<?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-7137998635812472303</id><updated>2011-07-08T06:12:37.538-05:00</updated><title type='text'>That Cuban Girl</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>20</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-8649587088901339621</id><published>2010-08-19T09:02:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-19T09:08:52.968-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My Daily Crack</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://prettyandpoor.com/media/iced_coffee.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5507121403473941634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 242px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TG05vQ0D1II/AAAAAAAAANU/uG1ptWf1-8A/s320/iced_coffee.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;McDonalds Iced Coffee.  My drug of choice: Sugar Free Vanilla Iced Coffee.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Go. Buy. A. Cup.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-8649587088901339621?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/8649587088901339621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-daily-crack.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/8649587088901339621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/8649587088901339621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2010/08/my-daily-crack.html' title='My Daily Crack'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TG05vQ0D1II/AAAAAAAAANU/uG1ptWf1-8A/s72-c/iced_coffee.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-8474576351999421029</id><published>2010-08-05T15:17:00.039-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-11T16:47:26.854-05:00</updated><title type='text'>GTL</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;So my sister, Ashley, came in town last week for our Big Fat Cuban Reunion. We were laying in bed watching a Jersey Shore re-run and she looked at me and said, "Let's go to Jersey for my Bachelorette Party!" My immediate response was "OMG, get engaged right now."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.platformtennis.org/Assets/Assets/images/Greetings+from+New+Jersey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504198770734643218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 128px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TGLXnpbHuBI/AAAAAAAAAMk/_Y_Mtq3dUTw/s200/nj.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;How amazing would a Fist Pumping, Guidette Bachelorette Party be?!?! Even though Ashley is not engaged, I am going to start planning her bachelorette party right now since I'm the Maid of Honor. She hasn't asked me yet or anything, but I am her only sister, so its okay if I just assume the position, right? Okay, yeah, I thought so too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;So you maybe asking yourself, what do Fist Pumping Guidettes do on a Bachelorette Party? Here is the list:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;1. First and foremost, nicknames. We must all have nicknames. For example, a possible nickname for me could be "A-Powww."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;2. We must GTL before the trip, Gym Tan Laundry. Must be buff, must be bronze, and must be bangin in our white tee's.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;3. We must go shopping at 579 or Rainbow for our attire. Think cropped shirts, short shorts and an animal print dress for the Bride (preferably zebra print). We will need big hoops, big heels, big sunglasses, french manicure fake nails, trucker hats and of course a Coach or LV Purse to complete the ensemble. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;4. Must all have the poof, everyone must have a bumpits in their hair at all times, even in bed. I'm talking about the Hollywood bumpit. Nothing else will do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.bighappiehair.com/"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504194011232301650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 208px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 260px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TGLTSm5VclI/AAAAAAAAAL8/xyK6P0K0vwQ/s320/hollywoodb.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Bump...bump, bump it up&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. We must master the myspace picture pose. Kissy face, chukin the deuce kinda pose people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.heymister.net/storage/KISSY_FACE2.jpg?__SQUARESPACE_CACHEVERSION=1232518076299"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504194977967659762" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 148px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TGLUK4RAWvI/AAAAAAAAAME/18sGTvJqVsg/s200/kissy+face.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Dats wat I'm twalkin' bout&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504268596828715634" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 315px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 262px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TGMXID5QOnI/AAAAAAAAANM/Mq1efz_rc3Q/s320/ashkissyface.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;This is my sister, Ashley. Already a pro at the kissy face! LYLAS!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. We must find tan, sexy, gorilla men to fistpump with at da club.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.frakincool.com/images/guido5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504196473573398434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 173px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TGLVh71M16I/AAAAAAAAAMU/Bw76nNBl7cU/s200/guido5.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Will you marry my sister, Superman? See above pic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;7. Everyone must get Henna Tattoos on low back (or a real tattoo if they are feeling frisky).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. The only kind of food allowed on the trip will be Italian. If you don't like Italian food get the Eff out of Jersey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504198222781632098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TGLXHwI8TmI/AAAAAAAAAMc/9djQNF1Xe4s/s200/spaghetti.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MAHHH! Gimme some Meatballs!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;9. Everyone has to talk with a Jersey accent, even if it sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. Last and most importantly, everyone must fist pump all day, everyday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.mtv.com/"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504199707511717410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TGLYeLMLfiI/AAAAAAAAAM0/gx4G6WX6S0k/s320/jerseyshore.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Y'all Feelz Me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-8474576351999421029?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/8474576351999421029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2010/08/gtl.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/8474576351999421029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/8474576351999421029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2010/08/gtl.html' title='GTL'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TGLXnpbHuBI/AAAAAAAAAMk/_Y_Mtq3dUTw/s72-c/nj.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-1919020279586295005</id><published>2010-07-25T15:01:00.015-05:00</published><updated>2010-08-05T10:22:41.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Something Old, Something New</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;I know I've been MIA, so please accept my apology.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;So I have moved back in with my grandparents. Remember them? I'm in the middle of relocating with Hertz, Sarah (my old roommate) got engaged (YAY!), so it was good timing to move back in with the ole ball and chains!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497938492331389122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TEyZ7fBb8MI/AAAAAAAAAL0/vUCcA5YPeSc/s320/DSC02270.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(Belita and Belo)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They just celebrated their 58th Wedding Anniversary! 58 years! Belo said, "I been with her my whole life, sisty fie chears" (65 years). So Belita made us steaks and we drank wine. I love my new roommates! So in honor of their milestone I am going to tell you some of my favorite Belita and Belo stories. I like to call them "Cuban Socialites."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;1&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="WHITE-SPACE: pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;They went to Mexico for a month long honeymoon. On this honeymoon they swam in a pool covered with flowers, had cocktails on the President of Argentina's yacht, and danced in a club where you had to take your shoes off because the tide covers the dance floor. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;2&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="WHITE-SPACE: pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;They spent four years apart while Belita was in America and Belo was still in Cuba. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;3 I love their daily routine. It does not change. I hate change. Belita watches her Spanish Soap Operas on Telemundo and Belo takes two hours to get ready everyday.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;4 I love when they tell me about their wedding day. And I'm even more grateful they were able to get some photos from Cuba of that day. It was the epitome of elegance and beauty. I mean they were, after all, Cuban Socialites. (side note: my scanner is in storage, so I can't upload pictures from their wedding).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;This weekend we are celebrating Belo and Belita's 80th Birthdays! My entire Cuban family is coming to Baton Rouge and we are having a big dinner at Jubans. It will be a weekend full of love, family, wine and drama. I will fill everyone in on my Big Fat Cuban Reunion next week! ADIOS AMIGOS! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;Te Quiero Mucho,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;That Cuban Girl&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-1919020279586295005?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1919020279586295005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2010/07/something-old-something-new.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/1919020279586295005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/1919020279586295005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2010/07/something-old-something-new.html' title='Something Old, Something New'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/TEyZ7fBb8MI/AAAAAAAAAL0/vUCcA5YPeSc/s72-c/DSC02270.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-6535738196505724449</id><published>2009-07-01T13:38:00.012-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-01T14:20:20.422-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Steroid Summer</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;Hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it has almost been two months since my last post and I apologize! The new gig at hertz is taking over my social and blogging life!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love Louisiana. I have lived in Louisiana for almost six years now. But for realz, WTF is with the heat and bugs this summer??? It's like they are on &lt;strong&gt;STEROIDS&lt;/strong&gt;. Everyday it is 98 degrees or hotter and the bugs are EVERYWHERE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sku1aAE1m7I/AAAAAAAAALI/YI8a54WcbRI/s1600-h/roids.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 199px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353572040361483186" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sku1aAE1m7I/AAAAAAAAALI/YI8a54WcbRI/s320/roids.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Roids Bad&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;I went to my grandparents house Monday night for arroz con pollo (chicken and rice white people) and when I got home I freaked. There were a least 1,000 bugs SWARMING my front door. I immediately took off my shoe and started my killing spree. THEN, I walk inside, look back at the front door and there it was, GODZILLA of bugs trying to slither under the door. Again, I remove my shoe and "kill" it. I pick it up with a paper towel and place it in the trash. I go about my business and then come back to find THE OTHER HALF OF IT COMING OUT OF THE GARBAGE! Then on top of that, a baby version of the godzilla bug has also come out of it and was climbing in my garbage! I immediately start screaming for my roommate. She is sound asleep and unaware of the gruesome scene that is taking place right down the hallway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sku0CqJtdhI/AAAAAAAAAKo/iLEr-hNrDJc/s1600-h/godzilla.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353570539827721746" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sku0CqJtdhI/AAAAAAAAAKo/iLEr-hNrDJc/s400/godzilla.bmp" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Godzilla&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I killed the other half of the mutant bug and then killed its offspring. So I figured I was good for the rest of the night. I screamed a few times, jumped around the kitchen, and successfully slaughtered the intruders. Yep, I was feeling pretty good. I go into the bathroom closet to get my mouthwash and what do I see? A ROACH!!!! KDAJKDJFJADKFJAKLDFJAKD! WTF! I almost started crying at that point. Again, I removed my shoe and killed. I finished up my nightly routine and went to bed in fear. Fear that more bugs would come torture me in my sleep. Needless to say, I hate BUGS during the summer in Louisiana. They are mutant bugs out to ruin my summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353570752117429314" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sku0PA_hVEI/AAAAAAAAAKw/01YYPfclzsQ/s320/BUG.jpg" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Bug that tried to eat me ^&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Thank you, bye!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Pat, can we get some rain in the Red Stick???? My Yard is THIRSTY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sku1CyXQLhI/AAAAAAAAALA/RFmRrjoAdp4/s1600-h/Pat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 210px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353571641543634450" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sku1CyXQLhI/AAAAAAAAALA/RFmRrjoAdp4/s320/Pat.jpg" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;The Man, The Myth, The Legend&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;*Note: Pat is the weatherman and red stick=baton rouge.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-6535738196505724449?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6535738196505724449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/07/steroid-summer.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/6535738196505724449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/6535738196505724449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/07/steroid-summer.html' title='Steroid Summer'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sku1aAE1m7I/AAAAAAAAALI/YI8a54WcbRI/s72-c/roids.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-4563167568371211776</id><published>2009-05-04T14:53:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-05T20:26:54.457-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Cinco de Mayo</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Hola.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;HAPPY CINCO DE MAYO AMIGOS!  ARRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIBBBBBBBBBBBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sf9H7h2PONI/AAAAAAAAAKg/3VckbSe6t08/s1600-h/mexicans.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 360px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332059571853670610" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sf9H7h2PONI/AAAAAAAAAKg/3VckbSe6t08/s400/mexicans.jpg"&gt; &lt;/a&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;font size="1"&gt;(What ju lookin at?)&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;font size="1"&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Gracias, adios.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-4563167568371211776?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4563167568371211776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/05/cinco-de-mayo.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/4563167568371211776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/4563167568371211776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/05/cinco-de-mayo.html' title='Cinco de Mayo'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sf9H7h2PONI/AAAAAAAAAKg/3VckbSe6t08/s72-c/mexicans.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-5456010928409826206</id><published>2009-05-04T12:37:00.035-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T14:07:31.481-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Ole Days</title><content type='html'>Hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sf8vyEsuVCI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/IOuV9WOOSig/s1600-h/Original.png"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 297px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332033021131248674" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sf8vyEsuVCI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/IOuV9WOOSig/s400/Original.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(The Original Facebook Log In Screen)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I like to live a simple life, free of complications, relaxing and peaceful. When I first joined facebook in 2004 that's just how it was, SIMPLE. Back in the good ole days, Facebook was small and did its job perfectly. It allowed me to connect with people from my past and keep up with them. I was allowed to have one picture and one picture only, my main profile picture. It was a very basic concept and now its completely butchered! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My good friend Cranch, of Cranch Dressing recently told me this, "Remember the days when you were in a relationship before facebook confirmed it..."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Why yes Cranch, I sure do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now facebook is cluttered with status updates, quizzes/quiz results, photos ,etc. I mean who freaking cares what zombie or infectious disease they are? Its ridiculous all the nonsense they have added the past five years. I know they need to keep up with the times and make some necessary changes but it just seems a bit much. I do like the photo albums but some of it is overboard and plain trashy (I want to mention one slut here, but I will just be polite and keep my mouth shut ;) ).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 295px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 251px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332040520843168098" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sf82mnTYiWI/AAAAAAAAAKI/pEb20OunHKA/s400/devil.jpg" /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(Angel or Devil Quiz, seriously?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;If you're reading this and you are a person sending me quiz requests and STUPID SHIT on facebook, please stop. I check the ignore button and never receive anything else from you again. Sorry to be so blunt, but I don't care about "where should you be living quiz" (by the way I took this one for shits and giggles and for the sake of this blog and it told me to move to Tokyo, yeah right). That quiz was about as accurate as the O.J. Simpson verdict...Tokyo and that cuban girl, comical.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also don't care what Sex and the City character I am. My luck, my results would probably say Miranda and if that was the case I would just want to shoot myself. So stop, please stop sending me useless crap on facebook. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 316px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 290px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332040902287692386" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sf8280S2EmI/AAAAAAAAAKQ/3NVWgsOyAo0/s400/city.bmp" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(Where should you be living Quiz, it exists.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I'm on facebook to keep up with old friends and occasionally look at people I no longer like that I am still friends with. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 246px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 207px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332042163566974690" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sf84GO7QluI/AAAAAAAAAKY/YTuZT45WrA4/s320/sjp.jpg" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(That Cuban Girl, Back in 2004 when facebook started.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Thank you, bye!&lt;/div&gt;&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/7137998635812472303-5456010928409826206?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5456010928409826206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/05/good-ole-days.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/5456010928409826206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/5456010928409826206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/05/good-ole-days.html' title='Good Ole Days'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sf8vyEsuVCI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/IOuV9WOOSig/s72-c/Original.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-350469459508615553</id><published>2009-04-23T10:56:00.064-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T11:21:43.037-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Deuces</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Hello, yo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://oneilloutside.homestead.com/Circle_K_Logo_JPEG_op_600x600.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;As many of you know I recently started working for Hertz. I've only been with Hertz for a short period of time, but during this time I have seen and met some very interesting people. Dealing with customers is a new experience for me and it is very entertaining to say the least. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My favorite thing about Hertz is working with my friend, Nedra. Nedra is a transporter for Hertz. She picks customers up at various places, takes care of cleaning the vehicles, puts gas in them, etc. Nedra is from New Orleans and she don't play. Nedra has graduated from culinary school and is an overall bad ass black woman. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327964151484724882" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SfC7KsFDNpI/AAAAAAAAAJI/1MoezeYO_vY/s320/nedra.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;NEDRA (Chuckin the Deuce)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;My first day at Hertz Nedra informed me in her deep NOLA accent this:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Nedra: Now Miss Licia, here at Hertz we a family. Everybody in the family get along, except we got this cousin. Now, we don't invite this cousin to the family reunion if ya know what I mean.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Nedra has my back and tells me how it is, no bullshit. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;So at hertz we take our vehicles to a certain gas station nearby to run them through the car wash. At this gas station are my other two friends, Crystal and Nikita. Crystal and Nedra are dating and Nikita is a friend of theirs that works at the Circle K. They are trying to blackify me out, but little do they know I already have some ghetto in me!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327964208237995090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SfC7N_gFZFI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/wmMMoVEtKqE/s320/nikita.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;NIKITA (Chuckin the deuce)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;The other day I was inside the store and Nikita (she calls me Lee-Lee) said to me:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Nikita: Lee-Lee, now if yo man gets in a fight, you gotta back him up. If the other man has a bitch, you gotta fight her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "I don't fight, I don't argue, I just hit that bitch wit a bottle. Call ya clique, don't bother, I just hit that bitch with a bottle. Say WHAT! Count em, 1 heffer, 2 heffer, 3 heffer, 4, hit dat bitch wit da bottle, watch her head hit da flooo." (SB2K5 shout out)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nedra: What the hell! Where you hear that?!?! &lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328000425297537842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 130px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 195px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SfDcKGj9azI/AAAAAAAAAJY/aDL5B2C9RuQ/s400/missb.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;MISS B (Chuckin the deuce)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I bust out my best MISS B rap you know. A few days ago I walk in the store and Nikita is working. I am wearing all black, like a black sweater and black dress. I walk in and she says:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nikita: Lee-Lee! You look like a caper!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: A what?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nikita: A caper! You dressed in all black!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: What is a caper?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nikita: You know, dressed all in black, lookin like you gonna come rob me and shit!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Urban dictionary defines a caper as 1) Older slang defining some sort of shady activity; usually illegal. Shenanigans.; 2) To commit an act of robbery.; 3) a person proud to be from the Island of Cape Brenton Canada. I'm thinking she was rolling with definition #2.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also get all the free coke icees and coffee I want from Nikita and Crystal! Got the hookup, whhhaattttt! When I see a hater, I chuck dem deuces. Learnin all kind of new shit up in hur. Respek.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328288866010144754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 221px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SfHifj80H_I/AAAAAAAAAJo/gk6d4IGPt3s/s320/scan_9216202627_1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;That Cuban Girl (Left, Chuckin the Deuce in 1994 with Locke and Trisha)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, BYE or should I say Peace. Chuckin the deuce. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-350469459508615553?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/350469459508615553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/deuces.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/350469459508615553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/350469459508615553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/deuces.html' title='The Deuces'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SfC7KsFDNpI/AAAAAAAAAJI/1MoezeYO_vY/s72-c/nedra.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-3608385830057077761</id><published>2009-04-22T11:46:00.029-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-22T13:21:14.450-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Special Powers</title><content type='html'>Hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;HAPPY EARTH DAY!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 288px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 319px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327582014184778546" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Se9fnXs-azI/AAAAAAAAAJA/MoMw_VTqmgQ/s320/austinPowers.gif" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My roommate Sarah and I have an ongoing debate regarding special powers. The question is this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you could have &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;one&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; special power, what would it be?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;MY choice is the obvious choice, &lt;strong&gt;Teleportation&lt;/strong&gt;. If I could have one special power, I would want to be able to teleport anywhere I wanted to be with the snap of my fingers! I would also make teleporting my business. I would charge people to teleport them around the WORLD. Just think, no more airport lines or wait! Just snap of my little fingers and BAM, you're in London Town!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327578571881533554" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Se9cfAH7UHI/AAAAAAAAAIo/yhpn0Spw2D4/s320/tele.jpg" /&gt; &lt;p align="center"&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;This is me ^ teleporting to Greece.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Sarah's choice is lazy. She said her special power would be "getting ready power, a.ka. lazy power." She wants to be able to just snap her fingers and be ready to walk out the door. Showered, hair fixed, make-up on, and dressed. Retardedddddd...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 212px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327577790377270498" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Se9bxgyynOI/AAAAAAAAAIg/tD8d7IYl7JA/s320/getting+ready.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this is where the story gets funny. The two of us will randomly debate about these powers as if we really will ever possess them! We debate like we actually have the powers! For example, if I'm tired one day and don't feel like getting ready for something I have to do, Sarah will chime in all excited and say this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sarah: Don't you wish you had my special power?!?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh you bitch!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She &lt;strong&gt;always&lt;/strong&gt; tries to get me with her special power when I'm &lt;strong&gt;WEAK!&lt;/strong&gt; Whenever I'm hungover or tired she will bring her stupid power up! Naturally, I do the same to her. Whenever she fusses about having to drive somewhere I chime in with this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Don't you wish you had my special power?!?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is an ongoing battle. Neither of us will say the other power is better. I stand by teleporting and she stands by the lazy power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few weeks ago Sarah and I were in NOLA with some friends at lunch on a Sunday. Of course we brought the special power discussion to the lunch table. I believe three people at the table said they agreed with me and would choose teleporting, but our friend Cutler had a great one! She said this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cutler: If I could have a special power it would that whenever I reached in my pocket for money I needed I would have the exact amount I needed. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 317px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327579721708358914" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Se9dh7kATQI/AAAAAAAAAI4/8-p2nGkY4WQ/s320/money+tree.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;GENIUS! Where ever you go you have the money you need! &lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="color:#000099;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;What would your special power be?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, bye!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5327579073676767282" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Se9c8NdO8DI/AAAAAAAAAIw/xVi2fNcNdSc/s320/sarah.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Sarah + That Cuban Girl&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Congrats to Sarah on her new job!!!! &lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-3608385830057077761?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3608385830057077761/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/special-powers.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/3608385830057077761'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/3608385830057077761'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/special-powers.html' title='Special Powers'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Se9fnXs-azI/AAAAAAAAAJA/MoMw_VTqmgQ/s72-c/austinPowers.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-4606887413433252762</id><published>2009-04-17T08:04:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T09:06:01.948-05:00</updated><title type='text'>TGIFF</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;WHAAAAAT!  OKAAAAAY!  YEEAAAAAHHHH!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://roguebarristers.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/lil_jon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 210px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 210px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://roguebarristers.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/lil_jon.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;TGIFF!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-4606887413433252762?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4606887413433252762/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/tgiff.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/4606887413433252762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/4606887413433252762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/tgiff.html' title='TGIFF'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-298996014774466480</id><published>2009-04-05T11:25:00.084-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T21:48:05.087-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Tyra</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Hello.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SeabyTGEOxI/AAAAAAAAAHo/qk2BFGOnqCk/s1600-h/whaaat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325114897833671442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 263px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SeabyTGEOxI/AAAAAAAAAHo/qk2BFGOnqCk/s320/whaaat.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(Say Whaaat?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Is it just me or does &lt;/span&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Tyra Banks&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt; annoy the shit out of y&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;ou? One of my favorite shows is America's Next Top Model, but I cringe watching it because of TYRA! She is the most vain person I have ever seen. She cannot not go two minutes without talking about herself or some modeling shoot she did (*note did, she doesn't model anymore).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325114573350422674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SeabfaTOyJI/AAAAAAAAAHg/f43OZCoB3wM/s320/tyrachub.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(Who you callin' fat?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;America's Next Top Model (ANTM) is my personal Tyra favorite. IF she tells/shows contestants how to "smile with their eyes" one more time I swear I'm going to jump through the T.V. and go&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;uge both of her eyes out! The ANTM house is full of pictures of Tyra. They are all over the house! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Anywhere you look you see Tyra. Before every panel judging the show zooms in on a photo of Tyra from some modeling shoot. I know those pictures are old because home girl does not look like that anymore!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;The Tyra Banks Show makes me want to barf too. She did an episode on farts! I did not watch that episode, nor do I watch &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;any of her lame ass episodes, but I occasionally glance at them to see what ridiculous shit she is talking about. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Oprah, Jr. is out of control. She also gave Miley Cyrus a picture of herself from when she was 16 for Miley's 16th Birthday! WTF. You know Miley didn't want that picture for a present. I bet she was sitting there like, WTF? At least give her a nice handbag. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Back to ANTM, on a recent contestant challenge, she had the &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;contestants stick their heads inside a cut-out of old modeling photos of hers to see which model could imitate her the best! She is SO FULL of herself she actually had the models stick their face in a big cut-out of her! I freaked out and had to pause the show to take a picture of this latest stunt! See pictures below. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Gasp first, then laugh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325113629133176722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Seaaoc0S_5I/AAAAAAAAAHI/uOCZhfwUt44/s320/jay.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325120203416168306" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SeagnH7gZ3I/AAAAAAAAAH4/4IIGVHbLqWA/s200/whome.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Psycho....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Last, what is up with Tyra's bff, Miss J, runway diva extraordinaire? Is it a man or a woman? I really don't know. Whatever it is, it ain't pretty. The only good thing about the judging panel is Sexy Nigel Barker.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325112949360067634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 255px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 198px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SeaaA4dwhDI/AAAAAAAAAHA/gLLO_b1-6P0/s320/mizzj.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325110248037740146" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SeaXjpQU7nI/AAAAAAAAAGI/ZbVaWd26eDQ/s320/diva.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:x-small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;(Mizz J. Alexander)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="WHITE-SPACE: pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="WHITE-SPACE: pre"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;Thank you, bye. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325110780330198178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 206px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SeaYCoMvRKI/AAAAAAAAAG4/ksRW-E1jMzw/s320/tyrajay.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-298996014774466480?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/298996014774466480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/tyra.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/298996014774466480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/298996014774466480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/tyra.html' title='Tyra'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SeabyTGEOxI/AAAAAAAAAHo/qk2BFGOnqCk/s72-c/whaaat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-3993270059605588291</id><published>2009-04-01T10:00:00.010-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T14:04:58.849-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Bar Etiquette</title><content type='html'>Hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdJC-Wk9a5I/AAAAAAAAAFw/OVqXnWPDFyw/s1600-h/bar.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319387748857899922" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 133px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdJC-Wk9a5I/AAAAAAAAAFw/OVqXnWPDFyw/s200/bar.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was at this new(er) dive last weekend, sober. Mistake. People need to get the frick out of the way at the Bulldog. They stand around like they own the place and it takes me an hour to get to the ladies room. Move to a table or the lounge area in the front of the bar, don't stand in the aisle like a jerk. It makes me aggressive.. I have to literally push my shoulder into people while yelling, "Excuse me!" When I'm trying to get through the crowd, I love how the person in front of me (usually a guy) trying to get through, looks at me with puppy dog eyes like they are actually trying to get through. If they were really trying they would throw the shoulder and sternly say "Excuse Me!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another annoying thing is when people sit at the bar on a busy night. If people would move away from the bar area it would make everything so much easier. It wouldn't take an hour to get a drink and the person sitting there wouldn't have to buy people drinks the entire night. Light bulb!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319386056554111842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdJBb2QS42I/AAAAAAAAAFQ/RDzcS5HLCdI/s200/cropdusting.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Crop dusting at a bar, NOT OKAY! I was sitting in the lounge area at the Bulldog Saturday night and all of the sudden I got a smell of something very fowl. If your stomach is churning, you should go home and spare us all. There were at least 30 people around me, so I couldn't tell where that fowl stench originated. They are lucky I didn't stand up and announce how fowl the smell was to the entire area. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319386049461441074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 139px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdJBbb1RUjI/AAAAAAAAAFI/xTlPsA_ZoQc/s200/cropdustingsign.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(They should have this sign at every bar.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div&gt;Respeck.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you, bye! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-3993270059605588291?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3993270059605588291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/bar-etiquette.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/3993270059605588291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/3993270059605588291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/04/bar-etiquette.html' title='Bar Etiquette'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdJC-Wk9a5I/AAAAAAAAAFw/OVqXnWPDFyw/s72-c/bar.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-3567185177808666378</id><published>2009-03-31T10:01:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:05:19.700-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Chivalry</title><content type='html'>Hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319367860083099122" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdIw4rHiBfI/AAAAAAAAAEw/RHfiWcZ0_l8/s200/chivalry.jpg" border="0" /&gt;Is chivalry dead and buried? Does chivalry matter to men anymore? Is it so hard for a man to be a gentleman? Here are some of my favorite acts of non-chivalry: &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Douchebag #1:&lt;br /&gt;My roommate's younger sister was invited to a frat party this past weekend. The party was in New Orleans on Saturday night. First off, the little frat rat waited until the day of the party to call her and second, he asked her if she had a ride to New Orleans! WTF? My roommates younger sister is gorgeous and she did not like the guy, but HELLO! at least make an effort! He was lucky she even agreed to go to the party with him. I'm glad (and I'm sure she is glad) I wasn't around when that little tool picked her up...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Douchebag (move) #2:&lt;br /&gt;Cussing at your lady. There are several situations I could refer to here, but I will let those fellows and situations remain anonymous. Throwing around cuss words at your lady makes you look like a douche. Being rude to a lady in general is just douchey. Just don't do it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Douchebag #3:&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdD8oxyE3NI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/vAFyljjroFw/s1600-h/CBrown.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chris Brown, enough said. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319367874624488050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 134px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdIw5hSeAnI/AAAAAAAAAE4/06K8QKRUVPQ/s200/CBrown.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Douchebag #4:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Spencer Pratt, too much said. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319367887560922194" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 139px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdIw6RewVFI/AAAAAAAAAFA/XF8tl8yG7iw/s200/spratt.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Is it so difficult for a man to properly court a woman? Open the fucking door, send flowers, make her feel special, etc. And please don't stop once you start dating! Just because you've been dating a girl for the past five years doesn't mean you can stop opening the door or start farting in bed (this is not okay, ever). The simple things go a long way. Write her a love letter or a sweet poem for goodness sake. The power of a handwritten note or letter is often overlooked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you, bye!&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/7137998635812472303-3567185177808666378?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3567185177808666378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/chivalry_9830.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/3567185177808666378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/3567185177808666378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/chivalry_9830.html' title='Chivalry'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdIw4rHiBfI/AAAAAAAAAEw/RHfiWcZ0_l8/s72-c/chivalry.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-5541730635127288260</id><published>2009-03-30T10:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:08:54.547-05:00</updated><title type='text'>George.</title><content type='html'>Hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Why is it that men get better looking with age and women don't? Men peak in like their 40's, while women peak much earlier. Somethin' just ain't right about this. All of you now know I have a crush on Nick Jonas, but way before Nick Jonas there was George. &lt;strong&gt;The George&lt;/strong&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318983767324504434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 218px; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdDTjiFyMXI/AAAAAAAAADo/8u12LFkljWw/s320/george-clooney.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdDT0cooJ3I/AAAAAAAAADw/HwoUOCxAPo0/s1600-h/dross.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318984057917810546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 192px; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdDT0cooJ3I/AAAAAAAAADw/HwoUOCxAPo0/s200/dross.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Nick Jonas probably wasn't even born when I had my first celebrity crush. In middle school, maybe even as far back as elementary school, my mother, Barbara, who I will refer to as "Barb," started watching a little television show called E.R. I don't remember much of anything from that show, but I do remember Dr. Douglas Ross. George Clooney. The sexiest doc I've ever laid eyes on. To this day I still think about George. His voice, his hair, his eyebrows, lips, ahhhh he is just unreal! I also think he is a bit of a bad boy, which I like. His play boy lifestyle mesmerizes me. I was very happy to hear that he broke up with that moocher, Sarah Larson. Woof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;George is the &lt;strong&gt;finest of wine&lt;/strong&gt;. He gets better and better and &lt;strong&gt;better&lt;/strong&gt; with age. I'm not into older men, but George could sway me. On the Today Show this morning, there was a segment about how 40 is the new 20 for women. Bullshit. They say 40 is the new 20 because of hot celebrity women that can afford botox on a weekly basis! For the rest of us women, 40 is not the new 20. Dream on sistas. I'm a realist and realistically, the majority of us peak in our late 20's/30's. I really wish it were the other way around. I wish men would peak early and then get FAT and BALD. I know some men do get fat and bald, but &lt;strong&gt;a lot get hot&lt;/strong&gt;. For example, George Clooney (#1), George Strait (maybe its the name George?), Sean Connery, Antonio Banderas, Viggo Mortensen, Hugh Jackman, Jon Bon Jovi, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please note that I do not like to date young boys (Nick Jonas) or older men (George Clooney). These are &lt;strike&gt;notso &lt;/strike&gt;innocent crushes! I normally date guys anywhere from 24-28 range. I would go a little higher, just all depends. For now though, I wait patiently for George. I hope George reads this and we live happily ever after on Lake Como.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, bye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5318995033975070754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 279px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdDdzVomoCI/AAAAAAAAAEA/pAeFSv_qYE0/s320/pug.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(George likes pugs! Awwwww.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-5541730635127288260?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/5541730635127288260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/george.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/5541730635127288260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/5541730635127288260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/george.html' title='George.'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SdDTjiFyMXI/AAAAAAAAADo/8u12LFkljWw/s72-c/george-clooney.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-3863474678081184293</id><published>2009-03-27T10:00:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:14:45.116-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Living in Sin</title><content type='html'>Hello. &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317606381966094578" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 127px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Scvu1JxwcPI/AAAAAAAAACg/MoLfZ_nPS8k/s200/sin2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grandmother, Belita, is a firm believer that a couple should not live together before marriage. I shouldn't even use the term "firm", she is &lt;strong&gt;hardcore.&lt;/strong&gt; One time during a visit to her house I asked her, "What do you think about living with your fiance before marriage?" She quickly responded with this, "OH NO! YOU CANNOT DO DAT! What if you break up with dat one guy and den your next fiance know you do dat? Oh no." This got me thinking, is living with someone before marriage a mistake?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you know me, you know I've never been close to marriage, not once. The longest relationship I've ever been in maybe lasted a year or a little over a year. I've never lived with a man or a boyfriend. I really have no desire to live with the opposite sex either. I think as long as a couple is engaged or just dating, they should have FREEDOM! You have your whole life to live with one person, live it up while you still can. Belita brought up another point during our "living in sin" discussion. She said to me, "If you live wit'd a boy before you married, why is he going to want to marry you?" Point for Belita. I mean why would a guy want to marry you when he can have his cake and eat it too? &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317607742547937938" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 174px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScvwEWVvypI/AAAAAAAAACw/bog8emNgZN8/s200/sin3.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My beautiful sister, Ashley, and I differ on this subject. Ashley is a few years older than me. She is not married either. Ashley thinks that you should live with someone before marriage so you can see how they live. This is not a bad point, but my argument is this: if you are engaged to the poor schmuck, don't you think by that point you should &lt;strong&gt;know&lt;/strong&gt; how the guy lives? Can't you just spend the night a few nights a week to see how the dude lives? I think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The statics on this subject are quite interesting. Here are some I read:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Just over 50% of first cohabiting couples ever get married.* &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Living together is considered to be more stressful than being married.* (F that). &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;In the United States and in the UK, couples who live together are at a greater risk for divorce than non-cohabiting couples.* &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;I'm going to agree with Belita on this one. I will not be cohabiting before I get hitched.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Thank you, bye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(*&lt;a href="http://marriage.about.com/od/cohabitation/qt/cohabfacts.htm"&gt;http://marriage.about.com/od/cohabitation/qt/cohabfacts.htm&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-3863474678081184293?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/3863474678081184293/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/living-in-sin.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/3863474678081184293'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/3863474678081184293'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/living-in-sin.html' title='Living in Sin'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Scvu1JxwcPI/AAAAAAAAACg/MoLfZ_nPS8k/s72-c/sin2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-7081384321292481675</id><published>2009-03-27T10:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:09:29.182-05:00</updated><title type='text'>TGIFF</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sc0G2CoS3dI/AAAAAAAAADY/TVf5bO5HaJw/s1600-h/tgif.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317914260483005906" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 308px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sc0G2CoS3dI/AAAAAAAAADY/TVf5bO5HaJw/s320/tgif.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Scz12oCxj-I/AAAAAAAAADQ/DhQ-hZlqMfY/s1600-h/tgif.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&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/7137998635812472303-7081384321292481675?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/7081384321292481675/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/tgiff.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/7081384321292481675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/7081384321292481675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/tgiff.html' title='TGIFF'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Sc0G2CoS3dI/AAAAAAAAADY/TVf5bO5HaJw/s72-c/tgif.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-4421378680071656900</id><published>2009-03-26T10:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:10:35.845-05:00</updated><title type='text'>YaRd PiMp</title><content type='html'>Hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SczowK-iqpI/AAAAAAAAAC4/xRjEHFM4FfA/s1600-h/pimpin.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317881174295751314" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SczowK-iqpI/AAAAAAAAAC4/xRjEHFM4FfA/s200/pimpin.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My grandfather, Belo, is a &lt;strong&gt;YaRd PiMp&lt;/strong&gt;, yiggity yo. The majority of you reading this probably have no clue what a yard pimp does. He is a translator for Mexicans that own a landscaping business. Before you get offended please know that when I say "Mexicans," I say it with the utmost respect. I was offended one time and asked Belo, "Why do you call them the Mexicans?" He responded with this, "That is what they are, they are Mexican." I then asked, "Well would you be offended if someone called you the Cuban?" He proudly snapped back, "NO! That is what I am, I am a Cuban."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Belo has a very strict daily routine. He does the same thing day in and day out. A couple times in college I lived with them, 6 months here, 6 months there. One night I asked him politely if he would mind depositing a check for me at my bank (please note my bank is approximately 5 minutes from his house). His response was this, "Oh no, I have sooo much to do tomorrow." His accent is even thicker and more &lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScztjF7CFtI/AAAAAAAAADA/K-O35bsiyJs/s1600-h/boss.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317886447158695634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScztjF7CFtI/AAAAAAAAADA/K-O35bsiyJs/s200/boss.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Cubano than Belita's. I said, "Oh really? What exactly are you doing tomorrow?" I'm not exaggerating, this is exactly what he said, "I have to wake up, I have to go outside and water de plants, I then have to go inside and make espresso, after I drink my espresso I have to go back outside, outside I have to blow de driveway, then I have to go back inside and shower (remember his shower routine takes 2 hours), after de shower I have to go to de store to buy strawberries, after de store I have to check de mail, I don't have time to go to da bank." Then he started complaining how one time he had to change my cousins tire??? The man cannot stand to go out of his comfort zone or routine. Amazing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Back to the yard pimp, one time I came into the house and he was on the phone with a customer of the Mexicans. He takes instructions, directions, etc. and then he instructs the Mexicans what to do. I use to worry about him being bored during the day but Belo has plenty to do! He loves telling stories of how he translates for them. The Mexicans charge my roommate and me only $30! My grandfather proudly says its because "You are my granddaughter." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So if you need your yard to be pimped, holla!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you, bye. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317886687285740898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScztxEdyBWI/AAAAAAAAADI/hkeIMp5Dj1U/s200/yard.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&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/7137998635812472303-4421378680071656900?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/4421378680071656900/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/yard-pimp.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/4421378680071656900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/4421378680071656900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/yard-pimp.html' title='YaRd PiMp'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/SczowK-iqpI/AAAAAAAAAC4/xRjEHFM4FfA/s72-c/pimpin.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-6608117328805055184</id><published>2009-03-25T10:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:11:49.590-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Jonas Brothers</title><content type='html'>&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317582007073693890" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScvYqWOi4MI/AAAAAAAAACQ/uUxkRmbBG6U/s320/single.jpg" border="0" /&gt;Hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScvYQM8KbYI/AAAAAAAAACI/qlci6IQcXe4/s1600-h/single.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a crush. A big crush. An &lt;strong&gt;illegal&lt;/strong&gt; big crush. On Nick Jonas. Did I mention he is the &lt;strong&gt;younges&lt;/strong&gt;t of the three Jonas Brothers? If you would have asked me 2 months ago who the Jonas Brothers were, I wouldn't have had a clue...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is all &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;SNL's&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;fault&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. I was watching SNL (by myself) one Saturday Night and the Jonas Brothers were the musical guests. Just great...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In the beginning of this SNL episode the Jonas Brothers did a skit with the guest star that night, Alec Baldwin, I still didn't think anything of those 3 brothers. Then it was time for their performance. They started playing and I fell in love. I had no idea how old they were, but I knew they were youngins. So during SNL they played a couple of songs. I grabbed my computer and decided to do a little "Brother's Research." What do I find out? Nick is 16 (SIXTEEN)! His birthday is 9/16/1992! My birthday is 9/18 just a few years difference...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317580255546859202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 175px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScvXEZSAXsI/AAAAAAAAACA/Q4t2rU1Ux_w/s200/SNL.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(*Nick is on the far left)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;SIXTEEN, SIXTEEN, SIXTEEN! How can this be? Let me justify this crush 1) he does not look 16 at all; 2) he is ripped, what 16 year old has those arms?; 3) we are both virgo's and 4) he is deep, just listen to his lyrics. Here is a little taste from their song Burnin' Up: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'm slippin' into the lava &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And I'm tryin' keep from goin' under&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Baby, who turned the temperature hotter?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;'Cause I'm burnin' up, burnin' up for you baby&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;C'mon girl &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Deep right? Puttin' N*sync and Back Street Boys to shame. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;They are on their World Tour right now and guess what? &lt;strong&gt;They are coming to NOLA 8/15/09!&lt;/strong&gt; I have to go, front row. Tickets go on sale Saturday. Wish me luck! If anybody can hook a sista up, let me know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thank you, bye.&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317582715682970866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScvZTmAKXPI/AAAAAAAAACY/YOK1vAyVPPU/s320/nicky2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&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/7137998635812472303-6608117328805055184?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/6608117328805055184/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/jonas-brothers.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/6608117328805055184'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/6608117328805055184'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/jonas-brothers.html' title='Jonas Brothers'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScvYqWOi4MI/AAAAAAAAACQ/uUxkRmbBG6U/s72-c/single.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-9177665613001711864</id><published>2009-03-24T10:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:12:13.237-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Castro's Designer Escapes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hello&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317569695278179362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 130px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 86px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScvNdtNwJCI/AAAAAAAAABo/I_Dvs1J0ypU/s320/flag.jpg" border="0" /&gt; I went to my grandparents house on 3/25/09 for dinner. I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;usually&lt;/span&gt; try and go eat with them once a week. I arrived at their house around 7:15 p.m. As usual they were watching &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Telemundo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. I do not speak E&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;spanol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, I can pick up on some words, but watching &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Telemundo&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; ain't what I call a "fun night." Until 3/25/09 that is...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fidel Castro's interior designer &lt;strong&gt;ESCAPED&lt;/strong&gt;! His name is Pedro Alain Gonzalez. Pedro is hiding out in Barcelona right now! My grandparents were&lt;strong&gt; freaking&lt;/strong&gt; out last night! I mean what's the big deal? They told me the decorator is in "hiding" because Castro is going to have people kill him. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;WTF&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;? The designer doesn't know shit other than what the inside of Castro's crib looks like, seriously. I want the real gossip! This was such a big deal on the Latino News, no lie. It was on all the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Spanish&lt;/span&gt; news channels last night. The designer went on and on about marble in the bathroom, Raul's (Fidel's bro) classic design style, etc. Again, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;WTF&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. Tell us some real juice! I want to know the VIP scene in Havana, not the fucking color of Castro's drapes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm telling you the designer doesn't know anything interesting about the Castro's, nothing. My grandparents said it's a big deal because no Cubans really know how the Castro's live. For a third time, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;WTF&lt;/span&gt;? How can they not know how &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;extravagantly&lt;/span&gt; the rulers of their Country live? What leaders of any country live like the "commoners?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you want to know more tune in to Maria Elvira on Mega TV (a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Spanish&lt;/span&gt; channel). &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317569866274762402" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 97px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScvNnqOg7qI/AAAAAAAAABw/tKjuqvpmYn8/s320/mariaelvira.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Gracias&lt;/span&gt;, Adios.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-9177665613001711864?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/9177665613001711864/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/castros-interior-designer-escaped.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/9177665613001711864'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/9177665613001711864'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/castros-interior-designer-escaped.html' title='Castro&apos;s Designer Escapes'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScvNdtNwJCI/AAAAAAAAABo/I_Dvs1J0ypU/s72-c/flag.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-1142478755702474210</id><published>2009-03-23T10:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:12:40.573-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Abuelita &amp; Abuelo</title><content type='html'>Hello.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I had dinner with my grandparents, Belita and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Belo&lt;/span&gt;. They are the coolest Cuban Couple in the World, yes WORLD. My friends all know stories but I will give everyone a brief rundown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317526256371157618" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 290px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 218px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Scul9OrQynI/AAAAAAAAABg/a9wgGsxTT98/s320/betabo.jpg" border="0" /&gt; My grandfather, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Belo&lt;/span&gt;, wears all white, all the time, dead serious. His "uniform" consists &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScukwJZK4xI/AAAAAAAAABY/ek-Z1sUhGjE/s1600-h/Leather.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317524932103168786" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 82px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 140px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScukwJZK4xI/AAAAAAAAABY/ek-Z1sUhGjE/s320/Leather.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;of this a white cotton turtle neck, CRISP white Calvin Klein Jeans with a crease down the center, and white tennis shoes (currently Nike, but sometimes they are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;K-Swiss&lt;/span&gt;). When he dresses up to go somewhere he usually puts on a Navy or Black shirt, but still rolls with the White Calvin &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Kleins&lt;/span&gt;. 100% class all the way, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; how the Alonso family rocks. Also, when he goes out he puts on cowboy boots. Bad ass cowboy boots to be exact, only the finest leather will do for him. It also takes him 2 hours to get ready for anything. He will be in his bathroom for 2 hours! We have no idea what he does in there, but whatever it is, it takes forever. I think he spends at least 45 minutes combing and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;hair spraying&lt;/span&gt; his do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grandmother, Belita, is 5 feet tall. She is a firecracker and had a triple bypass surgery in August. She is 78 years old and up until August was still teaching Spanish to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;high school&lt;/span&gt; girls. She has the thickest Cuban accent. All my friends know my impression of it, for those who don't just try an imagine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I called her to tell her I would be over around 7:00 p.m. I left a voicemail letting her know. While I was on my run yesterday I received this voicemail from her, "Hey Lee Lee, you call earlier but I miss your call, aah okay, I'm here, bye." Those are her typical &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;voice mails&lt;/span&gt;. I love how she reminds me that I called earlier and that she missed the call, like I didn't realize she missed the call as I was leaving her a voicemail! Her voicemail is bilingual by the way. She also has this other mysterious voicemail though too. If she is on the other line a different voicemail will pick up. It goes like this, "Hello? You, you have called 555-5555 after &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;de&lt;/span&gt; beep leaf your message, thank you, bye." The first 5 times I got this voicemail I would respond after her "hello?"!!!!! It drove me crazy! Got me &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;every time&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More stories to come about these two. I didn't even write about our dinner last night!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like my grandmother I will end this with "thank you, bye."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-1142478755702474210?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/1142478755702474210/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/abuelita-abuelo.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/1142478755702474210'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/1142478755702474210'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/abuelita-abuelo.html' title='Abuelita &amp; Abuelo'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/Scul9OrQynI/AAAAAAAAABg/a9wgGsxTT98/s72-c/betabo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7137998635812472303.post-8538477728592790724</id><published>2009-03-22T10:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T10:13:12.879-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Newbie</title><content type='html'>Hello.&lt;br /&gt;I am very new to this blogging thing. Brittany tries to talk me into Twitter on a weekly basis. I have no idea what twitter is. I mean what is the point? Why would I want to have a site where all I do is post status updates? Shit, I don't even post status updates on facebook. Who cares what I do during the day?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a status update of my life yesterday (3/25/09): I got to work, checked my email, checked the DUI section on 2theadvocate.com (I do this daily), checked my facebook account, talked to co-workers, went to lunch, worked some more, chatted with friends on gmail, went home, went for a run around the small lakes, showered, went to my grandparents for dinner, went to Cutler's and spent the night. Who in the world wants to know that?!? I just got bored reading what I typed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today has been the exact same. Status update: got to work, checked my email, checked my facebook, created this blog (something new!), about to the check the DUI section on 2theadvocate.com....etc. My days are exactly the same, no point in twitter for me. I find it very weird. Nobody in their right mind would want to read my status updates.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something new in my life I want to share. I recently got a new job! YAY me! Only took me 8 months! There is hope AMERICA, there is hope! I will be working for Hertz (yes the rental car company) in approximately one week. I will be in the management trainee program. I am beyond stoked to get out of my current office. Current office=headache. SNL a couple of weeks ago talked about Hertz during a skit. They said it was the most romantic place on earth! Ohhh lala.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thats all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/7137998635812472303-8538477728592790724?l=thatcubangirl.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/feeds/8538477728592790724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/newbie.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/8538477728592790724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/7137998635812472303/posts/default/8538477728592790724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thatcubangirl.blogspot.com/2009/03/newbie.html' title='Newbie'/><author><name>That Cuban Girl</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14521765309173111215</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='20' height='32' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_RBSJY7aDZig/ScuhxBwYX6I/AAAAAAAAAA0/ru9N1mQDWl8/S220/n23406555_44894385_4008.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
