCESe58j1vYq6p-S-6bgOGeyAxUjh7GGUj1Zd4a83r0FYhIs9HQwp5gTR2fXFI64QUxX8ij2Nsu2G_s4Qyc6j9zT_ZRQjLzqVXGffVJ/s1600-h/DSC03313.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizudS2kDcHdNeJXlFH5NPGInihuexi4Tr8-xzGFUCESe58j1vYq6p-S-6bgOGeyAxUjh7GGUj1Zd4a83r0FYhIs9HQwp5gTR2fXFI64QUxX8ij2Nsu2G_s4Qyc6j9zT_ZRQjLzqVXGffVJ/s400/DSC03313.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380295974539586402" border="0" /></a><br /><div>As much as living alone and away from my family gets to me sometimes- I remember all the stuff I can do now that I'm only me and it brings me some comfort. At home, making a small three-person portion of pasta with roasted red pepper cream sauce was unheard of. Going to the theatre was a tedious endeavor that involved rushing, and rounding together family members and trying to arrange transportation for five(+). It's nice to only have to worry about myself sometimes. I'm a loner, dottie. A rebel.<br /></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-44767938342875635762009-09-08T23:27:00.000-07:002009-09-09T00:12:05.695-07:00On wishing for wet handprints.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlfCK5Xl6MmuDSq9a8bYesaqm2Sl7-0UjO6QpdXqNwFO_FZsfZ05FHOMRDUjC-CPNzY1dlOUcJ54VksTWQGv4UyvULwOXcTenFQ1lM0AO3wflijfxbMEBa0X3Mj7pkJRos2azVUdh3U-k/s1600-h/DSC02904.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlfCK5Xl6MmuDSq9a8bYesaqm2Sl7-0UjO6QpdXqNwFO_FZsfZ05FHOMRDUjC-CPNzY1dlOUcJ54VksTWQGv4UyvULwOXcTenFQ1lM0AO3wflijfxbMEBa0X3Mj7pkJRos2azVUdh3U-k/s400/DSC02904.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379358918295483874" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">M</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">y mother's hands were always wet when I was a child. Perhaps not always, but that's the way it seems in retrospect. Wether it was from cooking, cleaning, or giving one of her children a bath; the notebook by the phone was always left with little finger smudges. My school reports always corrected with dripping pencil in hand. A thorough inspection of swollen tonsils under our working kitchen light, left my cheeks dripping. Random embraces left perfect handprints settling into my clothes. I know my adolescent eyes must have rolled, if I'd only known what a comforting memory it turned out to be.</span></span></span></div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-55949094535101383782009-08-24T01:13:00.000-07:002009-08-24T01:23:31.168-07:00On having no complaints, for the most part.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FLqPiUhzDCykw4GV-9_idL9f0FNVGJZcUjDc4I0rcw-KiZAf4iRPnmPY0vlzzaiMMDs9ff0Ycfom4mAVASFt5rwQBbyUt1_9SaVjlCNmuEPSUtlj5zs1jEB4UE52N8rDvgeeuctHSzKB/s1600-h/DSC03150.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-FLqPiUhzDCykw4GV-9_idL9f0FNVGJZcUjDc4I0rcw-KiZAf4iRPnmPY0vlzzaiMMDs9ff0Ycfom4mAVASFt5rwQBbyUt1_9SaVjlCNmuEPSUtlj5zs1jEB4UE52N8rDvgeeuctHSzKB/s400/DSC03150.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373442459874589618" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Db6Yq59lKT-u8jXWOgkQwTMTV3SazfyJSZh4wRFQCchLbGYNNdc3jcCoKSLki1SWDe8nSBchzav809gY-zVs1gJLH7bQPxZ3DLJvFsME1jGJgJbdWZ3wQ3A7fK1X2YtKVYe3V4ARSovu/s1600-h/DSC03266.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Db6Yq59lKT-u8jXWOgkQwTMTV3SazfyJSZh4wRFQCchLbGYNNdc3jcCoKSLki1SWDe8nSBchzav809gY-zVs1gJLH7bQPxZ3DLJvFsME1jGJgJbdWZ3wQ3A7fK1X2YtKVYe3V4ARSovu/s400/DSC03266.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373442445964228594" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJk6-y8ZrE7twbGCA3te3JCh93BO4j9SBKypNOh56fX-YfhR1xhkyNcrJ3-i0bbTWCAhjXwKWlGTah0vsJZLsHScYkBCLikmXI9FZD8fifjSyjUBNl70JBYHdm7PwWCjjyt47sBm4J-Kz2/s1600-h/DSC03257.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJk6-y8ZrE7twbGCA3te3JCh93BO4j9SBKypNOh56fX-YfhR1xhkyNcrJ3-i0bbTWCAhjXwKWlGTah0vsJZLsHScYkBCLikmXI9FZD8fifjSyjUBNl70JBYHdm7PwWCjjyt47sBm4J-Kz2/s400/DSC03257.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373442436361726578" /></a><br /><div>My life right now is nice. It's not the best life anyone's ever lead, but it's nice. I am not sad very often and I am able to feed myself. The heat is going away and the breeze is coming back. I can wear cardigans whenever I want. My room is messy and I love Netflix. Also, the other day I got five free cans of coconut milk. Life is good, you know?</div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-72736291558611191752009-06-18T20:01:00.000-07:002009-06-18T20:12:43.283-07:00On being in love with the state of Washington<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9vQx3vlpoGnfttjN20uPAdcyQUsf-byiFvyPsTdrJM8L613zufolB7iWIArQm0z9vaoNQvJJpe3g-HMcC8nLFlAi7PDlKlz8Xa-s-cr_wV2YCy2fwuKaXjwfCHfeUTMDu3ijIZVHraTA/s1600-h/DSC03072.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV9vQx3vlpoGnfttjN20uPAdcyQUsf-byiFvyPsTdrJM8L613zufolB7iWIArQm0z9vaoNQvJJpe3g-HMcC8nLFlAi7PDlKlz8Xa-s-cr_wV2YCy2fwuKaXjwfCHfeUTMDu3ijIZVHraTA/s400/DSC03072.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348870056678679362" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hokKTIxMk_ltfLNITZD8Pjb56KXbuAQolDL6jKb_d-qItylYXiBDKaa7VMBBZMh7ZODoJ0RzZ-9avIS-rl8kk8OGgX-Amc7MrB0ykvGsLavNjY5EDV3Yjt5cpwQHudJhDNT7UqtScly0/s1600-h/DSC02866.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8hokKTIxMk_ltfLNITZD8Pjb56KXbuAQolDL6jKb_d-qItylYXiBDKaa7VMBBZMh7ZODoJ0RzZ-9avIS-rl8kk8OGgX-Amc7MrB0ykvGsLavNjY5EDV3Yjt5cpwQHudJhDNT7UqtScly0/s400/DSC02866.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348870054505174898" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0sjj51vvkEl17ZS39nse9w3NAl6obWabjrwTpvB5VZOudOou8KuLO_reMEHwaAf4nxIz4XHjp4SLeMtDkmMikrXMFgI08sQTLKiuevl2fXad2ZPqd-fdqv8FK4-sqeIq00evbr7LJ7kY/s1600-h/DSC02977.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ0sjj51vvkEl17ZS39nse9w3NAl6obWabjrwTpvB5VZOudOou8KuLO_reMEHwaAf4nxIz4XHjp4SLeMtDkmMikrXMFgI08sQTLKiuevl2fXad2ZPqd-fdqv8FK4-sqeIq00evbr7LJ7kY/s400/DSC02977.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348870049428826466" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Last week, my mom and sisters came to visit me from Florida. I am so grateful to them for the visit, and taking me places I would never have ventured- seeing as my only means of transportation are on foot. It just made me realize how deep-a-love I have for the pacific northwest. </div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-61229726966822479232009-05-26T19:31:00.000-07:002010-12-28T22:31:45.772-08:00On a really cool job.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWy1hckfMYZm5C79BLVs9DOO3crVompD_4T1oTbexe_iPrV9-EYxJErjDn3j1R_VVZ5I05f1DLVugJUh_w3ntQxOmQJ5qBE4Uei2v-dU-tURlmfNvVTYvow6zyYnAOlGpgMYSY4_rn0GQ/s1600-h/DSC02665.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFWy1hckfMYZm5C79BLVs9DOO3crVompD_4T1oTbexe_iPrV9-EYxJErjDn3j1R_VVZ5I05f1DLVugJUh_w3ntQxOmQJ5qBE4Uei2v-dU-tURlmfNvVTYvow6zyYnAOlGpgMYSY4_rn0GQ/s400/DSC02665.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340327472281141250" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMP3JcxwYrn13SSHCFzgd-8WjlOmHzOAcRoZwQlozm8HopXnkQEki6edDKmlaKTLXTKM7kNp6V8cu51W8PenpZI5s_0pn1pGfUJlfKqJ8wxzY3MDL3Cdecto6Mjpyjx5LrVRhyn4PP337q/s1600-h/DSC02669.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMP3JcxwYrn13SSHCFzgd-8WjlOmHzOAcRoZwQlozm8HopXnkQEki6edDKmlaKTLXTKM7kNp6V8cu51W8PenpZI5s_0pn1pGfUJlfKqJ8wxzY3MDL3Cdecto6Mjpyjx5LrVRhyn4PP337q/s400/DSC02669.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5340327469164421090" /></a><br /><div>Ok, so I've been a terrible blogger lately. I'm sorry! I hope that you will all forgive me soon!</div><div><br /></div><div>That being said, I would like to talk to you about my new job! If I haven't already told 98% of the world, I am now working at the Space Needle. I went in for an interview at the beginning of last week, and was already put to work last weekend. The training was a little hectic, but I really like it so far. I am an elevator operator. Basically, that means I take people's tickets, load them into a huge glass doored elevator, and talk to them about the Space Needle and it's history for about a minute until they get to the observation deck. I make my own speech with whatever facts I wanted to add. Also, I get a strange Space Needle vest and a name tag. See?</div><div><br /></div><div>So, how about you guys come visit me and I'll take you to the top? No, seriously. :)</div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-19128856380809764712009-05-10T00:04:00.001-07:002009-05-10T00:12:20.077-07:00On a beautiful day at the park<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYp7Isiqti7ouHYqZYI1-ASK5VX-YSRC1LScxtqcNWEpBmQmPBNlmOGDpwTpjl9eLcwOlhalT3aR3fdHrgI4Z2fPUgK_S-E5i2mOqTGxxn5U3jmMvqu3B8kZmlJ5a31m8ibpE2uV_x6nh/s1600-h/DSC02578.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJYp7Isiqti7ouHYqZYI1-ASK5VX-YSRC1LScxtqcNWEpBmQmPBNlmOGDpwTpjl9eLcwOlhalT3aR3fdHrgI4Z2fPUgK_S-E5i2mOqTGxxn5U3jmMvqu3B8kZmlJ5a31m8ibpE2uV_x6nh/s400/DSC02578.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334088351067184562" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFNcUXW26xewD8X74tFGkxndh9yKcZ4kGRTAQuDKROBg6cAeWhGOuAxYD2qbTfNkmB6ZQ71ptx4b1snQswX7vRm8lvdTl0GsdqGlKZy3gMeixkdsQx5UleHwMtpH1m_8JdEfNz-AJHYCh/s1600-h/DSC02584.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXFNcUXW26xewD8X74tFGkxndh9yKcZ4kGRTAQuDKROBg6cAeWhGOuAxYD2qbTfNkmB6ZQ71ptx4b1snQswX7vRm8lvdTl0GsdqGlKZy3gMeixkdsQx5UleHwMtpH1m_8JdEfNz-AJHYCh/s400/DSC02584.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5334088346851209458" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Today the weather was gorgeous. 60 degrees, sunny, breezy, and wonderful. My roommates upstairs, their friend Yama and I sat in our side yard soaking in the vitamin D and talking until we realized it would be an amazing day to go to the park. So, off we went. Yama went to QFC and brought back a bag full of baguettes, gouda cheese, avocados, and sparkling strawberry juice. We snacked, relaxed, and watched the hula hoopers, frisbee players, kite fliers, and dog walkers enjoy the day just as much as we were. It's a great day to live in the pacific northwest!</div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1794550519937527250.post-72766235498178521472009-05-01T18:35:00.000-07:002009-05-02T15:37:22.301-07:00On a few of my favorite things.<div style="text-align: center;">I thought I would share a few of my favorite things so far </div><div style="text-align: center;">(or, at least the ones I had my camera with me to take a picture of.) </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXYVLr9SmbSZy_7pagovi_WXgV3Zt7z7WRnBoScuIaD_bK5Ac2UPXE6_smtepE7F-2OuZefJzGM8wnIxLxhjdlTz_yrn-cyp50W0ijL08g67JBB93dH07zsGrJcM3X25DiJhE6pco186O/s1600-h/DSC02477.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGXYVLr9SmbSZy_7pagovi_WXgV3Zt7z7WRnBoScuIaD_bK5Ac2UPXE6_smtepE7F-2OuZefJzGM8wnIxLxhjdlTz_yrn-cyp50W0ijL08g67JBB93dH07zsGrJcM3X25DiJhE6pco186O/s400/DSC02477.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331038100773403330" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Exploring, of course. If you haven't figured out by now, I go somewhere new almost every day. I wake up, shower, and get right on <a href="http://maps.google.com/">Google maps</a> to find a place I've never had close to me living in a small town, or somewhere I've heard of but never been. Anyway, this picture is from my trip to Capitol Hill- I just finished going into <a href="http://redlightvintage.com/">Red Light Vintage</a> (thank goodness it's not very close, because a combination of close and amazing means bad things for my wallet) and I saw the Space Needle down the street and thought I should take a picture.</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigl9zc7oZkUWuSYqH5CCcsEnYnPuxmiIjvGtUxD0yVuZsYCNihyphenhyphenOB5kEvtFkNTBWbueJRRy06mLQ-nG6OhN1G7eHDtO8Ow9wrbkw0Govt3RQ280ax7REMksIvR69n-3vGjj9N8l6nFXQXS/s1600-h/DSC02478.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigl9zc7oZkUWuSYqH5CCcsEnYnPuxmiIjvGtUxD0yVuZsYCNihyphenhyphenOB5kEvtFkNTBWbueJRRy06mLQ-nG6OhN1G7eHDtO8Ow9wrbkw0Govt3RQ280ax7REMksIvR69n-3vGjj9N8l6nFXQXS/s400/DSC02478.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331037475124052562" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Everything being so green! I love that everywhere I look there is something green, and what a green it is! This is a little park on the side of Seattle University between me and Capitol Hill. Complete with gorgeous trees and all. Cute, huh?<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzkdvxvA4EKXCfGopvaP-SgeTvFcQ17ZWi1Ihmb8vz7aeiIXXNrAf2PbaOc2o02AXDwwgZRDljLFyNWcSRd7HB5O9jrUJdV2buyVDAp9bCTz1NV6kLDIMq_XseLA-xSdudJSKzHjl5bKaW/s1600-h/DSC02503.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzkdvxvA4EKXCfGopvaP-SgeTvFcQ17ZWi1Ihmb8vz7aeiIXXNrAf2PbaOc2o02AXDwwgZRDljLFyNWcSRd7HB5O9jrUJdV2buyVDAp9bCTz1NV6kLDIMq_XseLA-xSdudJSKzHjl5bKaW/s400/DSC02503.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331037469665950466" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">The number 3 bus. This bus takes me everywhere I need to go and then some. It's so comforting that no matter how lost I am downtown, all I need to do is get to a bus stop with the number 3 on it and I'll be on my way home. (Just until I get used to all the bus routes, I'm getting there.) It takes me close to my new job (at American Eagle Outfitters), to Pike's Place Market, and even to the Space Needle. My bus pass just started working today and I could not be more excited to not have to dig for change anymore. Oh, bus number 3, we will be seeing a lot more of each other in the near future. </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDiYIlRO6kKzgj3N3Hoc6meeZu2l7YEntDuQO4E4GbCRuuBjrebDiTMWbAkYB_rcT6XGvIZMDES48L3IxCNRRPzT-5I_k2HjXeAmCtjLOQRk5llv6o1OTk9vS0ou6Oc_q0tHL-wTqmGF8F/s1600-h/DSC02506.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDiYIlRO6kKzgj3N3Hoc6meeZu2l7YEntDuQO4E4GbCRuuBjrebDiTMWbAkYB_rcT6XGvIZMDES48L3IxCNRRPzT-5I_k2HjXeAmCtjLOQRk5llv6o1OTk9vS0ou6Oc_q0tHL-wTqmGF8F/s400/DSC02506.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331037463835309554" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">As everyone already knows, I am a sucker for libraries. In my home town, libraries are small. Not that I mind small, but it also comes with a limited space for material. Seattle Central Library is more than any library I could've dreamed of. There are floors and floors of new, interesting things- and definitely no lack of exciting material. Plus, it looks really cool! Oh, did I mention it has a conveyer belt-slot outside for a book return? Yeah, it automatically opens when you put a book near it and you get to watch it go up the belt and into the library from the outside of the building. I feel like a little kid when I over excitedly try to explain this to people, but I don't care. I love this place. </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfSLMWScBS9hEknYjcfZMW5JMTijQxCcBTZDdTP9aM40hyfkH61xcYz3b3KEW0QUiN6LC6R-9pwxFXbGUiHdmC_uufqjK0c3psU2ceDYjSBSxuHKiazeHtt9XE6IC9oQwMzHsHhxfUt21/s1600-h/DSC02502.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfSLMWScBS9hEknYjcfZMW5JMTijQxCcBTZDdTP9aM40hyfkH61xcYz3b3KEW0QUiN6LC6R-9pwxFXbGUiHdmC_uufqjK0c3psU2ceDYjSBSxuHKiazeHtt9XE6IC9oQwMzHsHhxfUt21/s400/DSC02502.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331037462794978434" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">As much as I like exploring and adventuring, I like just as much to come home in the late afternoon, curl up on the couch with a Seattle Weekly, and watch Heroes. I just started watching the show the on Netflix when I got here, and unfortunately, I am already running out of episodes! I am enjoying them while they last, anyway. (Oh, Peter Petrelli, how I will miss your face when I am finished!) Oh! Can't forget about Have'a Corn Chips! They're a tasty new snack that I found at <a href="http://www.madisonmarket.com/">Madison Street Co-Op</a>. They have about 4 or 5 simple good-for-you ingredients, but taste like they are good enough to be terrible for you. Yum!</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCX8dsF3L_hPA1X7r6Z1xuPZ2UdXWYqxg47VjDKjOgZ9HvzFA5GvPElDIRF_K7CPhZgANK5pmvewUsvhctm-EQKmUBRH9zM-_5lXxLi-q3NyX7dKMwVptFuXWePwUQrOPjZUUdFCUDeRFJ/s1600-h/DSC02494.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCX8dsF3L_hPA1X7r6Z1xuPZ2UdXWYqxg47VjDKjOgZ9HvzFA5GvPElDIRF_K7CPhZgANK5pmvewUsvhctm-EQKmUBRH9zM-_5lXxLi-q3NyX7dKMwVptFuXWePwUQrOPjZUUdFCUDeRFJ/s400/DSC02494.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331037458831648258" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Last, but definitely not least...</div><div style="text-align: center;">there's nothing like a warm bath to soak my weary feet in after a long day of travelin'.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">That's all for now. A bit of a scattered entry, but you guys get the idea. </div>Samanthahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12231217572578528389noreply@blogger.com4