<?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-16094801</id><updated>2011-04-21T18:41:06.564-07:00</updated><title type='text'>JessRules</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chicalocablog.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16094801/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chicalocablog.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>JessRules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01798036196069683934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>3</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16094801.post-112713714874282086</id><published>2005-09-19T08:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-19T06:39:08.746-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;table id="HB_Mail_Container" height="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="100%" border="0" unselectable="on"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr height="100%" unselectable="on" width="100%"&gt;&lt;td id="HB_Focus_Element" valign="top" width="100%" background="" height="250" unselectable="off"&gt;I don't know what it is about shopping with men,but I hate it.  On Saturday my boyfriend and I wnet shopping and I wanted to strangle him.  Every time I wanted to go into a store he just rolled his eyes and complained that I was taking forever.  I know that you men half of the time just go in and buy  the first thing that you see and you're done, well that's not so with women.  We actually care about what we look like and what we buy, we don't just pick out any old thing.  Finally I just told Jaime, my boyfriend, just to sit and wait outside the store until I was done in that particular store.  By doing that I figured that he wouldn't complain, well I was wrong.  He still said " What took you so long?", and " That's all you bought after being in there fo so long?". I just couldn't win.  I finally just said " Let's just go home."  Little did I know that he had other plans.  Instead of going home we went to Menards.  I guess he was just getting back at me for having to go into all those stores with me, because he took his sweet time looking around.  And would you believe that there are no benches or anywhere to sit and wait ?  I think that is just wrong.  If there are places for men to sit in the mall, then ther should be benches for women to sit in places like Menards.  I guess I learned my lesson, next time I'm going shopping by myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr unselectable="on" hb_tag="1"&gt;&lt;td style="FONT-SIZE: 1pt" height="1" unselectable="on"&gt;&lt;div id="hotbar_promo"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16094801-112713714874282086?l=chicalocablog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chicalocablog.blogspot.com/feeds/112713714874282086/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16094801&amp;postID=112713714874282086' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16094801/posts/default/112713714874282086'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16094801/posts/default/112713714874282086'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chicalocablog.blogspot.com/2005/09/i-dont-know-what-it-is-about-shopping.html' title=''/><author><name>JessRules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01798036196069683934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16094801.post-112629900466813023</id><published>2005-09-09T15:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-09T13:50:04.673-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;table id="HB_Mail_Container" height="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="100%" border="0" unselectable="on"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr height="100%" unselectable="on" width="100%"&gt;&lt;td id="HB_Focus_Element" valign="top" width="100%" background="" height="250" unselectable="off"&gt;&lt;p&gt;Over the weekend I saw the funniest movie since Meet The Fockers.  We went to see Forty Year Old Virgin.  It was definetly a laugh out loud kind of movie.  It really didn't have a point to it except towards the end the guy came to realize that sex doesn't really matter if you really love someone.  All throughout the movie you saw this guy who basically was a dork and didn't really have a life and he tried to talk to his co-workers about sex like he knew something about the subject.  His co-workers then figured out that he was a virgin and kept coming up with stupid ways for him to lose his virginity.  If you ever are having a really bad day and just need to laugh this is definetly a movie to see.  Probably my favorite part of the movie is when this guys co-workers convince him to get his chest waxed because the women would like it better.  This guy had so much hair on his chest that you could probably run a brush through it.  Every time the laid pulled the paper off he let loose with a ton of different cuss words.  Finally he had enough and left with on;y four sections waxed and it looked hilariious.  That was only one of many funny scenes that happened throughout the movie.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I f you every just really want to see a movie that is going to make you laugh so hard you almost pee your pants, you should really see this one.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr unselectable="on" hb_tag="1"&gt;&lt;td style="FONT-SIZE: 1pt" height="1" unselectable="on"&gt;&lt;div id="hotbar_promo"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16094801-112629900466813023?l=chicalocablog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chicalocablog.blogspot.com/feeds/112629900466813023/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16094801&amp;postID=112629900466813023' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16094801/posts/default/112629900466813023'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16094801/posts/default/112629900466813023'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chicalocablog.blogspot.com/2005/09/over-weekend-i-saw-funniest-movie.html' title=''/><author><name>JessRules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01798036196069683934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16094801.post-112622364228994804</id><published>2005-09-08T18:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-09-08T16:54:02.293-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;table id="HB_Mail_Container" height="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="100%" border="0" unselectable="on"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr height="100%" unselectable="on" width="100%"&gt;&lt;td id="HB_Focus_Element" valign="top" width="100%" background="" height="250" unselectable="off"&gt;&lt;p&gt;People often worry more about the superficial things more than they should.  They worry about who has the nicest cars and wears the nicest clothes.  They even look at those things when they are picking their friends and/or significant others.  I just think that is a bunch of crap.  I look at all of the people down in New Orleans and see them starving with no place to live and nothing to eat.  And what are we worried about?  Having the nicest cars and clothes, the most expensive houses.  We basically worry about that for nothing because everything could be taken away from us just like that the way it did to those in New Orleans.  We need to worry more about the things that count, like how we treat people, taking care of ourselves and families(whether we have expensive things or not), and we also need to look beneath the surface when it comes to judging people.  What' s beneath the surface is what counts.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;When I was younger I was always the one who came from a family with just enough money for us to survive on and boy did I get judged for that.  I got made fun of because the clothes I wore, they weren't name brand so people laughed.  My parents might not have had alot of money, but they always made sure we had food and a roof over our heads.  Going through that firsthand has made me realize appearance isn't what counts, it's what on the inside that counts.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr unselectable="on" hb_tag="1"&gt;&lt;td style="FONT-SIZE: 1pt" height="1" unselectable="on"&gt;&lt;div id="hotbar_promo"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/16094801-112622364228994804?l=chicalocablog.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://chicalocablog.blogspot.com/feeds/112622364228994804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=16094801&amp;postID=112622364228994804' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16094801/posts/default/112622364228994804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/16094801/posts/default/112622364228994804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://chicalocablog.blogspot.com/2005/09/people-often-worry-more-about.html' title=''/><author><name>JessRules</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01798036196069683934</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
