tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51616475484834535582024-03-13T05:29:32.810-07:00Samantha Clark cuts it out!Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-83733137128838010472013-10-29T09:47:00.001-07:002013-10-29T09:47:44.741-07:00The First Time I . . . Tried Jillian Michaels BodyShred Class<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lZM7Q6Te_iY/UfhxGjyz_mI/AAAAAAAADVk/OcjaqIpHDec/s1600/Bodyshred.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lZM7Q6Te_iY/UfhxGjyz_mI/AAAAAAAADVk/OcjaqIpHDec/s1600/Bodyshred.jpg" height="321" width="400" /></a></div>
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As most of you know from that one other time when I mentioned exercise on here, I enjoy group fitness classes. This is for the following reasons:</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">1.) I am seemingly incapable of achieving a good workout by myself and prefer to be guided through every step of my workout. Left to my own devices, my personal workouts usually consist of the following, in no particular order:</span><br />
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<li>12-14 minutes on the treadmill in a brisk walk/slow jog. This is immediately followed by a sense of immense pride for <i>really</i> giving 'er this time.</li>
<li>5 minutes of debate <i>re: obligatory bicep curls<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #400058; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: normal; line-height: 20px;">—</span>to do or not to do?</i> before glancing into the weight room area and deciding it's just way too crowded today and it probably smells in there, anyway.</li>
<li>10 minutes spent adjusting socks/re-tying shoes. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Note: this can be stretched to 12 minutes if necessary.)</span></li>
<li>4 minutes of sit-ups/any assorted ab exercises that pop into mind (usually sit-ups)</li>
<li>6 minutes spent drinking/refilling water bottle </li>
<li>30 minutes of stretching/people watching/lying on a gym mat. This is usually multitasked with some deep introspection (<i>why are there so many advertisements for chocolate milk here-I wish I had some chocolate milk-when did everyone get those cool neon gym shoes and why are my shoes so extremely white-just what exactly am I going to do with my life I have no plan-I wonder what I'm going to eat after this . . . </i>)</li>
<li>3 minutes of cool down before calling it a day</li>
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All of these minutes of deep introspection have a way of making you take a cold, hard look at your life and be truly honest with yourself.<br />
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I mean, if I feel self-conscious wearing colored jeans, maybe I'm just not meant for neon gym shoes. I don't like it, it's hard to accept, but hey, that's just the way it is.<br />
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I hate it. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">2.) I like situations that throw all different kinds of people together who would never normally meet and giving them a common goal: finishing the workout. I like looking around the group fitness classroom and seeing teenagers, middle-aged moms and dads, the elderly, sometimes a few dogs, the fit, the unfit, the coordinated, the less-than-coordinated</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #400058; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">—</span><span class="Apple-style-span">everyone's there and working towards the same thing: getting through cardio boot camp class without throwing up or falling down in front of people. I find the fear of public vomiting provides a real sense of community, you know? </span><br />
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A real sense of community.<br />
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(While I've never actually thrown up in a fitness class, I am in a constant state of extreme worry that my pants will split at any moment. This has never happened to me before, my pants are made of a reasonably durable material, there is no logical reason for me to think this will happen, yet I know it will. And when it does, I will be ready with my gym towel sarong.) </div>
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3.) I like feeling very connected to all of these different people in the class, or what I call, the <i>"we're all in this together, guys!"</i> vibe. The way you can give lots of knowing looks to everyone in the room because you know they feel the exact same way that you do. It's just understood. You can give a long, knowing stare to your fellow class participants for any number of thoughts, including:<br />
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"<i>Hey man</i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #400058; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">—</span><span class="Apple-style-span">you gonna pass out? Me, too!" </span></i><br />
<i>"Your shoe is untied."</i><br />
<i>"If that instructor thinks I'm going to give her 20 more push-ups, she's got another thing coming, sister."</i><br />
<i>"It is too goddamn hot in here and I am very, very hungry." </i><br />
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. . . and it's just a given that they'll get it. Whenever I give a knowing look for something like this, I usually add an eyebrow raise and snap my fingers so my point really gets across. </div>
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<a href="http://s1317.photobucket.com/user/kmarbon/media/sassyconan_zps76fe1b7a.gif.html" target="_blank"><img alt="sassy conan photo sassyconan_zps76fe1b7a.gif" border="0" src="http://i1317.photobucket.com/albums/t630/kmarbon/sassyconan_zps76fe1b7a.gif" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(source: <a href="http://il317.photobucket.com/albums/t630/kmarbon/sassyconan_zps76fe1b7a.gif" target="_blank">kmarbon</a> from Photobucket)</span><br />
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4.) Also, I like the idea that I can make friends with all of these different people based on our shared interest, even when I have only made two friends total in my ten years of taking fitness classes. Maybe this is because I am forever giving sassy looks and snapping my fingers at people I don't know and also shouting out, "We're all in this together, guys!" even when the instructor has asked me not to shout out things anymore. </div>
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My fitness classes are mostly like this, except usually not outside and no one ever smiles at me.<br />
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Please be my friend.<br />
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I take these multitude of fitness classes at GoodLife Fitness and will often schedule my day around a class that I want to take. A few months ago, I noticed an excited buzz sweeping through the Group Exercise room. It didn't seem to be the usual excitement that comes the 2 times a year when a wet fruit platter is placed on a table at the back of the room, or the wild craze that occurs when a GoodLife employee comes into the class and tries to give away a t-shirt. No, it was something different . . . something big. As my many fitness pals and I bounced around on large exercise balls and took turns smiling at each other, they confirmed it for me: <b>a new fitness class was coming our way</b>.</div>
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And man, were my fitness friends and I happy.<br />
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(just kidding I actually found out from a poster in the locker room)</div>
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And as I am currently on a hiatus between consistent daytime engagements <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-style: italic;">(this means pretty much unemployed) </span>and spend the vast majority of my time watching <i>Criminal Minds</i> and talking to my cat about <i>Criminal Minds</i>,<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; font-style: italic;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span">a new fitness class was big news. </span></div>
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The new class was called the not-at-all-intimidating "BODYSHRED" and was designed by Jillian Michaels. </div>
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And certainly, I was intrigued. What I knew of Jillian Michaels was mostly that she was a trainer on <i>The Biggest Loser </i>and is one of those people who always looks kind of angry even when she's smiling. What I knew of <i>The Biggest Loser</i> was that I saw an episode once where the weight loss contestants began their battle by spending an hour in a magical room full of every single delicious treat you could imagine for one final binge, a completely no-holds-barred gorge fest. I thought that room of temptation was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gEA-geh8W_I/UfmyHfM8ZHI/AAAAAAAADWE/CFZs7qCI_2U/s1600/eat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gEA-geh8W_I/UfmyHfM8ZHI/AAAAAAAADWE/CFZs7qCI_2U/s1600/eat.jpg" height="198" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="http://www.maggielouisebakes.com/" target="_blank">source</a>)</span></div>
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If this BodyShred thing was anything like that majestic buffet room, I was pretty sure I'd like it.</div>
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(Also, when I spent 40 minutes on Google trying to figure out if that magical treat room had an official name [Gluttonous Galaxy? Galaxy of Gorge? I feel like it should have the word galaxy in it?], I found the synopsis for <i>The Biggest Loser </i>Season 1 which had intriguing highlights as this:</div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">-</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">The Blue Team wins the first challenge and receives five pounds of lard to use against the losing team at the weigh in.</span></i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">-The Red Team wins the challenge by building the tallest food pyramid. They win $5,000 of computer equipment and video messages from home. </span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">The prize for the weekly challenge is a $7,000 treadmill. There is no immunity.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"> <b>The contestants had to stand on bales of hay holding a bouquet of balloons.</b> Ryan wins the treadmill.</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;"><i>-Everyone at the ranch resists the temptation to eat a cinnamon bun to get a telephone call. As a reward, they all win a 5 minute phone call.</i></span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">-</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">Dave gives in to the temptation to eat a cupcake and have dinner with a loved one.</span></i></div>
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Seriously, what have I been doing wasting my time on <i>Criminal Minds</i>? I NEED to start watching <i>The Biggest Loser</i>.)<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sYGaKHkbSF8/UfmvO4T_iQI/AAAAAAAADV0/h9xQTVI_NL8/s1600/Hotch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sYGaKHkbSF8/UfmvO4T_iQI/AAAAAAAADV0/h9xQTVI_NL8/s1600/Hotch.jpg" height="250" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/criminal-minds/images/6527541/title/hotch-wallpaper" target="_blank">source</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">)</span><br />
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(I'm just kidding Hotch I will never leave you ever.)</div>
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So I started asking around town what the hell BodyShred was all about.</div>
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"It's pretty hard," warned my friend Christina (you remember <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/07/first-time-i-tried-zumba.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">Christina</span></a>, don't you?)</div>
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"It's like a boot camp, but not," said my other one friend from fitness class.</div>
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"What in the world is a body shred? And did you find a job yet?" answered my mother over Skype.</div>
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Feeling somewhat dissatisfied with what my research had dug up, I realized I had to go right to the source. JILLIAN MICHAELS HERSELF.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DnApVlVtBTQ/UkRsnQ3XDOI/AAAAAAAADYE/lBd7Bl1KfQU/s1600/jillian-michaels+scary.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DnApVlVtBTQ/UkRsnQ3XDOI/AAAAAAAADYE/lBd7Bl1KfQU/s1600/jillian-michaels+scary.png" height="310" width="320" /></a></div>
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OR AT LEAST HER WEBSITE THAT CONCERNS BODYSHRED.</div>
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"It's state of the art training . . . it is a high intensity & endurance based 30 minute workout utilizing Jillian's 3-2-1 interval approach," says Jillian Michaels' BodyShred <a href="http://jillianmichaelsbodyshred.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">website</span></a>. ". . . modalities used by top athletes worldwide for accelerated conditioning and premium performance."</div>
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Ah, yes. I see. The ol' 3-2-1 interval approach, eh? Modalities and accelerated conditioning for the top athletes in the world and also myself? Well, that certainly clears things right up.</div>
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There was also a picture on her site of a man doing this:</div>
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Would I be doing this in BodyShred? Could this be achieved in 30 minutes? And where did his clothes go? I began to suspect that Jillian Michaels may have unconventional ways in her training . . .<br />
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. . . unconventional/terrifying ways.<br />
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After another hour or so of reading about <i>The Biggest Loser</i>, I decided enough of this nonsense. The top athletes in the world like myself don't waste their time on the internet. They get into that class and they GO TO THE GYM and also MAYBE DO A HANDSTAND.</div>
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So off I went to shred my body. Upon walking into the Group Exercise room, I did a quick scan and noted that the room was full of participants of varying ages and fitness abilities. This is always an encouraging sign. Often I find you can gauge how hardcore the participants of a class are going to be by the amount of people doing ab work on their own before the class has started. When I arrive early, I usually sit in a corner and read my book while wondering things like, "why oh why did I eat two bowls of expired Great Grains and a cookie for breakfast?"</div>
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(yes, it's true; I am still working on finishing my <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/02/major-life-announcement.html" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">free year's supply</span></a> of Great Grains. The love affair is still going strong but sometimes it's harder than I thought to finish 24 boxes of cereal in a year.)</div>
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My room scan also revealed that there was no extremely large food buffet for participants to binge themselves on pre-workout. I took this as a very bad sign.</div>
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The instructor gave us a quick run-down on how the class would work: she would demonstrate a move for us, which we would then do for the next 30 seconds. With 10 seconds left, she would preview the next move we would do. A bell would ring to signal that it was time to begin the next move. We would do 3 minutes of strength training, 2 minutes of cardio and 1 minute of abs (so THAT'S the ol' 3-2-1 interval approach Jillian's always yabbering on about!). And then we'd do it all over again. And again. And again, until the 30 minute class was complete.</div>
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I nodded, unfazed. <i>Thirty minutes is nothing</i>, I thought. <i>Not even a full episode of Criminal Minds. They'd barely even have found the unsub in thirty minutes. </i></div>
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<i>Except for Reid who finds the unsub in 10. </i> </div>
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And my love for fan-art just keeps growing (<a href="http://www.fanpop.com/clubs/dr-spencer-reid/images/32098112/title/ideologies-wallpaper" target="_blank">source</a>). </div>
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And so began the BodyShred warm-up. Some vigorous marching in place, a few jumping jacks. I felt good. No longer concerned about the amount of possibly rancid cereal I'd consumed pre-class. Not quite fancy-free, but certainly jaunty enough. Wildly swinging arm circles for 30 seconds? Bring it on, man.</div>
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<i>I could totally win The Biggest Loser, </i>I thought.</div>
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And just as if the instructor could sense my growing confidence, the warm-up was over. The Shred had begun.</div>
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The instructor dropped to the ground to preview our first move. It was some kind of squat-lunge-plank combo. I don't know. I have no clue what it was, only that we were all expected to do it in rapid succession in a matter of seconds. A bell rang. Chaos began. I knelt and began to try to arrange my body in a similar way to the instructor's, which was hard because she was moving so fast. The room was a sea of flailing limbs, people heaving their bodies to and fro while trying to stay on some sort of beat with the blasting techno music. As soon as I felt like I was beginning to get the hang of this squat-lunge-plank combo thing, the instructor was previewing the next move. Which I also had no clue how to do.</div>
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An alarm bell went off in my head. Or maybe it was the actual bell; I'm not sure. Things were getting real weird here, and FAST. To paraphrase Taylor Swift, who I'm fairly sure was singing about BodyShred here: <i>"I knew you were trouble when I walked in . . ."</i></div>
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<i>"Especially when there was no food buffet . . . "</i></div>
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As each interval went by, the moves became more and more complex and also increasingly bizarrely named. We went from push-ups to burpees to mountain climbers to something called the Dancing Bear. Then the Inchworm. Then the Walking Crab. I began to suspect that the instructor was just calling out random words at us. "Shrieking Housecat coming up in 10 seconds, guys!" "Eyes up for the Tortured Emu, everyone!"</div>
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<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/the%20office%20gifs" target="_blank"><img alt="the office gifs photo: ryanwtfgif ryanwtf.gif" border="0" src="http://i111.photobucket.com/albums/n126/YE5TER/The%20Office%20GIFs/ryanwtf.gif" /></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="http://media.photobucket.com/user/YE5TER/media/The%20Office%20GIFs/ryanwtf.gif.html?filters[term]=the%20office%20gifs&filters[primary]=images&filters[secondary]=videos&sort=1&o=23" target="_blank">source</a>)</span><br />
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As my eyes grew wide and I began to pant heavier with each dinging bell, I had a moment of realization: there would be no breaks. Not a single one. <i>This is a nonstop workout and I will never stop moving</i>. I stared at my full water bottle in the corner, lying on a clean towel/emergency sarong along with my unused food buffet fork. It had been at least seven minutes since I had water. It looked so delicious, so refreshing. </div>
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<i>I can't remember what water tastes like anymore,</i> I realized. I bet it was good.</div>
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<i><b>YOU WILL NEVER DRINK WATER AGAIN. </b></i></div>
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Though there were technically no breaks in the class, I did end up taking a few. They weren't planned. They were more spur-of-the-moment, casual-type things, whereupon my left leg would suddenly decide that it didn't want to do wandering side planks anymore and down to the mat I would go. Or the multiple times I would catch myself standing dazed, red-faced and mouth agape trying to remember a time when "30 more seconds of Squatting Cow!" wasn't a feasible command in my life. I tried to holler out my usual, <i>"We're all in this together, guys!"</i> but quickly realized I needed to preserve my oxygen. </div>
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At one point I felt like I had travelled outside of my body and watched the chaos of the class. It seemed like I had entered a strange room of contortions and madness. Gone were the (nonexistent) days of bouncing around on my blue exercise ball with my fitness friends, laughing gaily and high-fiving one another. This was BodyShred. This was real. This was sweat running down my face. This was truly hoping I would not vomit in class. I braced myself for the instructor to call out, "One-handed handstand!" at any moment. </div>
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<i>This was how people lost 400 pounds in 2 weeks on The Biggest Loser,</i> I realized. It was also at that exact moment when I realized that I would never have what it takes to win <i>The Biggest Loser</i>. </div>
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(I do, however, think I would be EXCELLENT at Supermarket Sweep.)</div>
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Amidst the seventh circle of hell, I must admit that I did have a few nice moments, including the special moment that I cherish most in group exercise classes. It came at a time when the rest of the class seemed to be in a synchronized jam of Crying Monkeys while I stood in a wide-legged stance gulping air, having long conceded that I was no longer in control of the limbs attached to my body. It came at the moment when I started to really think about things, bad things, things like, <i>"If I can't even manage four Distended Ducks, how the hell will I manage a career?"</i> (It's a valid question.)</div>
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Just when I was about to really lose it, I caught a glimpse of someone struggling just as much as I was. And I gazed at my new scarlet-faced friend and looked deeply into her perplexed eyes. And I sent a message to her, a message right to her rapidly beating heart. And it said, <i>"Can you believe this shit?! What exactly in the hell is going on right now?"</i> And in return, she gently wiped the sheet of sweat from her brow and replied sweetly, <i>"I know, man. I know."</i> This is what her glassy eyes said in return, I mean. Or I'm pretty sure they seemed to say, at least. </div>
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I had a new forever fitness friend. </div>
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For most people, that one moment is special enough, just the tiniest reminder of basic human things like humility, empathy, the power of perseverance. These are very special and very real things. But, as is my problem with <i>Criminal Minds</i> and anything in the cookie family, when I find something I like, I tend to ruin it by taking it to the absolute limit. I lose all restraint. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D7WXx-2z_nY/Um6_CUiDKyI/AAAAAAAADcc/AiNWSzV64NU/s1600/chew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D7WXx-2z_nY/Um6_CUiDKyI/AAAAAAAADcc/AiNWSzV64NU/s1600/chew.jpg" height="173" width="320" /></a></div>
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If I let them, these could easily ruin my life. </div>
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And so as quickly as I had made a new forever fitness friend, I had lost my forever fitness friend. I used every possible moment to send more knowing glances her way, shaking my head in a wry fashion, sassy snapping fingers abound. I watched in dismay as her glances turned from enthusiastic to wary to pretending not to see me anymore. I learned an important lesson in BodyShred<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #400058; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">—</span>one can only send a limited number of knowing glances to a stranger, especially in a group fitness, spandex-clad setting. You can send like three, maybe four, at well-timed moments. And if you actually do speak to this person, you shouldn't refer to them as your new special fitness friend. <i>"Hey special fitness friend, we both sure suck, huh?!" "We're all in this together, RIGHT GUYS?!? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"</i></div>
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But alas, BodyShred waits for no budding friendship or someone dry heaving in the corner. The bells keep dinging and the planks keep planking. I began to get the hang of the rhythm about halfway through, but man, it's hard to keep up. It feels next to impossible to check out the instructor previewing the next move when you're still struggling just to keep your balance on the current one. My class was 30 minutes, but the internet informs me that other BodyShred classes are 45, which includes a 15 minute preview of every move that you'll encounter in the class so that you have some idea of what you're heading into. I'd definitely recommend this, at least for the first few Shreds you attend.</div>
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We did a few moves with light hand weights and then ended with a quick cool-down. And suddenly, the whirlwind was done. I staggered to the locker room and left drenched in sweat, with my face so red that I prayed I wouldn't run into anyone I knew on the subway ride home. </div>
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<i>"Oh, you did the 26 mile marathon downtown! Good for you! How was it?!" </i></div>
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<i>"Nope . . . just squeezed in a workout . . . for a good, solid 30 minutes . . . "</i></div>
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It's 30 minutes, yes, but also one of the most intense workouts I'd had in a long time. After this, I have major, major respect for anyone who can teach BodyShred. It's fast-paced, nonstop and makes you sweat like you have a problem. </div>
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Many people (/no one) have asked me if I'd do BodyShred again. It's strange. I know it's a great workout. It's fast and easy to fit into your schedule. I was sore for days afterwards. It kicked my ass, which I usually really like in a workout, and like all things, I know it would become easier with time. But I have a strong urge that I could also never do BodyShred again in my life and be okay with it, unlike all of my other classes that I look forward to attending. On the plus side, I HAVE been seriously considering checking out some seasons of <i>The Biggest Loser</i>. </div>
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And I think that means that Jillian Michaels has done her job.</div>
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You go, girl.</div>
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Let's talk BodyShred: has anyone out there done it? Did you like it? Were you as lost as I was? What did you like better, the Lamenting Goose or the Prancing Hobbit? Can you do a one-handed handstand? Has anyone's pants actually split at the gym? But seriously, the only question I really want to ask is what treats would you want to have in your buffet room of temptation? Hit me back, just to chat.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_YKSVJLmu-k/Um7E61QeHHI/AAAAAAAADc0/i0HU5dy1d4Y/s1600/CC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_YKSVJLmu-k/Um7E61QeHHI/AAAAAAAADc0/i0HU5dy1d4Y/s1600/CC.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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<i>(<a href="http://www.sallysbakingaddiction.com/" target="_blank">source</a>)</i><br />
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<i><b>WELCOME TO THE CANDY CORN GALAXY ROOM, MY FRIENDS!</b></i><br />
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<i><b><br /></b></i>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-70547410790160188322012-10-22T08:06:00.000-07:002012-10-22T08:19:13.244-07:00Hobbit Heartache, Chapter 14<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pT3vgzWUxOw/UHzVeb6OKSI/AAAAAAAADIM/VwD1-E16vnI/s1600/Chapter14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pT3vgzWUxOw/UHzVeb6OKSI/AAAAAAAADIM/VwD1-E16vnI/s400/Chapter14.jpg" width="246" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a valid question.</td></tr>
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So the <i>Hobbit Heartache</i> blog-posting train was temporarily derailed, it seems. This was due to several obstructions on track level. But now we're back in business, baby. I'm not going to say that we've left the station, because that seems awfully lofty, but the passengers are on board and most appear to have their tickets. </div>
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Clearly this metaphor has gotten way out of hand. <em>What the hell is a hobbit train?</em> you wonder. <em>Who are these passengers? Are tickets expensive?</em> <em>Do they travel to the east end? </em><em>Will there be legal repercussions for those ticket-less travelers?</em></div>
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I don't know, okay? I wish I did. There should always be legal repercussions for wrongdoings. All I truly know is that there is a new chapter of <em>Hobbit Heartache</em>, the <em>Sweet Valley High</em>/<em>Lord of the Rings</em> erotic crossover parody for you to read. </div>
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I know, gurl! I'm excited, too. </div>
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. . . and this chapter is a doozy.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pkVKOFiY-CM/UIGJLd-ToxI/AAAAAAAADKs/3yJTuXj55kU/s1600/gandalf+pissy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pkVKOFiY-CM/UIGJLd-ToxI/AAAAAAAADKs/3yJTuXj55kU/s320/gandalf+pissy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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You know what Gandalf I don't think I've ever once seen you smile even though you are a freakin' WIZARD, so don't start with me. </div>
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Okay<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman','serif'; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">—</span>so you know what's going on, right? Shall we dive right in? What's that? You forget everything because I haven't posted a chapter in two (2) months? And you also burned your copy of the book that you purchased legally (NOT FROM A SCALPER, RIGHT?!?) in a personal BOYCOTT of <em>Hobbit Heartache</em>? And not only that, but you've been congregating on my front yard each morning in an angry anti-<em>Hobbit Heartache</em> mob?!</div>
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Well, yes; I had noticed that part. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-spFmXyfowSI/UIGSu48ce_I/AAAAAAAADLg/Wec6EKvpnOs/s1600/hh+mob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" nea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-spFmXyfowSI/UIGSu48ce_I/AAAAAAAADLg/Wec6EKvpnOs/s320/hh+mob.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: justify;">(<a href="http://internsinsights.wordpress.com/2012/08/" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">source</span></a>)</td></tr>
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I can't keep waking up to this, guys. It has to stop. It just has to. Our neighbors are still mad about those foam parties we keep having (they're just so much <i>fun</i>, you know?). </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0OxTzRoUjdE/UIS3Uml7IRI/AAAAAAAADMU/gsdTMPMVDk8/s1600/wildfoampartycat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0OxTzRoUjdE/UIS3Uml7IRI/AAAAAAAADMU/gsdTMPMVDk8/s320/wildfoampartycat.jpg" width="244" /></a></div>
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Just so much <i>fun</i> for everyone. </div>
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But anyway. I get it. I get the anger, the mob, the rotted cabbage and flaming Great Grains boxes left on my porch, everything. Passion for a <em>Sweet Valley High</em>/<em>Lord of the Rings</em> erotic fanfic will often lead you down strange and wild paths. </div>
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To beg forgiveness: a recap that is as succinct as I can possibly make it (HAHAHA). Here goes nothing (HAHAHA):</div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">Sweet Valley High's sexy Spring Break takes a terrifying turn when the gang finds themselves lost in the forests of Middle-earth with nary a make-out point or mall to be found. Jessica and Elizabeth's uncanny luck and fragrant pheromones soon cause the group to be discovered by a gaggle of handsome hobbits. Bilbo, Frodo, Merry, Samwise & Pippin take the Sweet Valley students under their hair-covered wings and the newly-formed group embarks on a wild journey to destroy a powerful and evil ring. </span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;"><em>As with any Spring Break, sexual hijinks and erotic escapades occur in alarming proportion. Jessica is taken with the mysteriously quiet Frodo, but wonders why he massages Bilbo's feet thrice daily. Elizabeth has fallen hard for Gandalf, who perversely seems to be playing an extreme game of hard-to-get. Winston has caught Merry's hirsute eye, Bruce has a fling with Lady Arwen, Pippin does a cartwheel, all while Samwise falls deeper and deeper into the throes of brandywine addiction. Captain Georg von Trapp stumbles upon the seductively mismatched group and instantly finds himself torn between his desire to woo Lila and his instincts to murder the blonde and Pacific Ocean blue-green eyed Jessica and Elizabeth, certain that they are undercover Nazis. Skinny dipping, hobbit sacrifices, a sexually unsatisfying night in Dwarven</em><span style="color: red;">—</span><em>this Spring Break has it all. </em></span></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">. . . And despite the twins' heightened and tanned senses, no one has yet to notice Largo, the evil doppelganger who has travelled all the way from Antarctica to kill and take over Lila's life . . . but is all of that about to change?</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">READ THE STORY SO YOU NEVER HAVE TO SUFFER THROUGH A RECAP AGAIN!</span></i></div>
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Chapter links below. It's one of those easy-breezy, intensely erotic summer reads but also one that is timeless so you can read it during any season, even fall and Daylight Saving Time. </div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/chapter-one.html" target="_blank">Chapter 1</a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/04/hobbit-heartachechapter-8-land-of-elves.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Chapter 8</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">Chapter 2</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/05/hobbit-heartachechapter-9-family-von.html" target="_blank">Chapter 9</a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: lime;">Chapter 3</span></a> <span style="color: magenta;"> </span><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/06/hobbit-heartache-chapter-ten.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">Chapter 10</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Chapter 4</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/07/hobbit-heartache-chapter-11-night-that.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #351c75;">Chapter 11</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/12/hobbit-heartache-chapter-five.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Chapter 5</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/08/hobbit-heartache-chapter-12.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #274e13;">Chapter 12</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/01/hobbit-heartache-chapter-six.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Chapter 6</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/08/hobbit-heartache-chapter-13-samwise.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #a64d79;">Chapter 13</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/02/gift-of-love-hobbit-heartache-chapter.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Chapter 7</span></a></div>
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<strong>Slight warning:</strong> Possibly NSFW art below. It really depends upon where you work, I guess. Great Grains factory worker? Probably NSFW. Dog breeder? Go for it!</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YsgOZW_d4wA/UHcYxb-p8PI/AAAAAAAADHg/PrN5GCrD2z4/s1600/14-lila-colour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-YsgOZW_d4wA/UHcYxb-p8PI/AAAAAAAADHg/PrN5GCrD2z4/s400/14-lila-colour.jpg" width="355" /></a></div>
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Should you wish to have the above image screenprinted on a t-shirt/nightgown or enlarged for full fishnet glory, please contact the talented and oh-so-versatile <a href="http://familycontact.ca/zak/" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">Zak</span></a>. <a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-s-Bv_6oRY8o/TqginuFx88I/AAAAAAAABmY/H6M1kjKhsxk/s1600/4b-bilbobathing-colour.jpg" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">Bathing Bilbos</span></a> and dueling doppelgangers—the man has got you covered. </div>
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<strong>Chapter 14</strong></div>
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Lila strolled along the forest edge, enjoying the feel of the gentle Middle-earth breeze upon her silky skin. The shade of the tall pine trees blocked out the late afternoon sun and kept her cool. She walked on, savoring the quiet moment by herself.</div>
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Lila came suddenly to a halt. Goose bumps had risen all over her once-smooth skin and an all-too-familiar scent began to waft through the air. Lila whimpered. </div>
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<em>It’s happening again,</em> she thought in panic, her urbane heart quickening. She tried to cover her opulent face but it was far too late.</div>
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The stench of rotten fish quickly became overwhelming. It filled her every orifice, including her clenched, bleached anus. Overcome with nausea, Lila bent down on the ground to vomit. She could taste the unmistakable tang of forgotten crab meat in her mouth. It reminded her of the time that Eva, Fowler Crest’s maid, accidentally served her expired seafood hors d’oeuvres during a Sunday luncheon celebrating the wealthy. </div>
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But this time was much, much worse. </div>
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Still kneeling to vomit, Lila failed to hear the sounds of someone approaching. The person pounced on her, pinning Lila to the ground. Lila thrashed about wildly, catching only fleeting glimpses of her attacker. Long, wild brown hair, ruby-red lips that mirrored her own, a flash of non-twenty-four karat gold, a whiff of . . . was that salted cod? It didn’t matter. Lila knew she was going to die. <br />
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“Please, don’t kill me!” she screamed in terror, closing her eyes one last time. Then, as suddenly as the attack began, it stopped. Lila opened her eyes in confusion. She found herself lying in Georg’s arms, slowly being rocked back and forth. She was safe.</div>
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“Why, my dear, I would never kill you. Unless you were secretly a Nazi . . . ” soothed Georg.</div>
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“I . . . I must have been dreaming,” Lila said slowly, touching a hand to her soaked forehead. “I was having that dream again.”</div>
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“The dream with the crustaceans? How unappetizing. Lila, I have told you time and time again to refrain from eating the pine needle stew so close to sleeping. It does not aid digestion,” said Georg.</div>
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“I know, I know.” Lila shuddered. “I really hate that dream.”</div>
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“Yes. Perhaps as much as I hate deception. Let us go back to sleep, my darling. Tomorrow will be a long day. Bilbo says that we are nearing Sauron’s gates,” replied Georg.</div>
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Lila laid her head back on the ground and tried to sleep, but it was no use. Every sound of the forest made her jump. She heard a faint, muffled sound in the distance and strained to listen. Was that an injured bird crying? Lila held her breath to hear. No . . . it sounded almost like laughter. Cruel, heartless laughter. </div>
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<em>You’re officially going crazy,</em> Lila told herself. <em>Go to sleep. </em></div>
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But deep inside, Lila couldn’t shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong. And she knew it wouldn’t be long until she found out what. </div>
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“So then I yelled, ‘You’ll regret this—no one makes a fool out of Jessica Wakefield!’ and stormed out of there, leaving him all alone. Can you believe that? First he tells me that he doesn’t want to kiss me and then he throws up all over the place, right in front of me!” hissed Jessica in a whisper. </div>
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“That’s great, Jess,” Lila automatically replied, stifling a yawn. Jessica had been complaining about Frodo for the entire past hour of hiking and Lila was feigning even less interest than usual.</div>
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“That’s great? Are you kidding me?” Jessica mock-shrieked, her voice becoming shrill. “You know, Lila, I’m starting to get the feeling that you’re not even listening. And here I am, spilling my guts to you about this really lousy night that I had, and you don’t even care. What is up with you these days?”</div>
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“Sorry. I guess I haven’t been sleeping that well,” Lila said. “I keep having these weird dreams about this girl who looks like me and there’s fish and—”</div>
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“Well, I haven’t been sleeping well, either. We’re in the middle of a forest, for God’s sake. But at least I’m still trying my very best to be a good friend to you, even though you look like hell,” interrupted Jessica, holding her perky chin high. “Did you and Georg have a fight or something?”</div>
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“No, that’s not it. Georg and I are fine. We’re great. Things are great,” said Lila, staring at the ground. </div>
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Things with Georg <em>were</em> great. He was handsome and had a certain old-fashioned charm and way of speaking that gave Lila butterflies. And best of all, he came from money so he knew how to treat Lila with class. Lila loved talking to Georg about all kinds of things, like which chateau in France had the most efficient help, or whether muslin or charmeuse looked best on a dignified lady. Unlike most of the sloppy, unrefined boys back at Sweet Valley High, Georg had a lot of opinions about fabrics. </div>
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Georg’s charms helped her to overlook his many quirks. Lila had noticed that no matter what their topic of conversation was, Georg would turn it into an endless stream of questions for her, questions about the strangest things! Lila didn’t understand why he would care what party her father voted for in the last election, or whether she had distant relatives in Germany. And he seemed so fixated on Jessica and Elizabeth. This would normally drive Lila crazy with jealousy, but unlike every other male species, he didn’t seem to care about them romantically. Lila would sometimes catch him glaring at the twins, muttering to himself in angry tones.</div>
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Lila sighed, an anxious exhalation of lavish-smelling breath. She had enough to worry about without thinking of Georg’s strange behavior. </div>
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“So have you and Frodo talked since Dwarven?” Lila asked, hoping Jessica wouldn’t pick up on the change in subject.</div>
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“Nope. I haven’t spoken a word to that . . . that thing. What kind of boy turns down a night with me? I tell you, Lila, he’s going to pay for this. I was humiliated!” Jessica seethed. </div>
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A part that was bigger than small of Lila always enjoyed seeing Jessica in the throes of rejection. There was something so satisfying about it. </div>
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“Well, maybe he’s just not that into you,” Lila replied. She hid a smile and waited for the fireworks to begin. “You can’t win them all.”</div>
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Jessica gaped. “I <em>can</em> win them all, and you know that! If Frodo’s actually not into me, well, then, something must be wrong with him.”</div>
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“Maybe he has a crush on Liz instead,” suggested Lila helpfully. “Remember how Todd, Nicholas Morrow, Ken, Bruce and pretty much every guy you’ve dated or wanted to date has always secretly had a thing for Liz?”</div>
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“You’re being about one hundred and thirty-seven kinds of annoying right now,” replied Jessica. “Frodo doesn’t have a crush on Liz. They barely talk. She’s all wrapped up in senior citizen Gandalf.”</div>
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“Ugh, she’s so pathetic. He has such nasty hair,” agreed Lila, wrinkling her wealthy nose. “Hey, maybe Frodo has a crush on Bilbo!” She laughed and waited for Jessica to join.</div>
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Jessica froze and her turquoise eyes widened. Her mouth fell open and she stared at Lila. </div>
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“Oh my God—Frodo has a crush on Bilbo. You’re so right, Lila. How did I not see this before?” she cried.</div>
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“Oh, calm down. I was just joking.”</div>
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“No, no; you’re right. It all makes sense now. Think about it, Li—how many times have we seen Frodo offer to massage Bilbo’s feet?”</div>
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“Umm . . . well, it’s at least three times a day,” Lila said slowly. “The morning rub, the after-lunch rub and during the evening sing-a-long.” </div>
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“And what about how he always calls Bilbo ‘my sweet, handsome Bilbo’?” asked Jessica.</div>
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“Yeah, that’s kind of weird. Bilbo’s nice and all, but he’s nowhere near handsome. He needs to lose a good thirty pounds before handsome comes into the picture,” said Lila.</div>
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“Oh, thirty pounds at least. I’ve talked to him about how he should start doing morning jogs around the forest to lose weight but he doesn’t seem to care,” said Jessica. “But that doesn’t stop Frodo from staring at him all the time. And a lot of other comments suddenly make sense now, too.”</div>
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“Like what?” Lila asked.</div>
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“Well, when he was drunk in Dwarven, before he was about to pass out, he kept whispering about how he wished Bilbo was there with us, how he wanted to kiss Bilbo’s soft lips, something about licking his rump. I thought he was pushing for a threesome so I just ignored it,” explained Jessica. “But now I understand. I can’t believe Frodo was leading me on while he tried to get Bilbo, too. What kind of sick double love is that? He’s going to pay even more now for what he did to me.”</div>
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<span style="color: black;">Lila raised her satiny eyebrows. She couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for the clueless Frodo. Whatever Jessica was hatching, it was going to be brutal. Lila hoped it wouldn’t be as bad as the time Jessica maliciously leaked secrets about Elizabeth's lame best friend Enid's dark past to the entire school in order to sabotage her chances at winning Dance Queen. Or the time that Jessica refused to let Robin Wilson into Sweet Valley High's most exclusive sorority, Pi Beta Alpha, because she was too fat. </span><br />
<br /></div>
<span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: black;"><em>But in all fairness,</em> Lila reasoned, <em>it was just Enid. And Robin was really fat, at least a size eight! </em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Please forgive me for interrupting your tittle-tattle, young ladies. Might I steal Fraulein Lila away for our lunch break?” asked Georg, approaching the girls. “Bilbo says we are to rest for thirty minutes' time.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Sure, steal away,” replied Jessica, distracted. “I’ll go see what Win and Merry are up to.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“My dear, you look positively breathtaking today. You’re practically a lady!” said Georg, leading Lila to a secluded area of the forest and helping her sit comfortably on the ground. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Ow!” Lila cried, rubbing her backside. “That hurt,” she groaned.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Georg looked at the crumpled pine cone Lila had just sat upon. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“A pine cone,” he murmured, suddenly worlds away. “A goddamn pine cone.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Georg? I’m fine,” Lila said, staring at his distant expression. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh. Yes. Yes, we must be mindful of stray pine cones, Fraulein. But now, do tell me why you changed garments from earlier today? You looked just as nice then.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I haven’t changed today,” said Lila, looking down at her outfit with regret. Her white linen pants were stained past repair and her purple silk chambray shirt was in need of serious dry cleaning. “Don’t remind me that I only have one outfit here.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“And while I do enjoy your current scent of dirt and unscrubbed skin, haven’t I asked you before you to wear that perfume that enchants me so much? The one with the undertones of salmon and sea kelp?” continued Georg. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, you have, but I don’t have any perfume here, Georg. I told you that everything was ruined in our bus explosion. And my normal perfume is Giorgio D’Bubois, anyway,” replied Lila irritably. Sometimes it seemed like Georg never listened to anything she said. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Ah, yes, I recall. Perhaps that Jessica twin could lend you some salmon perfume. Now, do remind me—did Jessica happen to mention her hatred for Semites in your little conversation just now?” asked Georg, his eyes narrowed. “Do try the mud squares, Fraulein; they are divine.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“The what?” asked Lila, confused. “We were just talking about her and Frodo, that’s all. Why do you always ask what Jessica and I talk about? I never ask what you talk about with other people.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“It is only because I am so intrigued by everything about you, my dearest,” replied Georg smoothly. “And I would share with you every detail of my conversation with Samwise, had it been coherent in the slightest. But alas, he mistook me for a ghost and cried for the past hour’s time.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lila rolled her pristine eyes. “That boy is a mess. So much for going sober.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Mmm. But giving up what you love the most can be difficult,” said Georg. “Such as your homeland and everything you’ve ever known . . .” He drifted off for a moment and then snapped back to attention.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Now, let us perform our deep breathing exercises to aid digestion, followed by a prompt session of copulation.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lila and Georg each breathed deeply for one minute. Georg then removed his felt hat and turned his back as Lila undressed. </div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Is it fine if I turn around now?” he called over his bare shoulder.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, Georg. You don’t need to ask that,” Lila replied.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“On some occasions you tell me to close my eyes while we’re in the throes of love making, my dear. I just don’t wish to offend you.” </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lila had no idea what he was talking about, but let it go. “Why don’t we stop talking all together?” she whispered, beckoning him close.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Georg marched over to her, pulling Lila close.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh, Fraulein,” he murmured into her affluent ear. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Georg!” she cried, sliding her French manicured hand down his firm stomach. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Captain,” he corrected her, grabbing her well-heeled buttocks with both hands. He turned her around and swiftly bent her over. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Their lovemaking was fast and efficient. Georg called out instructions to Lila throughout the entire process. At first Lila had found this practice jarring but she soon grew to appreciate it. Lila liked being with a man who was in control, a man who knew what he was doing. It was such a different experience than her late nights at Miller’s Point with silly high school boys. Besides, with Georg in control she could daydream for a few minutes in peace. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>I wonder what sales are going on at Lisette’s right now,</em> she thought. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Left!” he called out. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Oh, sorry,” Lila replied. <em>Maybe that new shipment of suede vests has finally arrived.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Angle upwards and over!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Mmmhmm.” <em>A dark purple one would look great with my leather boots. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I am increasing my speed.” </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“You do that.” <em>Then again, red would also be nice.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I am approaching climax!” </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Okay.” <em>I’ll just have to buy both. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I AM YOUR CAPTAIN!” Georg hollered, thrusting one final time. He wiped the sweat from his brow and removed himself from Lila.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>Yup, I’ll just buy both and maybe even royal blue if they have it,</em> Lila reasoned, satisfied. She noticed that Georg had stopped his frantic thrusting and stood, brushing dirt off of her well-to-do knees.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Thank you, Fraulein. That was quite enjoyable,” said Georg, pulling back on his woolen trousers. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>I wonder why I feel so distant from him lately,</em> Lila thought. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I noticed that you did not finish. Shall I sing you to climax? I know a wonderful tune about a forlorn goatherder,” Georg asked.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“No, that’s okay,” replied Lila. “That took two hours last time. We should probably get back to the group.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The two trudged back to the rest of the hikers. Upon their return, Bilbo stood and clapped his hands.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“The lovers have returned! Shall we proceed with our hiking, my friends?” he cried. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, let us march! We must not dream away our holiday in Middle-earth!” cried Georg, giving a crisp salute to Bilbo.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The group fell into their spots and began their hike once more. Lila stayed by Georg’s side so she could avoid Jessica’s complaining. Three hours crawled by but Bilbo insisted that they not even stop for a bathroom break. Lila hated when Bilbo got in that bossy mood—it always led to one of the hobbits wetting their pants, and usually, it was Merry. It happened so often that Lila was starting to think that Merry got a thrill out of doing it.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>I wonder if Liz has talked to him about that yet,</em> she thought. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“And the nerve of Herr Zeller! To come to my home, to my dinner party and insult my country! The gall!” Georg was saying. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lila opened her bountiful mouth to reply but was interrupted.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Excuse me, everyone. I have an announcement to make. It’s time for a showdown,” cried Jessica. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
The group stopped and stared at Jessica. Lila shook her head. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>Here it comes . . .</em> she thought. <em>Enjoy your last moments of peace, Frodo. </em></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jessica paused, making sure that she had all eyes on her before beginning. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“As all of you know, Frodo and I have been spending a lot of time together the past few weeks. We always hike together, I talk to him all day long and I even let him sleep next to me. I thought that things were going great between us. I thought we were maybe even falling in love. But I was wrong. There were secrets Frodo was keeping from me. Lies. Deceptions,” Jessica stated, staring intently at Frodo. His face had turned a chalky white.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Deceptions,” Jessica repeated for emphasis. “Frodo was playing with fire. He—”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Nazi! He’s a covert member of the Third Reich, isn’t he?” screamed Georg suddenly. “Isn’t he? Answer me, you discriminatory sack of manure!” </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Georg!” cried Jessica. “Do you mind not interrupting me? Sheesh.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Ahem. As I was saying, I thought we were falling in love. And after a night we shared at Dwarven, I happen to know for a fact that Frodo is indeed falling in love . . . but it’s not with me.” Jessica waited a few beats, soaking up the attention. Her aquamarine eyes were gleaming and her flawless skin was glowing. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Spit it out, Wakefield,” called out Bruce.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Frodo is in love . . . with Bilbo!” Jessica shrieked, pointing a size six finger directly at Bilbo. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Frodo gasped and covered his face with his hairy hands. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“But Frodo . . . my dear, sweet Frodo. How can this be? Is this true?” asked Bilbo, shaking his head.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes,” moaned Frodo, his voice full of pain. “‘Tis true. My heart aches for you, Bilbo, and has for some time. I wish to be near you always, to lay my head upon your supple rump, to hear your voice the very first thing in the morn and the very last thing after sunset, and yes, I wish for your voice to instruct me to do the most indecent and perverse of tasks, such as brush your hair while I am fully nude and serve you milk whilst dressed like an Elf and—”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Frodo, I must stop you there,” instructed Bilbo.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Thank God for that,” muttered Bruce. Elizabeth shot him a disapproving glare. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Do you hate me now, Bilbo? Does my love repulse you?” whispered Frodo. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Frodo, I could never hate you. Why, in fact, I quite love you, too! But in a much different way,” Bilbo said, smiling sadly. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“For you see, I could never be content with loving just one being. I have simply too much love to give! And that is why my travels bring me all over Middle-earth, so that I may share my love with all. I have shared my love with Gimli, with King Elrond, with Sandyman, with Aragorn, with Boromir, with forty birds of prey, with a man made of straw, and yes, I even tried to share my love with Bruce once, but he forsook my offer. I would only break your heart were I to try and settle in one place,” concluded Bilbo.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I knew it could never be,” said Frodo softly.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“No, it cannot. You are one of my most cherished friends, dear Frodo. I could never risk losing you,” explained Bilbo. “And besides, I believe we may also be distant relatives of some sort.” </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lila and the rest of the Sweet Valley High gang grimaced in turn. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I curse you, hobbit blood of mine!” Frodo whispered. He inhaled sharply.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I shall live in the hopes that one day you shall change your mind. Now, kindly excuse me—I would like to sit by the river in solitude to collect my thoughts.” He turned and began to walk slowly away from the group, his head hanging in despair.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Frodo paused in front of Jessica. “I am so very ashamed that I was not honest with you. I deserve all of the pain that I feel at this very moment and ten fold. My sincere apologies, Jessica.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Jessica gaped at him, left speechless for one of the first times in her life. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>Weren’t expecting all of that, were you, Jess?</em> Lila thought wryly. She knew that Jessica was probably just hoping to embarrass the poor guy, not get him to spill his guts in front of everyone. <em>Attention whore.</em> </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
As Frodo trudged away, the rest of the group stared at each other in uncomfortable silence.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Way to go, Jess,” said Bruce. “Guess you just aren’t Frodo’s type, huh?”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Was that really called for?” asked Elizabeth, staring angrily at her sister. “Poor Frodo—imagine how he’s feeling right now! I’m going to talk to him.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Leave him be, wench! Your meddlesome ways help no one but yourself,” admonished Gandalf sternly. Elizabeth swallowed hard and tears sprang to her seamless eyes. She ran off into the forest. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Jessica, what are you waiting for? Go see if she’s okay,” urged Winston. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“I should make sure she’s okay,” said Jessica. “My twins’ intuition is telling me that she might be upset right now. Lizzie! Wait for me!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Do you think those two would prefer a totalitarian dictatorship or a democracy?” whispered Georg to Lila.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Georg! Now is not the time for your stupid questions!” Lila exploded. “Just stop it!”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Perhaps we should conclude our day,” suggested Merry meekly. “For the hours have felt quite long.”</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Yes, I agree. We shall camp here tonight,” said Bilbo wearily. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Here? Right by this mountain? Are you sure that's safe?” asked Bruce, staring up into the ominous night sky.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
“Why, I thought you knew. We are camping on the base of Mount Doom. Tomorrow we will scale its peaks to reach Sauron’s lair, almost certainly meeting our deaths,” spoke Bilbo calmly.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Lila looked around at the oddly assorted group. Half were missing and in tears, while the other half looked tired and weak.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>How are we possibly going to scale a mountain tomorrow, much less fight an evil lord?</em> Lila wondered. <em>We’re all falling apart.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
She laid her head on the ground and shut her eyes, determined to fall right asleep without dreaming. But before she could, her wealthy nose caught a familiar whiff of Antarctic icefish. Lila shuddered and chills ran through her body.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<em>Something bad is going to happen tomorrow,</em> she thought. <em>Something really bad. And we might not make it out of there alive.</em></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<strong><em>Will Lila’s malodorous nightmares come true? Will Frodo be able to overcome his broken heart now that his secret love has been revealed? Will Georg ever have the satisfaction of killing an undercover Nazi? Why would Jessica keep hoarding her salmon-scented perfume?</em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<strong><em></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<strong><br /><em></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<strong><em>And which twin will the evil Lord Sauron instantly fall in love with when they finally reach his lair?</em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<strong><br /><em></em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<strong><em>STAY TUNED.</em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-45387236935156310332012-10-08T21:16:00.000-07:002013-11-07T07:16:44.683-08:00The First Time I . . . Played in the Dodgeball World Championship in Las Vegas<div style="text-align: justify;">
Part of being a competitive dodgeball player means that you get asked the same questions, again and again.</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Dodgeball? Like from recess? Oh my god, people still play that?" Yup. And no, it's not like you remember it.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Dodgeball? Like the movie? Hey, if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball, right?" This is usually met with a weak smile and thoughts of murder. <i>Yes, a head injury for sure, but just HOW is the question . . . </i></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
"Is your volleyball team doing well this season?" This one is usually answered by, "Yes, Mom. Volleyball is great."<i> Sigh . . . </i></div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
You quickly get used to all of these things. It's part of playing dodgeball. It comes with the territory, like having fifty t-shirts from all of the teams you've played on and a shoulder/ankle/miscellaneous body part that constantly hurts.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But there's more than all of that to being a serious dodgeball player. There are two (2) things that a dodgeball player will usually accumulate during his or her dodging career:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
1.) a trading card</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y36wphwP_cg/UETxa68gESI/AAAAAAAACkA/bN-Eg42rkFE/s1600/tradingcard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y36wphwP_cg/UETxa68gESI/AAAAAAAACkA/bN-Eg42rkFE/s320/tradingcard.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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(done and done, thank you graphic designer roommate Heather)</div>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
2.) a trip to Las Vegas to play in the National Dodgeball League's Dodgeball World Championship.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZPzH3u6viHU/UETymt-5ZtI/AAAAAAAACkI/Z1A4NPVotSQ/s1600/NDL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZPzH3u6viHU/UETymt-5ZtI/AAAAAAAACkI/Z1A4NPVotSQ/s320/NDL.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a></div>
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This event is the one time when you can actually reply, "Yes, pretty much just like the movie." Teams from all over the world flock to Vegas to compete in three (3) days of extremely intense dodgeball. It is fierce and it is frightening and for some, it is costumed.<br />
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This year, quite a few teams from Toronto decided it was time for us to compete in Vegas. With a group of twenty, including most of the members of my competitive team, the Devil Bats, we booked our flights, packed our new jerseys, quit our jobs and said goodbye to our friends and family forever and headed to Las Vegas on August 8th, 2012.</div>
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(Once I realized that not everyone else quit their jobs and said goodbye to their friends and families forever and I had indeed misinterpreted the purpose of the trip, a few awkward phone calls had to be made. That's Vegas, baby.)</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ieHzJp32HJM/UEUAzMAgCiI/AAAAAAAACmI/I-FxGZ5wOyc/s1600/DSCN7867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ieHzJp32HJM/UEUAzMAgCiI/AAAAAAAACmI/I-FxGZ5wOyc/s320/DSCN7867.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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One middle-seat plane ride later, we have officially landed on Vegas soil. Even the Vegas airports are more exciting<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">—</span><span class="Apple-style-span">their baggage carousels move!</span><br />
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The Toronto teams were there for one purpose and one purpose only: to make our country proud. To bring glory to our vast and barren land. Toronto would not be shamed with a blood doping scandal, NO SIR, NOT THIS TIME. Therefore, our teams stuck to a strict regiment of early morning jogs/sprinting intervals, prolonged bouts of meditative breathing and enforced bedtimes of 8:00 p.m. Daily urine samples were to be collected and placed outside the hotel door of our fiercest competitor, Jeff Snow.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ssYWfOTFm4s/UEUDwlpR4EI/AAAAAAAACms/mWdyqXw9DdA/s1600/jeffsnowisscary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ssYWfOTFm4s/UEUDwlpR4EI/AAAAAAAACms/mWdyqXw9DdA/s320/jeffsnowisscary.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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Pardon me, I meant Jeff "Thumbs Up" Snow.<br />
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And so, despite the temptation of booze, debauchery and so many hookers, our strict regiment began.</div>
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Team Toronto: Determination, Strength, Aspirin & Gatorade</div>
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(And again, why was I the only one who complied with the daily urine samples? COME ON, guys. Have you no respect for standard protocol?)</div>
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Okay, so it turned out that we all had slightly different goals. Several people were in it to win it. Trained for months beforehand, researched the unfamiliar rules, developed complex strategies. Others were in it to gamble away their hard-earned money and consume record-breaking amounts of alcohol. My personal goals were to a.) not embarrass myself on an international level in the dodgeball world, b.) not re-injure my recently sprained foot, c.) not be kidnapped and placed into a human trafficking ring (I've seen the movies; don't tell me it doesn't happen!) and d.) perhaps see the Grand Canyon.</div>
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The tournament began with the women's portion, with the Women's Foam Ball and Rubber Ball divisions both taking place on August 9th. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WVe5o5v39ZY/UEUV7nCDsII/AAAAAAAACoE/GJY7umnzse4/s1600/ladiesss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WVe5o5v39ZY/UEUV7nCDsII/AAAAAAAACoE/GJY7umnzse4/s320/ladiesss.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ladies lined up from all over the world to register (well, mostly 8 or so teams from the States and our 2 teams from Toronto, but from such exotic lands as Chicago and Los Angeles as well). </div>
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The foam ball division was first. Dodgeball is played primarily with either foam balls (think <a href="http://www.hobodrifter.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/Dodgeball-580x435.png" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">this</span></a>) or with rubber balls (like what you probably played with in grade school). In Toronto, we use almost exclusively foam balls. In much of the States and other parts of the world, rubber is more widely used. In foam ball competitions, I can hold my own. When using rubber balls, I'm the one that people on the sidelines point to and say, <i>"Oh, that poor dear . . . well, good for her for trying." </i></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y1yzxw-QuwI/UHD-BBluAoI/AAAAAAAAC1Y/DxEpM1HlbvE/s1600/run+girl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y1yzxw-QuwI/UHD-BBluAoI/AAAAAAAAC1Y/DxEpM1HlbvE/s320/run+girl.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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<i>She's running around in circles again; somebody better get the prod. </i></div>
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So yes, the Toronto gals, the Little Giants and the Femme-Bots, were pleased to start with foam. My team, the Little Giants, received a fun surprise minutes before our first game when we learned that one of our players wasn't actually registered and therefore would not be playing with us. Such surprises are wonderful tests of character and provide precious opportunities to see what people are truly made of. </div>
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The Little Giants mostly stared at each other while saying, "Well, shit . . . " repeatedly. We were lucky enough to pick up a last minute sub, a lovely gal from Memphis named Cindy. When we asked Cindy if she had ever played with foam dodgeballs before, she replied, "Um, maybe once or twice?" </div>
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<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/emma%20stone%20gif" target="_blank"><img alt="Emma Stone Thumbs Up Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" src="http://i284.photobucket.com/albums/ll36/Bigsteve87/Gifs/EmmaStoneThumbsUp.gif" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="http://s284.photobucket.com/profile/Bigsteve87" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">source</span></a>)</span></div>
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Awesome!</div>
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Bolstered by Cindy's confidence, the Little Giants began our first game. Which we narrowly tied. And then we played our next game, which also ended in an almost-losing tie. We tied each of our four round-robin games. </div>
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"Hey, we haven't lost any games yet, right?" we reassured each other. Nope, but we sure hadn't won any. </div>
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So we decided enough of this tying business. It was time to get real for the playoffs. It was time to step it up. TO THE STREETS.</div>
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(This is when "The Final Countdown" began playing inside my head on a non-stop loop. It remains there until this day.)</div>
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<i>Oh, we're heading for Venus</i></div>
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<i>But still we stand tall</i></div>
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<i>blah blah blah blah blah</i></div>
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<i>something something something</i></div>
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<i>...with so many light years to go </i></div>
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<i>And things to be found (to be found)</i></div>
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<i>blah blah blah blah blah something blah</i></div>
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<i><b>IT'S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN</b></i></div>
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<img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xEpt3zgGDLo/UEVfmJnzdMI/AAAAAAAACpQ/Jd1TgugQQFc/s320/vegasvelvet.jpg" height="320" width="212" /></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jw4gABb4oR0/UEVfbgcn9uI/AAAAAAAACoo/aJEssOWjxiw/s1600/vegasme.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jw4gABb4oR0/UEVfbgcn9uI/AAAAAAAACoo/aJEssOWjxiw/s400/vegasme.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X1S1_5ZXWjc/UEVfdXQZnJI/AAAAAAAACow/3VdY4VaSWJc/s1600/vegasheather.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-X1S1_5ZXWjc/UEVfdXQZnJI/AAAAAAAACow/3VdY4VaSWJc/s400/vegasheather.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fbwY0tnFo3I/UEVfeYU65FI/AAAAAAAACo4/Dq5CVDrnZYc/s1600/vegasmichelle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fbwY0tnFo3I/UEVfeYU65FI/AAAAAAAACo4/Dq5CVDrnZYc/s400/vegasmichelle.jpg" height="400" width="265" /></a></div>
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(very becoming action shots courtesy of the <a href="http://www.dodgeballworldchampionship.com/DWC-12-Recap.asp" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">NDL</span></a> and <a href="http://www.victorbernard.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Victor Bernard Photography</span></a>)<br />
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And slowly we began to win. We fought our way through the rest of playoffs, where, wouldn't you know, we found out we would be facing our dear friends the Femme-Bots for first place. This was bittersweet news to us.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tuzxv4kVYzE/UEpc-meKSmI/AAAAAAAACp0/FsOHVnVnXyI/s1600/fbot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tuzxv4kVYzE/UEpc-meKSmI/AAAAAAAACp0/FsOHVnVnXyI/s320/fbot.jpg" hea="true" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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You know, a lot of people truly enjoy playing against their friends in competitions. They like to laugh with familiar faces during games and have some inside knowledge of playing styles and strategies. That makes sense. However<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">—</span>that ain't me. Playing against my friends in fun charity tournaments, sure, okay, yes; intense Dodgeball World Championship, no, please, no. When it counts, give me strangers any day. I'm not your Braveheart, your Steve Nash, your Bates Battaglia, your Kobe competitive what-have-you. I don't want to get my friends out. I don't want them to get me out. I'm too sensitive. I see an overweight dog on the street and feel like my heart is breaking. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zDaRqDxoOeQ/UE9BXpesoLI/AAAAAAAACqY/i8e3VFusLfQ/s1600/noooooooooo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zDaRqDxoOeQ/UE9BXpesoLI/AAAAAAAACqY/i8e3VFusLfQ/s320/noooooooooo.jpg" hea="true" height="320" width="226" /></a></div>
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oh god I can't.</div>
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(Fat cats, however, are a completely different story. Bring it on.)</div>
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. . . What were we talking about? Cat costumes? Oh right. Reluctantly facing your friends in the final game to win a gold medal in Vegas. </div>
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So the Little Giants squared off against the Femme-Bots to duke it out for gold and silver. It was tough. It wasn't fun. Competitive sides emerge and sometimes they're not pretty. Things get personal. In fact, it's pretty hard <i>not</i> to get personal when you're heaving balls at each other's bodies as hard as you can. The final game came down to a one-on-one match, with both teams holding their breath to see what would happen. And guess who won it for us? Freakin' Cindy "Played Foam Once or Twice, Maybe" from Memphis. Funny how things turn out sometimes. </div>
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And that is how the Little Giants became Dodgeball World Champions. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tmvjd2uwwFQ/UGToRQymI7I/AAAAAAAACuw/-bO8_QBqK0Q/s1600/LG+Foam+Win.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tmvjd2uwwFQ/UGToRQymI7I/AAAAAAAACuw/-bO8_QBqK0Q/s320/LG+Foam+Win.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Little Giants: Velvet, Shauna, Michelle, me and Heather</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qc79tshxOAQ/UHNmTp1zY7I/AAAAAAAADEo/zUKzP8nsx7c/s1600/fan+five.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Qc79tshxOAQ/UHNmTp1zY7I/AAAAAAAADEo/zUKzP8nsx7c/s1600/fan+five.jpg" /></a></div>
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We can certainly understand how the Fantastic Five feel now.</div>
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Not pictured: the elusive Cindy. We actually got no pictures with Cindy, leading me to believe she was never really there at all . . . </div>
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But we had nary a moment to savor our gold, for the Women's Rubber Ball competition began right away. The Little Giants, feeling high and reckless after our win, played like never before. We ran around the court like flea-infested felines. We laughed maniacally and without reason. The maniacal laughter would often lead to tears. Many of them. We pranced, we reminisced, we dodged on occasion. All of this is to say that we played quite poorly and were eliminated as fast as a team could be. </div>
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But they can never take away our gold(ish) medals. NEVER. Can they? They actually might be able to. Not sure. Should look into this.</div>
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<img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8L2XH4s717E/UGDtGhLKceI/AAAAAAAACrs/lRe8NZ20KlI/s320/DSCN7889.JPG" height="240" width="320" /> </div>
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<i>From my cold, iron-deficient hands, Sir Dodgeball Commissioner . . . </i></div>
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To make up for our embarrassing display, the glorious Femme-Bots rubber-balled their way to win their second silver medal for Toronto. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jj496WUvLhs/UGTqXzH844I/AAAAAAAACu4/IUSQxf49bdI/s1600/Femme_Bots+Silver.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Jj496WUvLhs/UGTqXzH844I/AAAAAAAACu4/IUSQxf49bdI/s320/Femme_Bots+Silver.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Femme-Bots: Pauline, Chelsey, Beth, Sabrina, Rowena and Jen</div>
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All in all, it was a pretty great day for Toronto women's dodgeball. </div>
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After the ladies' portion was done, we returned to the Flamingo Hotel as new people. We had a spring in our step and a soundtrack of jangling medals and a creepily hummed version of "The Final Countdown." Had the hotel staff known us before, they surely would have made a comment like, "Oh my! Who are these new, sexy women and why are they sweating so much?" But no one knew us. So all they said was, "You lost your room keys already? Both of them?" To which we replied, "Yes, but medals."</div>
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<b>AND THEN IT WAS TIME TO PARTY LIKE THEY DO IN VEGAS!</b></div>
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<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/excited%20gif" target="_blank"><img alt="StarTrek Birthday Dance Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" src="http://i636.photobucket.com/albums/uu90/vanessa68_2009/Macros%20and%20gifs/tosgif.gif" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(<a href="http://s636.photobucket.com/profile/vanessa68_2009" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">source</span></a>)</span></div>
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(My knowledge of Vegas was very limited prior to this trip.)</div>
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It was sometime after donning our party hats and belly chains that we discovered a tragic flaw in the whole Vegas-dodgeball plan. You see, after playing dodgeball all day long, you're covered in sweat, blood, manure. You're tired and sore. Your bones ache. Mentally, you're partying, physically, you're toast, man. Sore, soggy toast. </div>
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Or at least we were. I think other teams went out to party. I wonder what it's like to not be an old biddy? Frightening, I would imagine. </div>
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So instead of partying, we hung out in our hotel room and took pictures with the medals. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8ckFta0pFfE/UHDyiIepmLI/AAAAAAAACzw/Zr-yVnF92fk/s1600/med+yes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8ckFta0pFfE/UHDyiIepmLI/AAAAAAAACzw/Zr-yVnF92fk/s200/med+yes.jpg" height="150" width="200" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--GVDwFVppkE/UHDy4fLX0GI/AAAAAAAAC0A/MREJHio-aYM/s1600/oh+haha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--GVDwFVppkE/UHDy4fLX0GI/AAAAAAAAC0A/MREJHio-aYM/s200/oh+haha.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y1QnW-Zg8cw/UHDyvl0iS3I/AAAAAAAACz4/InCqBYJCWoo/s1600/med+fam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y1QnW-Zg8cw/UHDyvl0iS3I/AAAAAAAACz4/InCqBYJCWoo/s200/med+fam.jpg" height="150" width="200" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BaTQkkAnqmU/UHDz5avIA-I/AAAAAAAAC0I/NTd8enZ2-w0/s1600/med+feet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BaTQkkAnqmU/UHDz5avIA-I/AAAAAAAAC0I/NTd8enZ2-w0/s200/med+feet.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
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We did this for roughly three (3) hours and then I think we all ate dinner from the hotel lobby and went to bed. </div>
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That's Vegas, baby. Is it not?</div>
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It was a good thing that we got those twelve (12) hours of sleep, because the next day was big. HUGE. We were onto the major part of the tournament, the coed team competitions. It was time for the Devil Bats to soar. And for all of our other Toronto teams to soar, too, but mostly the Devil Bats.</div>
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WE WERE READY TO BE THE BATS WE WERE BORN TO BE. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_V5CuN1aMqI/UHOiuO-MXtI/AAAAAAAADG0/rrIEQN4OeIY/s1600/paint+db.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_V5CuN1aMqI/UHOiuO-MXtI/AAAAAAAADG0/rrIEQN4OeIY/s320/paint+db.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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We were psyched. Ready to strut in our brand new jerseys (cotton-poly blend!). We said things like "Let's do this!" and "Devil Bats Unite!" and "I forgot my left shoe" repeatedly. And so, with those inspiring words, the tournament began . . . </div>
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"Omg," you say. "HOW DID IT GO?" And to be honest, I'm a little hazy on the details. All I remember is the profound disappointment. For you see, the Devil Bats were slaughtered. We were sent (back?) to hell. I've never seen us destroyed so fast and so hard and so many times in a row. </div>
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These teams that we faced . . . good lord. They were very different from what we were used to. The Devil Bats are a strategic, ball-controlling team. You might call us slow-paced. It was like we were Russian chess players and they threw us onto a court with UFC fighters and hollered, "3, 2, 1, Dodgeball!" And the UFC fighters had been taking uppers. For six months. Games were incredibly fast-paced and scarily aggressive. The strategic and analytical Devil Bats didn't stand a chance. </div>
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It seemed like this was the average player that we faced:</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6Zz9344ExwU/UHInVbTBH0I/AAAAAAAAC3g/4NYq2QY4E48/s1600/seriously.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6Zz9344ExwU/UHInVbTBH0I/AAAAAAAAC3g/4NYq2QY4E48/s320/seriously.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xBEvPQCc9Z8/UHIn15eueDI/AAAAAAAAC4A/yU9-my9BJcU/s1600/whoa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xBEvPQCc9Z8/UHIn15eueDI/AAAAAAAAC4A/yU9-my9BJcU/s320/whoa.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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. . . and this was us:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w-rh6_4HSB0/UHIql_VtV-I/AAAAAAAAC4Q/HT5CnR5lP4E/s1600/kerry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w-rh6_4HSB0/UHIql_VtV-I/AAAAAAAAC4Q/HT5CnR5lP4E/s320/kerry.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
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"I shall counter-attack and aim low and at precisely the right moment, I'll . . . pardon? I've been out for an entire minute? I see. Thank you for your time."</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IUshcAOYYgA/UHIo7i79blI/AAAAAAAAC4I/Cp7lIjZV6is/s1600/db+gals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IUshcAOYYgA/UHIo7i79blI/AAAAAAAAC4I/Cp7lIjZV6is/s320/db+gals.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></div>
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"Hey girls, let's throw together on the count of 3, okay? 1, 2 . . . oh, we're all out again? And the game's over? Makes sense."</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(source for above 7 action shots: <a href="http://www.victorbernard.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">Victor Bernard Photography</span></a>)</span></div>
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Most, if not all, of our coed games were played in a best 2 out of 3 format. In one game, I think I was on the court for a total of three seconds before getting out. On my way to the bench, I noticed that half of my teammates were already sitting there. Before I could double-check to make sure that had indeed just happened, the game was over and we had lost. Repeat that by 20 and you have our big day. </div>
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Was it inspiring and motivating to face such talented teams? Yes. In a way. In many other more immediate ways, it was depressing and a bit rage-inducing. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B8Ix_cxF9Ek/UHIc6zQh5tI/AAAAAAAAC24/jBK0FhnO2p0/s1600/benchers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-B8Ix_cxF9Ek/UHIc6zQh5tI/AAAAAAAAC24/jBK0FhnO2p0/s320/benchers.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Look at us soar! That bench never saw us coming. </div>
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All of our Toronto coed teams fared pretty much the same: disappointment, heartbreak, headshots, sorrow. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CuI8f0mku90/UHD4AOKJHKI/AAAAAAAAC0w/ivp94nsuUjs/s1600/db+sad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-CuI8f0mku90/UHD4AOKJHKI/AAAAAAAAC0w/ivp94nsuUjs/s320/db+sad.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sure, our hearts are filled with sadness, but check out those sick jerseys! Cotton-poly blend!</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b1UB3zTREM8/UHIz652BmXI/AAAAAAAAC48/ohl7FqypClM/s1600/Femme-Bot+coed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b1UB3zTREM8/UHIz652BmXI/AAAAAAAAC48/ohl7FqypClM/s320/Femme-Bot+coed.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I believe the Femme-Bots coed version did the best out of all of the Toronto coed teams, making all of us female dodgeballers proud.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nKwS-1XZ3Hw/UHIz-yxqFoI/AAAAAAAAC5E/Hb0WfIRm0zg/s1600/schwwing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nKwS-1XZ3Hw/UHIz-yxqFoI/AAAAAAAAC5E/Hb0WfIRm0zg/s320/schwwing.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Team Schwwwing . . . whatever that means. </div>
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And here's the whole lot of us from Toronto:</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J1MpnmC7zhU/UHI4H4vQwII/AAAAAAAAC5w/M53NY2wXOOA/s1600/team+toronto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-J1MpnmC7zhU/UHI4H4vQwII/AAAAAAAAC5w/M53NY2wXOOA/s320/team+toronto.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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REMEMBER OUR FACES, NATIONAL DODGEBALL LEAGUE, FOR WE SHALL RETURN AND UPON THAT FATEFUL RETURN, WE WILL AVENGE OURSELVES AND NO MERCY SHALL BE . . . oh never mind.</div>
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But before I move away from the subject of dodgeball, I'd like to share with you something that I'm very proud of. Even after being swiftly and summarily eliminated, I knew I would want to remember these moments forever. With my trusty camera, (the ol' Hazemaster 3000), I set out to diligently capture the action on the courts. Behold, my personal gallery of the 2012 Dodgeball World Championship:<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fIXgrKj676E/UHNE61RUmUI/AAAAAAAADBE/ewRlILgAyf8/s1600/DSCN7886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fIXgrKj676E/UHNE61RUmUI/AAAAAAAADBE/ewRlILgAyf8/s320/DSCN7886.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JvW8roOjEqg/UET8rZfchSI/AAAAAAAAClQ/t98hvfuIA70/s1600/DSCN7928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JvW8roOjEqg/UET8rZfchSI/AAAAAAAAClQ/t98hvfuIA70/s320/DSCN7928.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FV75AwR6-jY/UET9LRj3vqI/AAAAAAAAClY/pqyhwU5jcOw/s1600/DSCN7930.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FV75AwR6-jY/UET9LRj3vqI/AAAAAAAAClY/pqyhwU5jcOw/s320/DSCN7930.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f5zfabZHzMg/UET9Z6ZpaJI/AAAAAAAAClg/fE0fYN7thtg/s1600/DSCN7929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f5zfabZHzMg/UET9Z6ZpaJI/AAAAAAAAClg/fE0fYN7thtg/s320/DSCN7929.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I only ask that if you wish to use one of my personal shots, please give me proper credit. Appreciate it, guys.</div>
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After losing so, so badly at oh, all of our games, the bad news was that we had no self-esteem to speak of. The good news was that we were finally free to enjoy the sights and sounds of the fabulous Las Vegas. Yay!</div>
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The sights . . .</div>
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The sounds . . .</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZebWk8Nxmek/UGDo7l_ItwI/AAAAAAAACrU/-turSYfhP44/s1600/DSCN7876.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZebWk8Nxmek/UGDo7l_ItwI/AAAAAAAACrU/-turSYfhP44/s320/DSCN7876.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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(Vegas clubs are wild, man; they're everything you imagine and more!)</div>
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. . . And yes, the smells. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t8p0y5uT87w/UHJFInVLY3I/AAAAAAAAC6c/MCT6cf2zuCY/s1600/DSCN7933.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t8p0y5uT87w/UHJFInVLY3I/AAAAAAAAC6c/MCT6cf2zuCY/s320/DSCN7933.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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I realize that it may appear that the trip has taken a turn for the dismal, what with all the slaughtering and the self-esteem shrinking. But it's not so! There were many highlights. Oh yes, so many highlights. Where does a girl even begin? WHERE, JULIE, WHERE?</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EK0-pfpKpTM/UHN2SffzN7I/AAAAAAAADFU/rc6zZurQUwQ/s1600/julie!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EK0-pfpKpTM/UHN2SffzN7I/AAAAAAAADFU/rc6zZurQUwQ/s320/julie!.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Let's start at the very beginning, a very good place to start . . .</i></div>
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-Well, we got gussied up to attend a banquet for all of the dodgeball participants. I have mixed emotions about this, actually, because I had prepared a lovely, 45 minute speech/monologue that I was informed "there was no time or need for." Still not sure what they meant by that. It was so freakin' poignant I would have had 'em all weeping. But there was some free food, at least. </div>
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(Note: no, that is not a bizarrely large necklace; Velvet is indeed wearing her medal out in public. Yes, she was the only one who did this. The rest of us just wore them in the hotel room like normal people. Another note for all you medal-wearing folk out there, don't wear your medals in the shower. The gold will come off.)</div>
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-We got to eat a very large cake. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qBWS7bQy_Ok/UHMetFZOiWI/AAAAAAAAC9Q/dOE5PfJXZRs/s1600/DSCN7906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qBWS7bQy_Ok/UHMetFZOiWI/AAAAAAAAC9Q/dOE5PfJXZRs/s320/DSCN7906.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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I love cake and all of the occasions that call for it, so this, this post-dodgeball-humiliation-lick-your-wounds-with-marzipan-cake . . . this was something special. Definitely a highlight. </div>
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-We did actually manage to leave our hotel rooms once or twice for various excursions and (certainly non-drinking related) activities. </div>
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Now, I know what you're saying. That's great that you had a swell time and all, and some of your friends look kind of drunk, but WHAT DID YOU LEARN FROM THIS EXPERIENCE? </div>
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Yes, yes. Calm yourself. I know you all are an intelligent crowd and come here seeking knowledge and enlightenment. As such:</div>
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<strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: red;">THINGS I LEARNED WHILE IN THE FABULOUS LAS VEGAS</span></strong></div>
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<em><b>-Watching other people gamble is not as much fun as you think it will be. </b></em></div>
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I pictured our gang crowded around a long, green fabric table. An excited buzz palpable in the smoky air. The dice are tossed. They land on some kind of number or square and we all erupt in cheers. Arms thrown high into the air in sheer glee. Someone kisses a stranger. Then we all sing a happy song together, hopefully one having multiple rounds because those are more fun. Then my friends give me all of their winnings to hold for safekeeping, because I give off a very responsible vibe. I tell my friends I'm going to the washroom. I take the money. All of it. I leave the country. First I see the Grand Canyon, but then I get right out of there. I book it to Salzburg. Make a home for myself. Do the whole nun-turned-governess-turned-wife routine and end up very happy and also a great singer.</div>
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Well. You know how they say that your dreams come true? The thing is that THEY DON'T. </div>
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Not this: </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BkrVTyt32-s/UGIqqCk80QI/AAAAAAAACtc/abJ5dG6k524/s1600/monchan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BkrVTyt32-s/UGIqqCk80QI/AAAAAAAACtc/abJ5dG6k524/s320/monchan.jpg" hea="true" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
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But this:</div>
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How do you talk to someone you love about a gambling problem? Don't ask me. The non-gamblers all thought about it and then promptly fell asleep at the slots waiting for our crap-happy friends to finish. </div>
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My gambling friends did end up being very successful at the tables, which is great for them, I guess. I don't know. Gambling is serious business, it seems. It changes people. Why, I can still hear the sounds of <i>"you're bad luck, I lose every time you come around, you smell terrible, why are you still wearing your dodgeball clothes from yesterday, stop giving me your urine samples, who keeps humming "The Final Countdown," blah blah blah . . . "</i> like they were just yesterday. But yeah. Truly happy for their good fortune. </div>
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Another important thing to note is that people like to tell you that you drink for free in casinos. This is partially true. If you are actively gambling and spending money, you will drink for free. You do <b>not</b> drink for free if you are hovering awkwardly behind your friends as they spend money and gamble. In fact, you do not even exist to servers if you are a gambling table tag-along. </div>
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Even if you are wearing a gold medal. </div>
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Even if you remind them that you are wearing a gold medal. </div>
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I've said it before: do not come to Vegas to improve your self-esteem. Lesson learned.</div>
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<b><i>-If you enjoy anything, anything at all, there is a slot machine that is made especially for you. </i></b></div>
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If you'd give it all up for just one more Maltese:</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GUXh0NrrTEc/UGT-Lkhyu-I/AAAAAAAACwQ/6_rdMyjo6yg/s1600/DSCN7904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GUXh0NrrTEc/UGT-Lkhyu-I/AAAAAAAACwQ/6_rdMyjo6yg/s320/DSCN7904.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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(This is a large portion of you, I suspect.)</div>
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If you unapologetically want your cats and god dammit, you want your glitter, too:</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ONM3L0V8M_o/UHHYERhMrHI/AAAAAAAAC2Q/MKp7WACWsaU/s1600/DSCN7979.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ONM3L0V8M_o/UHHYERhMrHI/AAAAAAAAC2Q/MKp7WACWsaU/s320/DSCN7979.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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IF YOU LOVE AMERICA BUT HAVE ALREADY MASTERED GREAT EAGLE I:</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--3CV-E3-4To/UGUNTtZJu0I/AAAAAAAACx0/cqUrpceBq5A/s1600/DSCN7975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--3CV-E3-4To/UGUNTtZJu0I/AAAAAAAACx0/cqUrpceBq5A/s320/DSCN7975.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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IF YOU REALLY, <i>REALLY </i>LOVE AMERICA BUT THINK EAGLES ARE FOR PANSIES:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x0s1m1_AM4Y/UHHXP5LwY-I/AAAAAAAAC2I/JcdVlAHbOGk/s1600/DSCN7999.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x0s1m1_AM4Y/UHHXP5LwY-I/AAAAAAAAC2I/JcdVlAHbOGk/s320/DSCN7999.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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And for everyone else, there is Whale Song:</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rNtiWBhE6-0/UHHWoc2SncI/AAAAAAAAC2A/TIKfv2qlgPY/s1600/DSCN7977.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rNtiWBhE6-0/UHHWoc2SncI/AAAAAAAAC2A/TIKfv2qlgPY/s320/DSCN7977.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Note: despite the aforementioned plethora of slot options, I did not find a Sweet Valley High-themed slot machine. Therefore, my gambling strike continues.)</span></div>
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<b><i>-Everything is insane in Vegas.</i></b></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eei-a9qMXio/UGJm_JnmM1I/AAAAAAAACuA/36NzFkFfjQw/s1600/DSCN7883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eei-a9qMXio/UGJm_JnmM1I/AAAAAAAACuA/36NzFkFfjQw/s320/DSCN7883.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Chips Ahoy plus Reese's? Peanut butter Oreos? TRIPLE DOUBLE OREOS? What does that even mean? I'm still in the phase where I'm excited by Golden Oreos, so this was just . . . incomprehensible. Distressing, almost.</div>
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They also have like pizzas and burgers and stuff. This place is nuts. I clearly cannot handle Las Vegas. We had to get out of this strange place where if you can dream it, it already exists in cookie form. </div>
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We left Las Vegas with our medals, sweat-soaked jerseys and I think without being abducted into a human trafficking ring, although I haven't seen Velvet in awhile. Some of us left thinking of all the wonderful friends we had made. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3fLscJXpDQ4/UGT2KSrpyjI/AAAAAAAACvg/Ndxsrxtmu3o/s1600/DSCN7968.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3fLscJXpDQ4/UGT2KSrpyjI/AAAAAAAACvg/Ndxsrxtmu3o/s320/DSCN7968.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pem429ikQ0I/UGT9WGNmACI/AAAAAAAACwI/fZMQ1ZOvsO0/s1600/DSCN7997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Pem429ikQ0I/UGT9WGNmACI/AAAAAAAACwI/fZMQ1ZOvsO0/s320/DSCN7997.JPG" height="240" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div>
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I left wishing I had bought those Triple Double Oreos. U.S. friends, can someone mail me some, please? AND THESE.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5LHllicgJyo/UHNT37AGj2I/AAAAAAAADDI/OP-s-PKEaPg/s1600/candy+corn+yesss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5LHllicgJyo/UHNT37AGj2I/AAAAAAAADDI/OP-s-PKEaPg/s320/candy+corn+yesss.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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Please please it's very important. Will pay for shipping!</div>
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<b>POST-GAME WRAP-UP</b><br />
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Would I return to the World Dodgeball Championship? I'm actually not sure. While I had fun, there were many things I wish were different. The National Dodgeball League is a heated topic amongst hardcore dodgeballers for many reasons, most of which I don't really care about. However, I feel like there are a few seemingly simple things that could be changed to improve the event.</div>
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<i>-More variety in game scheduling</i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">For the majority of our coed games, the Devil Bats were in a bracket with the same 3 teams. That meant we played the same teams, over and over again. It was frustrating</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">—</span><span class="Apple-style-span">we were in a tournament with teams from all over the world and only got a chance to face the same few. I very much wanted the chance to play against some new faces, even just for fun. Faces like:</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uTb6vClG9O0/UEUNi7bEzbI/AAAAAAAACnY/fn5n8obJDmQ/s1600/wish+list.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uTb6vClG9O0/UEUNi7bEzbI/AAAAAAAACnY/fn5n8obJDmQ/s400/wish+list.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></div>
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Team First Blood (from possibly B.C.? Not sure, probably somewhere cool and fancy-free. Maybe Newark. Just look at them!)<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(team photo <a href="http://www.victorbernard.com/" target="_blank">source</a>)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span">These guys from Australia</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">—</span><span class="Apple-style-span">such energy and pizazz and other fun words, too!</span></div>
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<i>-Greater consistency with the reffing </i></div>
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The rules seemed to change not only from court to court, but from game to game. Large amounts of time were spent arguing over calls or the rules, which ultimately just led to frustrated players. In one of our women's rubber games, a player was blatantly hit by a deflection off a teammate and didn't walk off. When we asked the ref why, he helpfully explained, "Oh, she didn't know that rule" and the game continued on. The back line refs also chatted with us throughout the majority of the games, asking such important, time-sensitive and relevant questions as, "So, what hotel are you staying at?" "You guys gonna be at that pool party thing later on?" All of this DURING the games. Good lord.</div>
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And do you even need to ask, HELL YEAH we're going to that pool party thing later. Just look at us.</div>
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<i>-Location change from the whole Las Vegas thing</i></div>
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Vegas is a strange place. It's a place where one (1) visit can probably hold you for the rest of your life. Yes, it's a place of excess, of the unnecessary, of a <i>carpe diem this next spin will be the big one</i> mindset. It's a place where men hand you escort cards with half-naked ladies on them as you walk outside to breakfast. It's bachelorette parties and drinking on the streets and blackjack at 3:00 a.m. But it's also a bit depressing. Everyone looks kind of sad and sallow in that early-morning casino glow. Or maybe that was just me because I didn''t gamble and I prefer my cage dancers to look whimsical and like they're there by choice, instead of weary and blasé. </div>
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So here is what I propose: move the World Dodgeball Championship to Italy. Or Greece. Or Maine. I've always wanted to go to Maine. </div>
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Can you even imagine?! Lighthouse tours, lobster fishing, the scent of salt water, a little coed foam ball competitions, perhaps held in the great outdoors . . . just promise me you'll think about it before saying no. </div>
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See? Easy solutions to complex problems. I've got this whole thing figured out. I'm now an Olympic gold medalist, after all, according to my resume. </div>
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*Note to photographers: in need of updated headshots/business cards with new medal. Contact me to schedule session. Will give copy of book or one (1) box of Great Grains as payment. </div>
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Medal-less headshot, no longer relevant. </div>
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And that, my friends and immediate family, is the first time I ever played in the NDL's Dodgeball World Championship in Las Vegas. Now, have any of you ever been to Vegas? Did you love it or list it? Would you return? Dodgeballers, do you hope to play in the Dodgeball World Championship one day? WILL ANYONE GO TO THE GRAND CANYON WITH ME? (I'm so sad that I didn't make it there.) Most importantly, what's the status on those Oreos, hmm? Is there a tracking number? </div>
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But do hurry. Because <i>IT'S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN. </i></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DT4mFF_c7NU/UHNfY_yBZ-I/AAAAAAAADD8/NRG9mJxzuic/s1600/gob+final.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DT4mFF_c7NU/UHNfY_yBZ-I/AAAAAAAADD8/NRG9mJxzuic/s320/gob+final.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>(Thanks to Pauline, the NDL/Victor Bernard Photography and the Ol' Hazemaster 3000 for many of these pictures.)</i></div>
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Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-56627012611025317952012-08-22T06:48:00.000-07:002012-08-22T06:48:20.875-07:00Hobbit Heartache, Chapter 13: Samwise Staggers On<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8a5PbMHYaX4/UC2nZOLNMMI/AAAAAAAACeo/magFLf5LN0M/s1600/Chapter13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8a5PbMHYaX4/UC2nZOLNMMI/AAAAAAAACeo/magFLf5LN0M/s640/Chapter13.jpg" width="384" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jessica is fairly certain that Samwise's secret is that he's hopelessly in love with her. </td></tr>
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When thinking about a Middle-earth Spring Break, a few things instantly come to mind.</div>
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-Babes in bikinis (or, as I like to call them, bikini babes)</div>
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-Wild nights spent partying around the bonfire (because everyone looks better by the light of the fire; <a href="http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m1aoueVTEE1qfmqvn.jpg" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">this guy</span></a> knows what I'm talking 'bout)<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mzhw1HHHetw/UDK7DiksJzI/AAAAAAAACg0/iELyoivtzjI/s1600/bonfire+dwarven.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" mda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mzhw1HHHetw/UDK7DiksJzI/AAAAAAAACg0/iELyoivtzjI/s320/bonfire+dwarven.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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-Brief yet passionate hook-ups</div>
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-And, of course, feral cats.</div>
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<em>...THEY'RE EVERYWHERE.</em><br />
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But lurking underneath all of this sexy Spring Breaking, there's a dark side. A dangerous side. A musty side. And a side that smells really bad. </div>
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I think it's fairly obvious what I'm getting at here.</div>
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<strong>BRANDYWINE ADDICTION.</strong></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kZGKle_JO-U/UDPYOzcfFwI/AAAAAAAACiU/_fPQC4uNE-A/s1600/brandywine+bad.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" mda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kZGKle_JO-U/UDPYOzcfFwI/AAAAAAAACiU/_fPQC4uNE-A/s320/brandywine+bad.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
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(Or, more specifically, brandywine addiction in relation to Samwise Hobbit.)</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--E4LgSivQFw/UDPLcT4gbiI/AAAAAAAACh0/FaDIWWNyfMY/s1600/hobbit+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" mda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--E4LgSivQFw/UDPLcT4gbiI/AAAAAAAACh0/FaDIWWNyfMY/s320/hobbit+party.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So busted.</div>
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Samwise started our story fresh-faced, a man ready to get his epic journey on.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5dXTntZvWdU/UDKu506b2uI/AAAAAAAACfM/7R3L1q8E8mA/s1600/samwise+respectable.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" mda="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5dXTntZvWdU/UDKu506b2uI/AAAAAAAACfM/7R3L1q8E8mA/s320/samwise+respectable.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
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But slowly, slowly, throughout <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">giant spiders</span></a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/06/hobbit-heartache-chapter-ten.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">semi-nude Wakefields</span></a> and <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/04/hobbit-heartachechapter-8-land-of-elves.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: lime;">hobbit sacrifices</span></a>, we've seen Samwise fall apart. Brandywine addiction, as some of us know, is not a kindly thing.</div>
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. . . Going<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rP83nYqAd0k/UDKx5LlMmtI/AAAAAAAACfc/vPp_PYx_LXs/s1600/samwise+oh+dear.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rP83nYqAd0k/UDKx5LlMmtI/AAAAAAAACfc/vPp_PYx_LXs/s1600/samwise+oh+dear.gif" /></a></div>
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And while there are many functioning alcoholics out there . . .<br />
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<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/arrested%20development%20gif" target="_blank"><img alt="arrested development gif Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" src="http://i21.photobucket.com/albums/b276/filmgirl84/tumblr_lj02osEYTh1qzcrvj.gif" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(thank you, filmgirl84 from photobucket!)</span><br />
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Samwise Hobbit is not one of them. </div>
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To experience Samwise's downward spiral from the beginning, you've got a lot of clicking to do:</div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/chapter-one.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: orange;">Chapter One</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/02/gift-of-love-hobbit-heartache-chapter.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: cyan;">Chapter Seven</span></a><br />
<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: lime;">Chapter Two</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/04/hobbit-heartachechapter-8-land-of-elves.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Chapter Eight</span></a><br />
<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">Chapter Three</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/05/hobbit-heartachechapter-9-family-von.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">Chapter Nine</span></a><br />
<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html" target="_blank">Chapter Four</a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/06/hobbit-heartache-chapter-ten.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: lime;">Chapter Ten</span></a><br />
<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/12/hobbit-heartache-chapter-five.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: #b4a7d6;">Chapter Five</span></a> <span id="goog_637306544"></span><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/07/hobbit-heartache-chapter-11-night-that.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Chapter Eleven</span></a> <br />
<span id="goog_637306545"></span><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/01/hobbit-heartache-chapter-six.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Chapter Six</span></a> <span style="color: cyan;"> </span><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/08/hobbit-heartache-chapter-12.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: cyan;">Chapter Twelve</span></a><br />
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And my literary agent seems to think that I should remind all of you readers (yes, all six [6] of you, and yes, I count myself amongst that elite yet desperately welcoming group) that, while this is indeed <em>Hobbit Heartache</em>, the <em>Sweet Valley High</em>/<em>Lord of the Rings</em> erotic adventure parody, I have no prior knowledge of the <em>Lord of the Rings</em> world. No movies viewed, no books read, nothing. This is why Samwise's last name is "Hobbit." No need for helpful emails & diagrams/hate mail, my friendly LOTR fans. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xFYEraLGzeQ/UAmjbOceqdI/AAAAAAAACbA/w_kJwNOr9as/s1600/13-samwise-colour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xFYEraLGzeQ/UAmjbOceqdI/AAAAAAAACbA/w_kJwNOr9as/s640/13-samwise-colour.jpg" width="546" /></a></div>
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I'm so psyched to finally be able to share <a href="http://familycontact.ca/zak/" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">Zak's beautiful artwork</span></a> for this chapter. I think it might be my favorite of the whole book. Had I a fireplace, or even a strong heater, this would certainly be mounted above it. </div>
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<strong>Chapter Thirteen</strong></div>
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<strong>Samwise Staggers On</strong></div>
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“Ooof,” said Samwise, falling to the ground. “Whoever put that tree there?” He laughed and the sound echoed in his head. <em>‘Tis like I’m in a cave, </em>he thought. “Hullo, hullo, hullo!” he cried. </div>
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“Up you go, Sam,” said Merry, lending him a hair-covered hand to his feet. “We must keep moving. The day has just begun.”</div>
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“Thank you, kind friend. Care for a refreshing sip of water?” Sam asked, proffering his goatskin canteen. </div>
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Merry’s face became droopy like a rain-soaked weeping willow and he shook his head. Sam caught the eye of Winston, who had been watching the scene unfold from the side. </div>
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“Winston? A gulp or two for you? It will ease your hiking woes!” said Sam with a grin as shaky as a hogtied octopus. </div>
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“Come on, Merry. We gotta keep walking before Gandalf gets mad,” Winston said, pulling Merry away. “And Sam,” he said quietly over his shoulder, “we all know that’s not water, buddy.”</div>
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Samwise stood still and clutched his beloved canteen. He belched and felt the customary hot surge of vomit rising in his throat. He gulped it back and groaned.</div>
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“Samwise?” said Elizabeth tentatively from behind. “Are you okay?”</div>
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“Quite fine. ‘Tis a healthy hobbit who vomits with frequency,” replied Sam, with the slightest touch of derision in his voice. </div>
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He knew very well that Elizabeth was a meddler. She was also a female, and Samwise did not place much trust in females. Not since the time that Vermillia snuck a secret herb into his porridge that caused him to remain erect for three years straight. Yes, ‘twas true that females made him feel rigid with nerves, indeed!</div>
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<em><a name='more'></a></em> </div>
<em>But still,</em> he pondered, <em>no one else wishes to speak with me. I make them feel ill at ease.</em><br />
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“You really have been throwing up a lot. At least twice a day, by my count,” said Elizabeth. “That can’t feel good.” She stepped closer to Samwise and placed a comely hand on his shoulder. It felt warm and tender.</div>
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<em>Why, I cannot recall the last time someone touched me with fondness,</em> thought Samwise. <em>Someone besides Pippin, that is. </em>At the thought of his sweet, deceased friend, tears sprung to his eyes like the towering structures that sprang to life from within Merry’s burlap trousers each morn. </div>
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“You know, Sam, I feel like we’re a lot alike,” said Elizabeth.</div>
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“You do?” asked Sam with confusion. “But your height is mighty as a giant!”</div>
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Elizabeth chuckled. “I’m five foot six, which is considered to be the perfect height for my age and body type. I also have practically no body hair. But I’m not talking about looks, Sam. It’s more than that.</div>
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“You see, I’ve never really had a problem with alcohol before . . . well, except for the whole driving drunk at prom and killing my sister’s boyfriend thing . . . but I do know what it’s like to feel alone,” Elizabeth said. Her smile was as soft as a spotted calf’s underbelly.</div>
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Sam raised a hair-filled eyebrow, as skeptic as an elderly deer in a dance cavern.</div>
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“I do! Sometimes, when school’s out for the day and Jessica is at cheerleading practice, and Todd has a basketball game, and my Mom is out of town giving a lecture on hardwood flooring and my Dad has to be at the courthouse and Steven actually stays at college for the weekend and Enid doesn’t pick up my phone call—well, Enid always picks up my phone calls, but if she’s passed out or something—and Mr. Collins is busy with night tutoring and it’s just me at the house by myself . . . well, then I feel really alone,” explained Elizabeth. “So I know how scary that can feel.”</div>
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“Aye, that does sound dreadful,” replied Sam. “But I do believe you are mistaken, Elizabeth.”</div>
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Elizabeth threw back her head and laughed, then stopped with the speed of an agitated grasshopper when she noted Sam’s solemn face.</div>
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“Nay, ‘tis not fright that I feel,” explained Sam. “‘Tis nothing but sadness and loneliness. I miss my dear friend Pippin.”</div>
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“I know you do,” said Elizabeth, reaching her other hand out and placing it on his shoulder. “I can’t imagine what I would do if I lost Jessica in a sacrificial Elven rite.” </div>
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She paused and reflected. </div>
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“Well, actually, one time Jessica got swept up in this creepy cult and I thought we’d lost her forever—luckily that only lasted for one book. But this other time I had a really vivid dream that Jessica died in a skiing accident and that was super scary. Another time I thought she was murdered by my evil doppelganger’s own twin sister but she was really just tied up in the school basement. And this other time I thought she was murdered by a werewolf and one time she was kidnapped by a vampire, so I guess I really do know how you feel.”</div>
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“Is a doppelganger similar to a necromancer?” wondered Samwise aloud. “I am unfamiliar with such a creature.”</div>
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“That’s okay. It doesn’t matter. It’s something that will never, ever affect us here. That would make no sense at all,” replied Elizabeth. </div>
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“Elizabeth, I do appreciate your tales but I fear I do not fully understand,” said Sam. His head felt perpetually engulfed in a fog cloud these days, similar to the time when he regretfully drank his own urine, wishing it to be mead.</div>
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“Well, what I’m trying to say is that if it had been Jessica who was killed by the Elf King, I think I would live the rest of my life trying to do her proud,” said Elizabeth slowly.</div>
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“You would stare frequently into reflective surfaces and rub yourself against all males whenever possible?” asked Samwise.</div>
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“Well, no. But I would try to live every day to the fullest,” she explained. “And I think in your case, you won’t be able to do that unless you stop drinking.”</div>
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Samwise opened his mouth to reply but could find no words. </div>
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Instead, he inhaled a deep breath and took a moment to listen to his body. He felt a pulsing in his head, the sure sign that a vengeful hangover was brewing. He could feel a thin coating of dried drool and dirt covering the lower portion of his face. A side tooth was wobbly from when he tried to eat a boulder and his once honey-yellow urine had been a particularly alarming shade of crimson for days. He glanced down and saw that his pants were on backwards and seemed to be covered with old vomit and a mysterious chalky substance.</div>
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<em>What kind of hobbit have I become?</em> he thought in horror. </div>
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“I . . . I don’t even know the origin of this stain,” he mumbled in shame, touching his pants. </div>
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“I think it’s cat semen,” explained Elizabeth.</div>
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“Ah,” stated Sam. “That does make sense.” </div>
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He said nothing more for a few moments, then broke the silence with a wail of anguish that sounded akin to a heavily pregnant black bear in the throes of natural birth. </div>
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“Oh, if Pippin could see how low I’ve sunken, it would break his heart!”</div>
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“Yes,” nodded Elizabeth. “And I know all about breaking hearts. But Sam, even before Pippin died you were a drinker. This isn’t a new thing.”</div>
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“Aye, I have always enjoyed my brandywine, that is certainly true. We hobbits grow up with weekly feasts and celebrations at the Shire. Why, it was at a young hobbits' root harvesting carnival that I had my first sip and it was love from the start. But while the others soon found matters that interested them more so, like Bilbo and his travels and Merry and his nether regions, it was only brandywine for me.</div>
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“That is, until Pippin and I grew close. We were like brothers, us two! We would dance and have such fun in Hobbiton. We’d chase deer and slaughter rabbits and watch the birds—he loved birds, do you recall? I still drank my brandywine but ‘twas never such a problem as when he passed. And now I simply drown my sorrows away but it does not seem to work.”</div>
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“You can’t use brandywine to escape your problems, Samwise. You’ve got to face them!” interjected Georg suddenly as he walked past. </div>
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“You see, Sam? We’re all behind you here. And you can always come to me for advice,” said Elizabeth charitably. “Unless Gandalf and I seem like we’re in a conversation. He keeps telling me that he hates to be bothered.”</div>
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“You truly believe I could still make Pippin proud of me? Even after the disgraceful excuse for a hobbit I have become?” asked Sam with the softest of voice.</div>
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“Of course! Everyone can do things to turn themselves into more worthwhile people, like losing weight or getting better clothes,” said Elizabeth with a firm nod. “Now tell me, does Gandalf ever talk about me to you?” </div>
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But Samwise did not hear her query. He was overwhelmed with a new sense of purpose.</div>
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<em>I am going to become a strong and useful hobbit,</em> he thought. <em>I will do good once more and I shall do it all for Pippin!</em></div>
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“Elizabeth—you have provided me with such useful advice, even for a female. Might I kiss you in gratitude?” he begged. </div>
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Elizabeth blushed, her cheeks as carmine as his urine. </div>
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“Well, I suppose I could cheat on Todd just this once and he’d understand,” she said ruefully. She stooped down to offer Samwise her cheek.</div>
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Samwise perched on his tiptoes and placed his lips directly onto hers. He opened his mouth as wide as it could go and surged his tongue forward with the speed of a high-strung leapfrog. Once inside, he moved it in frantic circles and felt each of her teeth.</div>
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<em>She has all thirty-two,</em> thought Sam in amazement. <em>How bizarre. </em></div>
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He pulled away and licked the side of her face to conclude their embrace.</div>
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“Samwise! What are you doing?” Elizabeth gasped, placing her hands on her face in shock.</div>
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“That is the customary sign of gratitude,” replied Samwise, turning around. “You are supposed to gently insert one finger into my buttocks in return. Two if you wish. Merry taught me this ritual many a year ago.”</div>
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Elizabeth shuddered and quickly walked away, heading towards Gandalf. Samwise smiled, feeling better than he had in weeks.</div>
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<em>She tastes like brewed roots and complacency,</em> he thought. </div>
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That evening, as the hikers slept around the campfire, Samwise crept out of his woven grass blanket and stood in front of the blaze. He pulled out his goatskin canteen and slowly poured its contents into the fire. The flames leapt high into the air and surged outwards towards the campers. Sam heard a high-pitched squeal and turned in alarm. </div>
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Winston was hopping about furiously, trying to extinguish the flames that were licking his elongated feet in the manner of a spiteful kitten with something to prove. </div>
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“Holy shit, Sam!” cried Winston. “You just set me on fire! Are you wasted again? You could have killed us all!”</div>
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“Nay, my friend. Quite the contrary! I have just sacrificed my brandywine to the fire. I am now an abstainer.” </div>
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“So this is it? You’re not going to drink anymore?” asked Winston, rubbing his profusely bleeding feet. </div>
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“Not even a drop!” replied Sam. “Well, only in the direst of circumstances . . . .”</div>
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Winston transferred his weight from vast foot to vast foot. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you—where do you even keep getting your booze? We’re stuck out here in the forest.”</div>
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“Why, from the brandy bushes. They’re all over Middle-earth. You just have to milk them properly. But I shall milk no more!” </div>
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Sam shook the rest of his canteen, making sure every last drop of brandywine was gone. </div>
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“Well, I think that’s great, buddy. Let me know if you need any help,” replied Winston, giving Sam a pat on the back. “Wanna hit the sack?”</div>
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“Nay, I’ve already done that thrice today. You go ahead. I shall join soon,” replied Samwise. </div>
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He bid Winston a good eve and sat, listening to the crackle of the campfire and the stillness of the night. His hand instinctively moved towards his canteen, forgetting that it was empty of substance. Upon realization, it moved to his loins in disappointment. </div>
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His finely-tuned nose sniffed the air, aided by the presence of many, many nose hairs. </div>
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<em>Ah, the faint scent of delicious brandywine lingers . . . mixed with yellow perch?</em> he wondered. An undeletable combination, but Samwise suddenly wished for it with all of his being. </div>
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“No,” Samwise murmured. He gave himself a firm slap on the buttocks for distraction.</div>
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“Pippin, sweet friend, I do hope you are watching us from the Land of the Lifeless,” he whispered into the crisp night air. “For I am going to be a hero!”</div>
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<strong><em>Will Samwise be able to resist the sweet temptation of brandywine or is it too late to change his ways? Will Winston be able to complete the terrifying hike to Sauron’s lair with third degree burns on his (massive) feet? And will Elizabeth ever receive the sexual gratification that she longs for from Gandalf? </em></strong></div>
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<strong><em>STAY TUNED </em></strong></div>
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PS—I'm interested to see if any of you have struggled with brandywine addiction. If so, how did you fight it? I had a brief week of brandywine addiction but then I switched to barleymilk and felt better. </div>
Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-44620619647468807272012-08-03T06:59:00.000-07:002012-08-03T06:59:52.604-07:00Hobbit Heartache, Chapter 12<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1Wj_ZCcaEhA/UBnd7dxUcgI/AAAAAAAACdA/-01RTknCp0E/s1600/Chapter12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1Wj_ZCcaEhA/UBnd7dxUcgI/AAAAAAAACdA/-01RTknCp0E/s640/Chapter12.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somehow this turned out a lot creepier than I imagined. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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One thing I've learned in the making of <i>Hobbit Heartache, </i>the<i> Sweet Valley High</i>/<i>Lord of the Rings </i>erotic crossover adventure novel,<i> </i>is that if you write a <i>Sweet Valley High</i>/<i>Lord of the Rings</i> erotic crossover adventure novel and post chapters of that novel online, you will receive a fair amount of emails about it. After each chapter I post, I receive many emails. They are numerous. Perhaps countless.</div>
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<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/skeptical%20gif" target="_blank"><img alt="Skeptical Gif Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" src="http://i289.photobucket.com/albums/ll225/mia-plur/Skeptical.gif" /></a><br />
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Definitely at least more than two (2). </div>
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Some of the emails are complimentary ("I don't really <i>get</i> this project, but you seem to be really into it, so I guess that's good"). Some of them are annoying (No, for the millionth time, I do NOT want to be considered for the Pulitzer Prize in Distinguished Fiction! I'm way too busy this year). A few of them are creepy (Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield would never, EVER be into a hobbit orgy, no matter how many people suggest it. Of this I am somewhat sure). Many are from my Mom ("That artwork sure is interesting, Sammi"). But the vast majority of emails are from readers like yourselves demanding more Bruce Patman. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R6v4wKurWOg/UBsYOk_5alI/AAAAAAAACdg/EZCciwBRoqQ/s1600/bruce+badass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R6v4wKurWOg/UBsYOk_5alI/AAAAAAAACdg/EZCciwBRoqQ/s400/bruce+badass.jpg" width="280" /></a></div>
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This is a request that I understand. </div>
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For we all know that Bruce Patman is the hottest hunk in all of Sweet Valley High. He's rich. An all-star tennis player. Owns multiple cashmere sweaters. Plus, he's a senior! Of course you want more of him. Up until now, he's been overshadowed by other less hunkly-hunks like Frodo, Samwise and Gandalf. </div>
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BUT THAT ENDS RIGHT HERE.</div>
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Yes, Merry; we're all happy about this. You perv. </div>
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If you're in the mood for a chapter that's filled with drama, suspense, Aragorn in leather and most of all, a naked Bruce Patman, look no further! </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LnhK9tmE28M/UBsfpi7xu_I/AAAAAAAACeA/0yk9NS7bsZY/s1600/Bruce+hunkly.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LnhK9tmE28M/UBsfpi7xu_I/AAAAAAAACeA/0yk9NS7bsZY/s320/Bruce+hunkly.png" width="204" /></a></div>
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<b><i>Bruce awaits. </i></b></div>
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Again, I must warn you: slightly (or maybe more than slightly) NSFW drawing below. <a href="http://deathsperate.tumblr.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">Zak's</span></a> really hit his stride, huh? I think it's because I finally let him draw male genitalia. Worth the wait!</div>
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<strong>Chapter 12</strong></div>
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“Bruce. Bruce. Wake yourself. We must leave in but a moment’s time!” Bilbo cried, shaking Bruce’s shoulders.</div>
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“Mmmm, yeah, baby. I bet I make you feel so good,” murmured Bruce.</div>
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“Young Bruce. 'Tis not the proper occasion for such sentiments. Time is short and we must leave!” exclaimed Bilbo, shoving Bruce and waking him fully. </div>
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Bruce groaned. “Yeah, yeah; calm down. It’s too early for this.” </div>
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He sat up and realized that not only had he had been sharing his twig bed with a naked dwarf lady, but he was still partially inside of her. He hated when that happened. He removed himself with a grimace. </div>
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<em>Sorry, 1BRUCE1. You deserve so much better,</em> he thought ruefully. <br />
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Bruce had vague memories of last night, of plying himself with Dwarven’s strong beer and watching that lady dance seductively for him. The golden bells on her belt had jangled as she shook her stocky ass and stared at him, licking her peeling lips.</div>
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He’d been pretty drunk, he figured. He must have been. Those dwarf ladies hadn’t been lookers. Bruce mentally ranked them somewhere between the average Big Mesa girl and Lois Waller. The last thing he remembered was being surrounded by five naked dwarf ladies and yelling at them not to crease his khakis. They were European, for Christ’s sake, and not available at the Valley Mall for another year. Some people just had no appreciation for quality, and Bruce tended to hate those people immediately. </div>
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“I must insist you move swiftly,” urged Bilbo, interrupting Bruce’s thoughts. “It seems that some of our companions may have acted a bit too enthusiastically at the party. A large portion of Dwarven has been destroyed by fire.”</div>
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“It was Samwise, wasn’t it?” asked Bruce. “That guy was hammered out of his mind, even for him. He kept skipping around the bonfire holding cats.”</div>
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“Yes. Fourteen feral cats perished as well at last count. Needless to say, Gimli is furious and we have been banned from Dwarven until further notice,” stated Bilbo. “So we must leave immediately.”</div>
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“Gimme a moment and I'll meet you at the gates,” said Bruce. </div>
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Bruce pulled on his khakis and winced, his head pounding from the exertion. </div>
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<em>Must have been a rough night,</em> he thought. He zipped up his gold-encrusted fly and headed to the gates without a backwards glance at the still-sleeping dwarf.</div>
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The group was already assembled at the gates, ready to leave. Elizabeth was standing over Samwise, who was forcefully vomiting into the grass. </div>
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“Sam my man, way to burn down the town,” said Bruce, slapping Samwise on the back. Samwise’s vomit increased in volume and force. </div>
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“That’s enough, young Bruce,” said Gandalf. “The time to leave is now. Sauron is waiting.”</div>
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“Sorry, G,” Bruce replied. Gandalf had the same authoritarian air as his father. He knew that he could mess around with the naive and trusting hobbits, but when Gandalf spoke, he listened. </div>
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“My friends, ‘tis into the Lothlórien forest we go,” announced Bilbo. </div>
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“I’m glad to go; I cannot tell a lie,” stated Georg. “So long, farewell, Dwarven!”</div>
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Normally Bruce had no idea what Georg was talking about, but this morning he had to agree. He was happy to leave Dwarven and its bizarre, unappealing people behind. None of them even had tans and their hair was the reddest shade of blonde he’d ever seen.</div>
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The group dutifully began their trek, falling into their now customary spots. While Bruce waited for Samwise to finish retching and join him, he stared at the pairings. Winston and Merry were already laughing together, while Elizabeth and Gandalf spoke heatedly. Georg and Lila walked arm-in-arm, smiling blissfully. Jessica was normally all over Frodo, but today, she walked a few paces apart.</div>
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<em>Wonder what’s gotten into her panties,</em> Bruce thought. <em>Maybe she’s as hungover as I am.</em> He massaged his own pounding temples and sighed, a melancholy exhalation of leather-scented breath.</div>
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<em>Almost everyone’s found someone here but me,</em> he thought. <em>This trip blows. But hey, at least I finally got to see Jess topless. About damn time for that. </em></div>
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The memory brought a smirk to his face. Sure, Bruce had played with her bikini strings before, but nothing more, the prude. In his experience, both Wakefields were all talk and a waste of time. Bruce had gone on the Spring Break trip to Middle-earth hoping for a little adventure and lots of ladies. He’d received his fair share of adventure, but hadn’t found anyone who caught his eye yet. He felt alone in the crowd, lost at sea, an outcast, tall, dark and deadly and many other dramatic phrases. </div>
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“Winston, why aren’t you wearing any shoes?” Elizabeth asked suddenly with concern. Bruce glanced over at Winston’s bare, dirty feet. He guessed them to be about size eleven. </div>
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“Uh, no reason. It’s just more comfortable this way,” stammered a blushing Winston. </div>
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“Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want to talk about it?” continued Elizabeth. </div>
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“The boy and his gargantuan feet are fine, Elizabeth! Why must you question him so?” burst out Gandalf.</div>
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The group fell into a tense silence as Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. </div>
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“What say you, Jessica? Shall we play your inquisitive traveling game to pass the time once more?” asked Bilbo, breaking the silence. </div>
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“Whatever,” replied Jessica in a flat, lifeless tone. </div>
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“Great idea, Bilbo! Let’s play. Someone think of a question. Win, how about you?” said Elizabeth, her voice full of false cheer. <em>How pathetic,</em> thought Bruce. </div>
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“Um, all right. Hmm . . . okay, here’s a fun one. What’s the wildest thing anyone has ever seen?” asked Winston, looking at Merry. He raised his eyebrows up and down at him, causing Merry to giggle like a school girl. “Jess, wanna start?”</div>
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“No,” Jessica stated.</div>
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“Our flaxen-haired friend must be feeling ill today,” cried Bilbo. “An excess of brandywine shall do that to ye, no doubt! Now, the things I have seen . . . Why, I have seen grown men turn into butterflies and I have seen an incensed witch eat a cloud just to spite me. I have had the pleasure of a bovine serenading me and I have merged bodies with twelve dwarves at once.”</div>
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Bruce rolled his slug-brown eyes. Bilbo was always trying to show off with his stupid stories. <em>Like anyone would merge bodies with you, fatty. </em></div>
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“Uh, wow. That’s pretty wild,” replied Winston. “Georg, I bet you’ve got some pretty crazy stories hiding up those woolen sleeves of yours.”</div>
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“Yes, perhaps you could say that,” said Georg. “I have looked deeply into the eyes of evil. I have been driven from my homeland and been forced to sing and entertain an audience of the Third Reich. I have escaped in the dead of the night into the unknown. And, mark my words, I shall destroy all members of the Nazi Party that I encounter. They shall feel the wrath of my anger and meet their doom. I swear it upon the Mother Abbess.” Georg finished his rant in a yell, staring at the twins. Lila handed him a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his forehead. </div>
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“Nutty. Um, jeez; lemme think. My life seems so boring now! Well, my Dad went to India for business last summer and he said he ate a dog. That’s pretty wild,” said Winston.</div>
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“Hey, our Mom went to India last summer, too! For some paint color seminar,” burst out Jessica, forgetting that she was blessing everyone with the silent treatment. </div>
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“How strange—I wonder if they crossed paths at all!” exclaimed Elizabeth.</div>
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<em>Oh, I’m sure they did,</em> thought Bruce, smirking. <em>I bet that’s not all they crossed. </em></div>
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Bruce had overheard plenty about Alice Wakefield, the twins’ smoking hot mother. Apparently Alice and his father had had a thing back in their college days. After pounding back five too many Scotches one night at home, Hank had confided in Bruce that Alice had a hormonal disorder that kept her looking freakishly young. It also kept her sex drive running freakishly high. Hank had unfortunately passed out before Bruce could press him for more details. </div>
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“Anything’s possible, I guess,” said Winston pleasantly. He poked Merry in the ribs. “Your turn, Mr. Merry. Regale us with one of your wildest and most shocking stories—if you have any!”</div>
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Merry giggled once more and Bruce cringed at the cloying sound. </div>
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“Well, upon one full mooned evening, my trousers had been shed and my nether regions had been inadvertently covered with honey. A flock of geese had somehow found their way into my hut and they began to fight over—”</div>
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“Hey—does anyone hear that?” cried out Bruce suddenly. “Sounds like a horse running towards us.”</div>
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The group froze to listen. No sooner had they stopped moving when a huge stallion burst through the trees in front of them. Lila screamed and Bruce felt his own deadened heart seize in nerves. Though he’d seen plenty of horses at the betting track and even owned sixty back home at his estate, this horse was easily three times their size, with glossy, raven-black fur. </div>
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On top of the massive horse sat an imposing man dressed in tarnished armor and oxhide, with long sandy-brown hair and several days’ worth of stubble.</div>
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“Halt! I command your aid at once,” declared the rugged man. </div>
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“Aragorn? Could that be you?” asked Frodo. “Whatever are you doing in the Lothlórien Forest?”</div>
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“Yes, ‘tis I, amicable hobbits. I have heard of your journey to destroy the Ring, but there is a pressing matter that must be tended to first. Lady Arwen is in danger,” replied the man.</div>
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The hobbits gasped in unison.</div>
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“You know this guy?” asked Bruce, confused. “Who’s Arwen? What’s going on?”</div>
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“Yes, Bruce, we know Aragorn well. He has helped Hobbiton on multitudinous occasions and I would trust him with my life. Aragorn, what is it that concerns you?” asked Bilbo.</div>
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“Lady Arwen has been captured and frozen within a block of ice. It looks to be the work of Gollum,” replied Aragorn.</div>
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“That’s Lord Sauron’s pet, almost as monstrous as he,” whispered Samwise to Bruce before he could ask. </div>
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“Oh, no! That sounds awful. How can we help?” asked Elizabeth, stretching her hand up to Aragorn’s shoulder in vain.</div>
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“I require your three strongest menfolk,” replied Aragorn. “We will travel to Arwen—she is nearby—and we shall free her. It shan’t take long but I cannot do it alone.”</div>
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“Our help you shall receive. Bruce, Georg and Winston—you will go with Aragorn. Help him swiftly and return to us at once. Our journey must continue tonight, whether you are with us or not,” stated Gandalf. </div>
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Bruce opened his mouth to protest, then saw the stern look on Gandalf’s face and thought otherwise. He groaned instead.</div>
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“Fine, Angora; let’s get this over with,” he said. The three men stepped forward to go with Aragorn. Georg embraced Lila while Winston locked eyes with Merry. </div>
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“We can all fit upon my horse. Grab my hand,” commanded Aragorn, and one by one they were pulled on top of the gleaming horse. Bruce begrudgingly wrapped his arms and legs around Aragorn’s powerful body.</div>
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<em>Is he seriously wearing leather pants?</em> Bruce wondered. <em>Reminds me of the ones Aaron Dallas wore that one Halloween. </em></div>
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Before he could think more, Aragorn gave a slap to the horse’s rear and they set off into the forest, traveling at speeds faster than Bruce had ever reached in 1BRUCE1.</div>
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“Be careful!” cried out Elizabeth after them, her words lost in the distance.</div>
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The horse galloped over hills and jumped a river in a single leap. Bruce could hear Winston screaming in fear and felt Winston’s arms tighten around his waist. Just as Bruce was going to holler at him to knock it off, the horse came to a sudden stop in front of a cave. </div>
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“Lady Arwen is in here,” stated Aragorn. The group dismounted and followed him inside, running to keep up. Bruce could barely see ahead of him and ran blindly until he turned a corner and saw her.</div>
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She was, like Aragorn had said, trapped in a huge block of ice. Bruce stared, captivated. Even through the frosty ice her beauty was instantly apparent. Her cocoa-brown hair was long and lustrous, flowing over her shoulders in frozen waves. Her cherry-red lips were opened in a silent scream for help, yet looked soft and inviting. </div>
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And her eyes . . . Bruce had never seen eyes so blue, eyes that looked like the sky after a soft spring rainfall. Her eyes were complimented by the long, yellow dress she was wearing, a yellow that reminded Bruce of warm sunshine and new tennis balls and golden coins and everything that he loved.</div>
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“Is this your Fraulein, Sir Aragorn?” asked Georg.</div>
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“Quite the looker!” cried Winston, doing a shimmy and tripping over his substantial feet.</div>
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“She . . . she looks so familiar . . . ” whispered Bruce. His head was racing. Had he met her before? No, that was impossible. But why was his heart beating so fast; why had his palms suddenly become soaked with sweat? Bruce felt powerless with confusion. </div>
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“Yes, this is Lady Arwen. Come, we must begin the ritual to free her. Gather around the ice,” he instructed. “First we must strip off all of our garments. Our bodies must be as exposed as our souls will soon be.” He began to remove his armor and slid his leather pants off in one smooth movement.</div>
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Winston shrugged and yanked off his t-shirt, while Georg began the long process of unbuttoning his military jacket. </div>
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<em>Oh, what the hell,</em> Bruce reasoned. <em>Not like I haven’t seen them naked before. </em></div>
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He unzipped his khakis and removed his polo shirt. He glanced at Winston and saw that he had a huge erection, as seemed to be the norm these days. Bruce had to admit that it was impressive. <em>Damn, Egbert, at least you’ve got that going for you. </em></div>
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Fully nude and partially aroused, the men looked at Aragorn questioningly. </div>
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“To free Lady Arwen, we must each voice a truth that has never been spoken before. A secret that remains deep inside of you, unwilling to be shared or confided with a single soul. It is only with the admission of these truths will the ice melt and Lady Arwen’s life be saved,” shared Aragorn. “I shall go first.” He took a deep breath and remained silent for several moments.</div>
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“'Twas many years ago. I was riding Halbarad, my horse, in the forest. I heard screams and came across a family of tree people, held captive high within their tree. The trunk had caught fire and was burning rapidly. Without a moment’s hesitation, I dismounted Halbarad, climbed the tree and saved each and every member of the tree family. Then I extinguished the fire and made them a hearty supper,” stated Aragorn. </div>
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He breathed a huge sigh of relief. “Never have I shared that tale with anyone before.”</div>
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“Are you kidding me?” cried Bruce. “That’s your deep, dark secret? That you saved a family and were a big-time hero? Seriously?”</div>
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“I had not wished to have acclaim showered over me,” replied Aragorn. </div>
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“You must be a distant cousin of Saint Elizabeth Wakefield,” Bruce muttered.</div>
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“We must proceed. You are next,” Aragorn said, pointing to Winston.</div>
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“Me?! Oh gosh. Um, well, I really don’t know. Oh! Wait. I’ve got something,” stammered Winston. “I don’t really like to admit this, but a few years ago I started running a fake laundry business in Sweet Valley. And my only customer was the Wakefield family . . . just so I could touch Jessica’s dirty laundry.”</div>
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“That’s not a secret. Everyone knows about that! It was in the 'Eyes and Ears' column,” exclaimed Bruce. “Come on, Egbert. Give us something real.”</div>
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“It was? Seriously? Well, that’s unfortunate. Uh . . . okay. Something real.” He stared down at the ground and bit his lip for a few moments. </div>
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“Well, the past few weeks in Middle-earth I’ve been feeling something that I think is real. I think . . . I think I’m falling in love and it’s really scaring me. I don’t want to say anything else.” Winston kept his eyes on the ground and nudged Georg. “Your turn.”</div>
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“Yes, I suppose it is. I am also reluctant to admit my truth, for it is something I carry with me everyday,” Georg glanced at Winston and Bruce. “You two are aware that I was forced out of Austria by the Nazis and into the woods to escape. But what I have not shared is that I escaped with my family. I had seven children: Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta and Gretl. Louisa perished during our journey and Fraulein Maria had left me and well . . . I began to fall apart. I simply could not take it anymore. I left my children at sunrise and I never looked back,” choked Georg. His eyes had filled with tears.</div>
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“You left your kids in the woods by themselves?” asked Bruce. “Aren’t you in the Navy? How could you?”</div>
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“It is a pain that haunts my every moment,” cried out Georg. “I will find them one day and I will make it right!”</div>
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“We must continue. Bruce, you are the final revealer,” declared Aragorn.</div>
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“Okay,” said Bruce slowly. He felt shaken by the emotion of Georg’s secret. Bruce had originally planned on sharing the details from one of his more sordid trysts, but he suddenly knew that it would not suffice. He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.</div>
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“My secret is that I haven’t felt love or joy since Regina died,” he said. “Regina was my girlfriend and my first true love,” he explained to Georg and Aragorn. Winston had been friends with Regina and already knew the heartbreaking story. </div>
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“Regina was the kindest person I’d ever met and she changed me. She turned me from a superficial, stuck-up jerk into a person with a heart, someone who could feel things, someone who could laugh and be silly without worrying what people thought. And oh man, was she beautiful. She was so, so beautiful but it didn’t even matter because I loved her so much. And then I ruined it all. I made a few mistakes and took her for granted and it led her down a bad road. She tried drugs once and her heart couldn’t take it and it killed her. And deep down, I know it was my fault. </div>
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“And ever since then, my heart has been dead. It’s closed. I can smile and I can act like I’m having a good time, but I’m not really there. I can sleep with women and I can touch them and kiss them but it’s not really me. I am nothing. I’m going through the motions and I don’t even know why because I don’t care. I keep hoping that one day I’ll wake up from this nothing and feel something but it hasn’t happened yet. And I miss her so much and hate myself for what I’ve done,” finished Bruce in a whisper.</div>
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Bruce’s words were met with silence. The four naked men stared at each other, unsure of what to say. Winston’s erection had withered down to a still impressive seven inches. Before anyone could utter a word, a huge cascade of water gushed over their feet. Lady Arwen’s ice had melted. </div>
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Lady Arwen stepped from the ice, her gossamer skin glistening with beads of ice. Her beauty was even more intimidating in person. She spoke to them. </div>
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“I must thank you, brave gentlemen, for revealing your souls and freeing me. You are each full of valor and benevolence, and for that, I owe you my life. Were we in my village, I would present you with sixty pigeon-doves each.</div>
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“I have heard your truths, and Bruce, I wish to speak to you in private,” said Lady Arwen. </div>
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<em>Her voice sounds like cash flowing from an ATM,</em> thought Bruce dreamily. He followed her out of the cave.</div>
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“Bruce, your words resonated deeply within me,” said the still-dripping woman. “When you entered my cave, you yourself looked as cold as ice, hardened and bitter. But you spoke your words and you melted, and I can now see that your soul is kind and loving. And I hope that perhaps I could love you.”</div>
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Bruce’s voice caught in his throat. Did this exquisite goddess truly want to be with him? Was it love that his heart was feeling once more?</div>
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“I . . . I would like that,” he said, his emotions still raw.</div>
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“What wonderful news! We shall be married. I will take you to my village and you shall meet my people,” Lady Arwen cried.</div>
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Bruce’s head began to race, thinking of all of the wonderful things that were about to happen to him.</div>
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“But first, a little something to help me unwind,” she said. She took out a small pouch from her dress pocket and dipped her finger into it, placing the white powder into her nose.</div>
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“What the hell is that?” said Bruce in disbelief.</div>
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“'Tis enchanted powder. It helps to take the edge off of being encased in ice,” explained Lady Arwen, inhaling deeply. She closed her eyes and sighed, her body twitching.</div>
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“That’s freaking cocaine, that’s what it is!” yelled Bruce. “You’re taking drugs!”</div>
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“Do calm yourself. I only take enchanted powder on special occasions or after a taxing day. You have no idea of how irksome Gollum is. ”</div>
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“You don’t need that stuff,” pleaded Bruce frantically. “Can’t you just stop? You could try yoga or something to unwind. We could play tennis!” </div>
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Lady Arwen stared at him, looking deeply into his roasted hazelnut-brown eyes. She held her bag of powder high in the air and then poured it directly into her mouth. </div>
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“Fine. I see. There’s no way I’m going through this again. You’re a fool, Arwen. You can rot in Big Mesa for all I care.” Bruce turned and walked away, leaving behind his chance at a new beginning. </div>
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The men rode back on Aragorn’s horse in silence, all lost in their own thoughts. Elizabeth cheered as they dismounted and the group was reunited. Winston went immediately to Merry and wrapped his arms around him in a long, quiet hug. Georg and Lila kissed.</div>
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Bruce sat down on the ground next to Jessica. She looked just as forlorn as she had that morning.</div>
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“How was your trip?” she asked. </div>
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“I don’t want to talk about it,” he replied. “You still feeling pissy? Gimme your hand. I got something that might make you feel better.”</div>
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“Oh, grow up, Bruce. I’ve had a rough day. Have a heart,” she snapped, stalking away and leaving him alone.</div>
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“Eat me, Wakefield!” he called after her. He looked around for someone to appreciate his joke. There was only Samwise, already passed out cold and wearing no pants. Bruce exhaled hard and let his shoulders slump forward. </div>
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“Goodnight, Regina,” he whispered. </div>
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Bruce lay his head down under the night sky and willed his mind to fall asleep. <br />
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<strong><em>Will Bruce’s heart ever truly mend? Who in the world is Winston falling in love with? Did Georg secretly purchase an eight ball of enchanted powder from Lady Arwen? What’s the true story with Merry and that flock of geese in his hut? AND WHEN WILL MORE EROTICA OCCUR?!</em></strong><br />
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<strong><em>STAY TUNED. </em></strong><br />
</div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-42782900679721026942012-07-24T07:37:00.001-07:002012-07-24T08:08:15.044-07:00Hobbit Heartache, Chapter 11: A Night that Shan't Be Remembered<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SqJ6ykItp18/UAS_dkb2kTI/AAAAAAAACak/uETZJ9ciSL8/s1600/Chapter+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SqJ6ykItp18/UAS_dkb2kTI/AAAAAAAACak/uETZJ9ciSL8/s640/Chapter+11.jpg" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">While Jessica is super attracted to Frodo, she finds herself sometimes wishing he had a moustache. </td></tr>
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I think that part of the reason why <em>Hobbit Heartache, </em>the<em> Sweet Valley High/Lord of the Rings </em>erotic crossover parody, has resonated so much with the general public (Google Analytics tells me that "Hobbit Heartache" has been Googled not once, but MULTIPLE TIMES) is that it's something everyone can relate to. Everyone. I don't think I know more than 30 or so people who can't relate to the timeless love story of a Spring Break in Middle-earth. But through research, I have been able to identify the demographics in which <i>Hobbit Heartache</i> is the most popular with.</div>
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<strong>MOMS</strong></div>
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Moms love <i>Hobbit Heartache</i>. I think it's because it's the original <i>Fifty Shades of Grey</i>, only with more hobbits and hair, which makes it naughtier. Moms tell me that they enjoy Merry the best, because his erotic tendencies provide the best book club discussions. </div>
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<i> . . ."Being blind did not always bother Merry. In fact, he could recall one particular rousing occasion in which he spent an entire evening blindfolded by the hairy hands of Huge Bracegirdle. He had been forced to crawl on his hands and knees for hours at a time, feeling his furry skin contract with goose flesh as it was tantalized by quail feathers, porcupine quills and a leather hat. It was some of the most thrilling thirteen hours of his life . . " </i>Chapter 8, The Land of the Elves</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XEdjwtC-bng/UA4G5_Il-NI/AAAAAAAACbw/Eml7KQHa8Jo/s1600/merry.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XEdjwtC-bng/UA4G5_Il-NI/AAAAAAAACbw/Eml7KQHa8Jo/s200/merry.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(He's obviously still thinking about that leather hat.)</span></div>
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<strong>PARTY PEOPLE</strong></div>
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Party people obviously love this shit. It speaks to them. They just get that Spring Break-kind-of mentality, where you just want to bake in the sun all day long, drink brandywine until you puke, wake up naked wrapped in a giant spider web, throw on some burlap clothes and do it all over again the next day! Party People tend to identify the most with heavy drinker Samwise or the ambiguously promiscuous Bilbo. They also want Jessica and Frodo to HOOK IT UP. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-39E1KU9hkbA/UA4HqVBdd8I/AAAAAAAACb4/2PuJxPDOgyI/s1600/bilbo+is+knowing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-39E1KU9hkbA/UA4HqVBdd8I/AAAAAAAACb4/2PuJxPDOgyI/s200/bilbo+is+knowing.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Is it true what they say about Bilbo and those forty Elves?)</span></div>
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<strong>THE ELDERLY</strong></div>
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The Elderly enjoy <i>Hobbit Heartache</i> because it is the classic tale of good versus evil. They hope that good will triumph over evil and that we will all learn several life lessons along the way. The Elderly enjoy the characters of sensible, one-piece wearing Elizabeth and also the dashing, Nazi-hating Georg von Trapp the best.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JdcgspE2P38/UA4JahSFhhI/AAAAAAAACcI/Mb4nSHmvofM/s1600/responsible+elderly+liz.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JdcgspE2P38/UA4JahSFhhI/AAAAAAAACcI/Mb4nSHmvofM/s200/responsible+elderly+liz.png" width="118" /> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yoQkAcjKm0U/UA4J5ZIE3vI/AAAAAAAACcQ/N_dCQf6t94w/s1600/cpt+vt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yoQkAcjKm0U/UA4J5ZIE3vI/AAAAAAAACcQ/N_dCQf6t94w/s200/cpt+vt.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Nazis don't exist in Sweet Valley, but if they did, Elizabeth would probably talk some sense into them.)</span><br />
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<strong>PRISONERS</strong></div>
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I'm just guessing on this one, but I don't see any reason why a prisoner would not enjoy this story. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BmGDT1wm_KQ/UA6ngFDW5lI/AAAAAAAACc0/E3LuKa1xhnw/s1600/catttts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" sda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BmGDT1wm_KQ/UA6ngFDW5lI/AAAAAAAACc0/E3LuKa1xhnw/s200/catttts.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Groups in which <i>Hobbit Heartache</i> is not popular with:</div>
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<strong>NURSES & DOCTORS</strong></div>
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Medical personnel sometimes become angry with <i>Hobbit Heartache</i> because it can be seen as promoting unhealthy life choices. A Cuban cigar is partially smoked by a high school student in one pivotal scene. Characters skinny dip freely without the slightest mention of sunblock application. A horse is roasted and consumed without a trained Dwarf Chef bothering to ensure that it was properly cooked. Honey is used as a sexual balm. Nurses and doctors still like the book, sure, but they wish that it might be a bit more responsible. Medical personnel appreciate Mr. Jaworski, the chaperone, the best. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6kRi1iR2fvQ/UA4M5lm18FI/AAAAAAAACco/qhdBiNOgpA0/s1600/bruce.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6kRi1iR2fvQ/UA4M5lm18FI/AAAAAAAACco/qhdBiNOgpA0/s200/bruce.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(But they all secretly have a thing for bad-boy Bruce.)</span></div>
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<b>DIEHARD <i>LORD OF THE RINGS</i> FANS</b></div>
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<em>LOTR</em> fans sometimes get a little angry when they purchase the book thinking it's a companion piece to the <em>LOTR</em> novels, when in fact, I have never read or seen anything related to <em>LOTR</em>. They do not appreciate that Frodo is unaware that he is related to Bilbo and is pursuing a romantic relationship with him. They do not like that Samwise is harboring a hidden addiction to brandywine. And they do not like that the <em>Sweet Valley High</em> characters are now in Middle-earth. Diehard <em>LOTR</em> fans do not have a favorite character, because I have ruined them all. </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pgn4pDBpnmE/UA4LntYYYCI/AAAAAAAACcY/jjCFHm8mtg4/s1600/luv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pgn4pDBpnmE/UA4LntYYYCI/AAAAAAAACcY/jjCFHm8mtg4/s200/luv.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(You can't tell me they're not happy together.)</span></div>
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<b>FRANCINE PASCAL/ACADEMY AWARD WINNER CHRISTOPHER PLUMMER</b></div>
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I think it might be something about the "turning her life's work and masterpiece into erotic fanfiction" and "defamation of character" that might have an effect on their enjoyment of <i>Hobbit Heartache</i>. </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I_5q7LE8J3k/UA4MDHvr6kI/AAAAAAAACcg/tgRWDj5s894/s1600/Chap9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I_5q7LE8J3k/UA4MDHvr6kI/AAAAAAAACcg/tgRWDj5s894/s200/Chap9.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Can't win em all.)</span><br />
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But hey, this chapter goes out to all the PARTY PEOPLE OUT THERE! Come join the gang as they travel to Dwarven for a night of brandywine, roasted horse, and yes, perhaps some sexual-related interactions. Gimli awaits!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K0-z-f2LVXA/UAyljYwg9pI/AAAAAAAACbk/YdraU7MI7Tk/s1600/gimli+DTF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K0-z-f2LVXA/UAyljYwg9pI/AAAAAAAACbk/YdraU7MI7Tk/s1600/gimli+DTF.jpg" /></a><br />
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Gimli: Always DTF.<br />
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(Down to feast. That guy can feast like no other.)<br />
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And if you're so very confused about all of this and want to be in the know, well, what better way to spend your summer than inside reading erotic fanfiction chapters on the computer? Get caught up here or <a href="http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/3271065" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: magenta;">here</span></a> (or just talk to me. I have like 20 copies in my room):<br />
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<span style="color: yellow;"><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/chapter-one.html" target="_blank">Chapter 1</a></span> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/01/hobbit-heartache-chapter-six.html" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: lime;">Chapter 6</span></a><br />
<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">Chapter 2</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/02/gift-of-love-hobbit-heartache-chapter.html" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: orange;">Chapter 7</span></a><br />
<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: lime;">Chapter 3</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012_04_01_archive.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Chapter 8</span></a><br />
<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: purple;">Chapter 4</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012_05_01_archive.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: cyan;">Chapter 9</span></a><br />
<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/12/hobbit-heartache-chapter-five.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: red;">Chapter 5</span> </a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012_06_01_archive.html" target="_blank">Chapter 10</a><br />
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Warning: Actual NSFW artwork below. (My first true NSFW tag! I should really stop crying wolf about that.)<br />
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I'm pretty sure <a href="http://familycontact.ca/zak/" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">Zak</span></a> was thrilled to have some actual erotic content to work with. Erotic content and hobbit vomit. I think he handled it tastefully, no?<br />
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<strong>Chapter Eleven</strong></div>
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<strong>A Night that Shan't Be Remembered</strong></div>
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Frodo stood at the wooden gates of Dwarven peering inside at the din. Dwarven was inhabited by sixty or so stocky and misshapen dwarves, and by the looks of it, they were all present and dancing wildly in the town square. The sun had just barely set, yet the dwarves looked as if they had been rejoicing for many hours' time. Sweat dripped off of their faces and traveled the very short distance to the earth. </div>
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“Holy cow,” said Winston, staring with his mouth agape. “They look like they’re on acid.” </div>
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“ . . . Or cocaine,” added Bruce, his sheep manure-brown eyes narrowed with suspicion.</div>
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“Acid? Do dwarves ingest corrosive agents?” questioned Georg. “It seems like it would lead them to a world of indigestion.”</div>
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“They appear as if they have an unlimited supply of brandywine,” whispered Samwise, clutching the gate bars. “How wondrous.”</div>
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So stood the weary travelers in silence for a few moments more, taking in the frenzied scene before them. </div>
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“Well, are we going to stand here and watch these freaks party, or are we going to join?” asked Bruce, ending the hypnotic moment. </div>
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“Yes, Bruce is quite right. Let us enter Dwarven and I shall find my old friend Gimli to see if we can beg hospitality for the evening,” proclaimed Bilbo, marching through the four foot high gates of security.</div>
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Frodo followed warily, overwhelmed by the madness. The jarring songs of kettledrums and copper whistles filled the air and a naked dwarf lady danced by and blew Bruce a kiss.</div>
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“Bilbo Baggins, you son of a whore! Have you come to feast?” a gruff voice suddenly rang out into the air. </div>
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There came Gimli, marching towards the group with a stein of brew. Frodo gaped at the sight of him, his red hair flying wildly about and framing his rough, pockmarked face. Barely four feet high, Gimli still commanded the attention of all around. His clothes were ragged and torn, as if he had just placed victor in a pankration match with a vengeful ferret. His bulky muscles bulged through the holes in his clothes, with veins popping out to say ‘hullo.’ </div>
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Frodo glanced down at his own arms, as spindly and weak as thrice-boiled carrots. He sighed, a musky exhalation of potato-scented breath. </div>
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Gimli slapped Bilbo on his princely hindquarters in greeting, sloshing some of the liquid onto him. Frodo stared as Bilbo’s buxom behind jiggled from the hearty slap and felt a strange yet familiar stirring in his burlap trousers. </div>
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<em>Has a bumblebee perhaps been caught in my underthings again?</em> Frodo wondered, giving his busy slacks a pat. Though the slap had been mighty, Bilbo hardly seemed to mind. A wide smile crossed his floppy face. </div>
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“The last time you visited, you ate thirty horses alone! I do hope we can appease your appetites. I know you have many,” said Gimli, throwing a lewd wink to Bilbo. Frodo began to feel uneasy but did not understand why.</div>
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“Ah, Gimli, ‘tis a well pleasure to see you once again after so many a year. Why, the last time I saw you was during the Celebration of the Greased Boar and you were chained to those five acrobatic dwarves, and the lot of you were doused with fresh candle wax!” exclaimed Bilbo, a laugh bellowing deep from his tender belly.</div>
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“I remember nothing but have the groinal scars to prove it!” cried out Gimli, grabbing the front of his twine trousers. “And I’ll show anyone who says otherwise!”</div>
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Frodo’s stomach turned and he saw Elizabeth wrinkle her nose. Frodo did not trust this Gimli fellow. No, he did not trust him one bit. </div>
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“Rumors tell me that you’re traveling to destroy the Ring, you foolish dungbats! You must be planning on visiting the Land of the Lifeless soon, if that much is true. Ah, Bilbo, you’ve always been a brave varlet, haven’t ye? The finest whore-son I know!” Gimli exclaimed, taking a gulp from his brew. </div>
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Frodo noticed that the burly dwarf had begun to slur his words and had spilled most of his brew onto his bare, dirt-crusted feet. </div>
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<em>How can this unsteady fellow be the leader of all the dwarves?</em> he wondered. <em>And how can Bilbo enjoy his company so? ‘Tis quite the mystery. </em></div>
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“But enough talk of your impending deaths! Join us for a night of revelry as we celebrate the Season of the Feral Cat. Pertonia is roasting the finest of horse meat over by the fire and there are many drinks to be had,” announced Gimli.</div>
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“No horse for me, thanks,” said Winston, his face taking on a definite greenish tinge. </div>
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“Your loss, my long-footed lad. But if you skip on the horse, I insist you indulge in our freshly brewed beer, made of baby gippling marrow.” He thrust his mug into Winston’s hand and whistled. A servant dwarf suddenly appeared with a tray of beer steins for all of them. </div>
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“Have you brandywine?” questioned Samwise, his eyes widening at the sight of the frothy mugs. A second servant appeared and instantly Sam’s hands were both full with his favored piquant elixir. </div>
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“None for me, Sir Gimli,” said Frodo, “for I wish to begin tomorrow’s hike with a clear mind and vigorous step.”</div>
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“Me too,” added Elizabeth, placing a gentle hand upon Frodo’s shoulder. “I’ve found that alcohol doesn’t agree with me much. One time I had a single drink at prom and drove drunk and accidentally killed Jessica’s boyfriend. I had to stand trial for manslaughter, but it all worked out in the end. Jessica was actually the one who spiked my drink—can you believe that?” she said with a laugh, her smile as soft as the distended belly of a burrowed mole. </div>
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“Brambleberry cider it is for the abstainers! Now, drink and enjoy, my new acquaintances. I shall find ye soon enough, but now, I have personal business to attend to,” proclaimed Gimli, scuttling off towards the nude dwarf lady, who was now joined by five more nude dwarves. </div>
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Frodo glanced around and noted that indeed many of the dwarves were nude, and some were fondling others. His eyes widened and he sipped his cider.</div>
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“Merry, care to join me for some roasted equine?” he turned and asked, but Merry was nowhere to be found. Frodo saw that his friends had already joined the party. Georg and Lila were walking arm-in-arm to Pertonia and the roasted horse, Elizabeth was trailing behind Gandalf as he glided to the trees and Bruce had followed Gimli to the nude dwarf ladies. Only Jessica remained by his side. </div>
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“Let’s dance!” cried Jessica, taking his hand and pulling him to the center of the town square. </div>
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And so they danced, and feasted, then danced thrice more. Though Frodo was accustomed to dancing many a jig in the Shire, Jessica performed dance steps he had never seen before. She shimmied her shoulders in coquettish rotations, she dipped her shapely hips and she twirled Frodo in dizzying circles. Not even once did she step onto his feet, which were covered with a fine coating of hair. Frodo felt both mesmerized and perplexed by her sensual movements. </div>
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Soon his skin dripped with pungent perspiration and his throat was parched. He motioned for Jessica to stop her wild dancing.</div>
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“I require a respite, dear Jessica, for your spirited gamboling has left me breathless!” cried Frodo. </div>
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“Well, it just so happens that dancing happens to be one of my many specialities. Here, you rest and I’ll get you a fresh glass of beer,” said Jessica, her face illuminated with silky sweat. </div>
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“Nay, ‘tis brambleberry cider for me,” corrected Frodo. Jessica nodded and darted off into the night.</div>
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Frodo wiped his brow and spotted Georg and Lila dancing. They were performing a dance with many complex turns and the occasional step-hop. As Frodo watched, they executed a turn and then stood frozen with their arms together, staring into each other’s eyes. </div>
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<em>How magical,</em> Frodo thought, his furry heart swelling. <em>They seem to be falling in love. </em></div>
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The longing in Frodo’s own heart was still present, though it had lessened during their journey. Frodo wasn’t quite sure why, but he figured that perhaps being in the company of his most cherished companions, especially dear Bilbo, had helped. </div>
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“Dear, sweet, brave, handsome and resolute Bilbo,” Frodo whispered. </div>
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He swept his gaze all over the crowded square, trying to seek out a glimpse of Bilbo. He saw Gandalf meditating by the trees with Elizabeth gazing over him and he saw Samwise skipping ‘round the fire, a feral cat held high in each arm. </div>
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<em>Is that Merry sitting on Winston’s lap?</em> Frodo wondered in surprise. Before he could ponder further, Jessica pranced up to him, her hands full of mugs. </div>
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“Here, Frodo, I brought you a fresh glass of cider,” said Jessica, swapping his old mug for a new one. </div>
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“I thank you, Jessica,” replied Frodo, taking a sip. “Is this mulberry cider? It tastes different.” </div>
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“Just drink it,” she replied, a strange smile upon her face. </div>
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And so Frodo did. He swiftly drank the entire mug to soothe his parched throat. He felt his cheeks bloom a rosy red and a delightful feeling of warmth begin to spread through his bushy limbs. He smiled at Jessica, and it was a smile of wide-eyed wonder.</div>
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“Would you like some more, Frodo? I can go grab some,” she said sweetly. </div>
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“Oh, yes, I would! More mulberry cider. More! ‘Tis quite delicious,” he answered, rubbing his belly to indicate the beverage’s high quality. </div>
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Jessica smiled and nodded. “It sure is, isn’t it? Now, don’t you go anywhere while I’m gone. I want you to last all night long.” </div>
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Frodo did not understand what she meant but he nodded and began to chant a drinking cheer. When Jessica returned moments later, he was dancing a jig by himself. He grabbed the mug from her hands and took long gulps of it.</div>
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“Let us dance!” he cried, flinging the empty mug into the night sky. This time it was Frodo who grabbed Jessica and pulled her to the square. How marvelous he felt!</div>
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The sounds of wild laughter, whistles, satisfied moans and the crackling of the hearty bonfire filled the air. Frodo could not recall the last occasion he had experienced such splendid merrymaking. He skipped through the town square, throwing his squat arms into the air and spinning under the moon. </div>
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“I feel as if I’ve been bewitched! I’ve been cast under an Elven spell!” he hollered. </div>
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He spun and spun in circles, never wanting to stop. The town square turned into a blur, the bright colors melting into one dwarfish-proportioned rainbow of elation. He felt a sharp pain in his haunches and realized that he had fallen and was now splayed on the ground. Frodo found that quite amusing, and burst into high-pitched laughter. He laughed and laughed and laughed until tears ran down his face.</div>
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“Is he okay?” Frodo heard Elizabeth ask Jessica in the distance. </div>
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“He’s fine, Liz. He just got too much sun today,” replied Jessica, leading her sister away. “Hey, I thought I saw Gandalf go into one of those tents—maybe you should make sure he’s not feeling lonely.”</div>
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“You’re right, Jess. Gandalf really needs a friend tonight. I’ll be over there if you need me,” said Elizabeth. “And please be careful—I think everyone has been drinking pretty heavily tonight. Samwise has already thrown up nine times, Lila has gone to sleep and Bruce went into that naked lady’s tent. And I can’t find Merry and Winston at all! Just be careful,” she warned as she walked away.</div>
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“Merry! I must find Merry!” Frodo cried out from his spot on the ground. “Merry is displeased and never speaks to me anymore.” Suddenly he felt very sad. </div>
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“Don’t be silly, Frodo. Merry’s not mad at you,” said Jessica, kneeling down next to him. “How could anyone ever be mad at you?” she purred, leaning in close.</div>
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Frodo sighed and touched a hand to his forehead, for his head was beginning to ache. He felt as if he were swimming nude in a pool of wool, like the hobbits did once a year when Mabel sheared the infamous flock of Hobbiton sheep. The hobbits would shed their garments and take turns diving into the huge bale of wool. ‘Twas usually Frodo’s favorite day of the year, but he could barely recall the event now. The town music seemed so very loud and Frodo could not ponder for more than a moment.</div>
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“Where are my friends? Bilbo?” he murmured, trying to rise. Jessica gently pushed him back to the ground.</div>
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“Everyone is off enjoying the party and having fun,” replied Jessica. “Don’t you think it’s time we did the same?”</div>
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“Whatever do you mean, Jessica?” Frodo whispered, fighting the urge to shut his hair-covered eyelids. </div>
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“What I mean is that I think we should move our party to one of those tents. And then you and I can get to know each other better,” she said. “Like we were at a Sweet Valley University party. <em>You know</em>.”</div>
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“But I am so very tired,” Frodo said. “Please, I must sleep.”</div>
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“Don’t worry—we’re heading to a bed right now,” said Jessica. “Here, I’ll help you up.” She pulled Frodo to his feet, his dead weight as heavy as a cauldron filled with rabbit and twigbark stew. Together they staggered through the busy square, passing dancing and drunken dwarves.</div>
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Frodo felt a sudden tug on his arm, causing him to stumble. </div>
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“Stand up straight,” hissed Jessica like a chagrined garden snake. “Here come Lila and Georg. Man, Lila looks trashed. Her hair’s all messed up and she’s walking funny.” </div>
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“Good evening!” called out Georg, coming to a stop to converse. “Are you enjoying the party?”</div>
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“Oh, yes; yes, we are,” replied Jessica with haste. “Killer music. But I didn’t expect to see you, Lila. Liz said you went to bed already.”</div>
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“No. Yes. I mean no. I did sleep but now I am here at this party with Georg and other people. There are many people here but no bears; I made sure,” replied Lila stiffly. “You ask too many questions.”</div>
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“Fish! We must be near the ocean!” cried out Frodo suddenly whilst sniffing the air. His nostrils flared and his delicate nose hairs swelled with the unmistakable scent of gilled, cold-blooded, sea-faring vertebrates.</div>
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“Whatever is he referring to?” asked Georg in confusion. “Do you understand, Fraulein Lila?”</div>
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“He is drunk! He drank too much! It has made him crazy!” cried Lila, her brown eyes wide with alarm. “My father is rich and we have four swimming pools!”</div>
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“We know; we know, Lila. Everyone in Sweet Valley has a pool,” replied Jessica, with a tumultuous roll of her eyes. “You’re looking a little rough—maybe you should drink some water. Your skin is super dry and one of your eyes looks wonky.”</div>
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“Fresh salmon! Albacore! Sand dabs!” shrieked Frodo. His hirsute mouth was now watering for a piece of fresh fishery, certain it would help his ailing cranium. </div>
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“Sweet Valley is my home,” replied Lila, gripping Georg’s arm tighter.</div>
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“And Austria is mine, my dearest,” answered Georg, returning her embrace. “That is, until the Nazis drove me away.” He shot a withering look at Jessica. </div>
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“Now, come, Fraulein Lila; let me sing you a song of my homeland while we dance. Au revoir, auf wiedersehen!” he called over his shoulder. </div>
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“Bye, guys,” Jessica said. “Weirdos,” she muttered under her breath. </div>
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“Goodbye, sablefish!” Frodo bellowed with all of his might. He laughed at the sound of his voice, as loud and wild as a muskrat in heat. But his laughter soon made him feel dizzy and he began to moan. </div>
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“Come on; let’s go in here,” Jessica said, wasting not a single moment. She pulled Frodo into a darkened tent. The darkness felt cool and refreshing and the silence was a welcome relief from the sexual kettledrum circle. </div>
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“Lie down,” she commanded, her voice suddenly low.</div>
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Frodo fell onto the meager bed comprised of dried twigs. His eyes shut instantly, as if by magic, and sleep called to him for a few moments. When he opened his eyes next, Jessica was perched atop of him, staring down at his perspiring face. </div>
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“Where is your shirt, Jessica?” Frodo murmured, confused. “Did Gimli take it? Why are you sitting upon me? I have no strength to wrestle.”</div>
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“I want us to stop playing games! I want you to finally kiss me, Frodo. We’ve both been thinking about it for weeks now and I’m tired of waiting,” declared Jessica.</div>
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Frodo squinted his eyes and tried to keep her face in focus. She was so hazy and her words made no sense. </div>
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“Do not ply me with riddles; I beg of you,” he replied. He wished for her to leave him be so he could sleep in peace. </div>
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“Enough! No more power plays,” cried Jessica, anger filling her voice. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, Frodo. You can’t tell me you’re not playing for keeps.” She grabbed his slack hands and placed them onto her bare chest. </div>
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Frodo shrieked, his hands feeling as if they’d been dipped into Hobbiton’s bubbling tar pit. He pulled his hands away as fast as his bilious body would allow. Though her soft bosom had fit perfectly into his petite hands, the feeling of her gelatinous mounds had sent immediate waves of nausea coursing through his body. </div>
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“What in the Fangorn are you doing? Stop it; stop it at once!” he cried. “I do not wish to touch you like that, Jessica.” The room spun and he moaned in pain.</div>
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“What?” Jessica whispered in confusion. “Is it true? Are you actually not in love with me?” </div>
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Frodo could see her face turning rubicund even in the darkness. Her eyes looked wide and lost, her head cocked in astonishment.</div>
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“I must regurgitate,” he announced, leaning to the side of the twig bed and freeing an arcing stream of vomit. Once completed, he immediately became comatose and sunk into a deep, impenetrable sleep. </div>
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As Frodo lay in weighted slumber, he did not see Jessica stand and don her shirt. He did not see her lithe body shaking with rage at his rejection. He did not see her stand above him, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. </div>
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And he did not hear her utter these words as she stormed out of the tent:</div>
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“You’re going to regret this, Frodo. No one makes a fool out of Jessica Wakefield.” </div>
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No, Frodo did not see or hear any of this, but dreamt frightening dreams which were filled with a nude Jessica dousing him with poison, while a drunken Bilbo applauded and danced with glee with Gimli. </div>
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<strong><em>Will Frodo survive the wrath of Jessica Wakefield? Will Jessica handle the first rejection of her life in a mature and non-life-ruining manner? Will Winston regret his hasty decision to skip Pertonia’s roasted horse? Will Bruce soon be the father of a brand new baby dwarf? And is Georg falling in love with Lila or Largo</em></strong>—<strong><em>or BOTH? </em></strong></div>
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
<b><br /></b><br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />
<strong><em>STAY TUNED.</em></strong></div>
Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-45430376456788815102012-07-03T09:55:00.002-07:002013-11-04T12:51:05.087-08:00The First Time I . . . Tried Zumba<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kE7giHgwkIw/T_CWsPzKJGI/AAAAAAAACaM/_wqw4p1dQA4/s1600/zumbapower.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kE7giHgwkIw/T_CWsPzKJGI/AAAAAAAACaM/_wqw4p1dQA4/s400/zumbapower.jpg" height="217" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zumba: Shatter your self-esteem while you salsa!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I am a fitness class enthusiast. I try to attend a class almost everyday. Kickboxing, strength training, cardio boot camp, <a href="http://www.bootycampfitness.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">booty camp</span></a>, core classes, step, even pole dancing. I gladly try them all. You could ask me to go to a new cardio class consisting of lugging full buckets of water around a room with the last 20 minutes spent holding a squat, all in complete silence, and I'd probably say, "Sounds good. Buckets provided or do I bring my own?" And that's because I really like fitness classes.<br />
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I ASKED YOU A QUESTION: BUCKETS PROVIDED OR DO I BRING MY OWN?!?<br />
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That said, there's always been one (1) fitness class that I just couldn't bring myself to try. And that class was Zumba.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/tm7DyRjtWRc" width="420"></iframe><br />
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While I'd always very much enjoyed the voyeuristic thrill of watching people do Zumba, I had no interest in trying it myself. Even though everyone always looks like they're having a blast (Zumba's tagline is, in fact, "Ditch the workout, join the party!"), I just never woke up with the urge to tackle, as <a href="http://www.zumbacan.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Zumba Canada</span></a> puts it, "one exhilarating hour of caloric-burning, heart-racing, muscle-pumping, body-energizing, awe-inspiring movements" all while enjoying "Latin flavor and international zest." I want to wake up, do hardcore cardio until I think I'm going to puke, and then go to work and drink my coffee.<br />
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Sans Latin flavor.<br />
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Zumba instructors also usually wear extremely brightly colored pants, and for some reason, I don't like this. <br />
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So I was pretty comfortable with the fact that Zumba would never be a part of my life. Zumba would be like that weird branch of your family that you meet once at an awkward family reunion and never speak to again or that can of pumpkin pie filling that just sits in your cupboards for six years untouched. You know it's there, you'll probably never interact, and that's just fine. <br />
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And then one day <strong>EVERYTHING CHANGED</strong>. My fellow fitness class enthusiast and co-worker/dear friend <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0d_qsFJVL9A/S4fql9xMJMI/AAAAAAAAAWg/x1crIjs9w4A/s400/metallic.JPG" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Christina</span></a> and I discovered in horror that our beloved morning cardio class had been replaced indefinitely by a Zumba class. <br />
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<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/gif%20shock" target="_blank"><img alt="shock Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" src="http://i345.photobucket.com/albums/p379/rocky6655/gif%20pictures/tumblr_lqm0pw99k81qc0lyz.gif" /></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(thank you rocky6655 from Photobucket for making the gif I always hoped would exist)</span><br />
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Our dismay was real. This was quite possibly the worst news that I had ever heard, EVER. One of my first thoughts was, "Who would DO this to us?!" and I was completely serious while thinking that. Christina might have cried. I don't really know because I blacked out for a good five (5) minutes. When I came to, we had a long conversation discussing the pros and cons of us trying Zumba. <br />
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<em><strong>Pros:</strong> Not having to change our gym morning routine, perhaps rediscovering our sexuality through salsa music and the merengue</em><br />
<em><strong>Cons:</strong> Brightly colored pants, Latin flavor and international zest at 8:00 a.m. on Tuesday mornings</em><br />
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In the end, we decided to suck it up and give Zumba a try.<br />
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But god dammit we were not going to wear the pants.<br />
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"Oh my gosh, weren't you guys nervous? Zumba involves so much muscle-pumping, heart-racing, Latin-inspired dancing!" you might ask. <br />
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No. Well, I mean, yes. Trying new things is always a little nerve-wracking. But Christina and I know our way around a dance floor. We often dance for many minutes at a time in our office. On my resume, I have <em>"BORN TO DANCE!"</em> as one of the fun tidbits in the "About Me" section. You know what? I'm just gonna say it<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;">—</span>we're GOOD dancers. Whenever we dance, people will usually comment upon it.<br />
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Comments like:<br />
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"Oh wow."</div>
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"Well, that's not a very practical move."<br />
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"I'm confused about what it is you two do for a living."</div>
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"Where do you find such shiny pantyhose?"<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R34VDFNkCDk/T-eN5v04MaI/AAAAAAAACX0/z25mh4--jFw/s1600/DSCN4562.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-R34VDFNkCDk/T-eN5v04MaI/AAAAAAAACX0/z25mh4--jFw/s320/DSCN4562.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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"You go girls!" (Thanks, Christina's Mom!)</div>
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So no, it wasn't exactly the dancing part we were worried about. It was just that Zumba seemed so . . . intense. So extreme. So full of sassy strutting. So middle-aged homemaker wanting to find her inner sexy Latina goddess. <br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fmv-uaJTGyA/T-nGWnujjRI/AAAAAAAACYA/vtFaQfD4FM8/s1600/zumba+is+crazy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Fmv-uaJTGyA/T-nGWnujjRI/AAAAAAAACYA/vtFaQfD4FM8/s320/zumba+is+crazy.jpg" height="228" rca="true" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(photo </span><a href="http://www.sallymaisblog.com/2012/04/21/zumba-crazy/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-small;">source</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">)</span><br />
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That's a lot to think about at 8:00 a.m. on a Tuesday morning. <br />
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Christina and I spent the next week discussing how many shots we should take pre-Zumba class (ultimately deciding on 8 each with a water bottle chaser) and alternatively, both trying to think of elaborate excuses that would get us out of going to Zumba. When Tuesday morning came around, I texted Christina to tell her that no, I didn't care if she hadn't gone to the bathroom in six days, WE WERE GOING TO ZUMBA, BABY!<br />
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And off we went.<br />
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There were five of us in the class. Christina and I were the youngest of the bunch, with the eldest being a man who looked about 75. Every single participant looked tired. I looked downright haggard. Christina looked angry, but that may have been due to her alleged extreme constipation. It was plain to see that there was a serious lack of international zest going on in that fitness room. As the instructor, a young, toned, tanned, lithe Latina, looked out at our sluggish group, you could tell she knew she had her work cut out for her. Our class might be able to tackle a few awe-inspiring, heart-racing moves, but it wasn't going to come easy.<br />
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Our class was going to be a little less this:<br />
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And a little more this:<br />
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The class started with a simple step-touch, side to side. Easy breezy. Christina and I gave a knowing nod to each other.<em> We got this.</em><br />
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Then the hips started. And then the arms, each rotating in a windmill-like pattern at different speeds. My brow began to furrow. Then the instructor did some kind of move that involved extending her arms in front, bending over, jiggling her butt at a rapid speed, all with flexed abs and a blas<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">é</span>, <em>you ain't seen nothing yet</em> smile. It was kind of nuts. It was something I imagine Beyonc<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">é</span> doing on a daily basis, even when she was pregnant. It was a move that right away I knew I would never master, not even if I practiced for eight hours each day and purchased brightly colored pants. Christina and I stopped in our tracks and just stared.<br />
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The time was 8:03 a.m. </div>
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Things went quickly downhill from there. It seemed that my pre-teen years of mediocre tap dancing strangely did not translate to the Zumba floor. Each move would start out okay<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">—</span>a basic grapevine. A chasse. A mambo or two. Got it. Bring it on. But then we'd add some "Latin flair"<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">—</span>a hip bump. A shake of the rump. A sassy head nod. Whirling, fancy-free arms. My brain simply did not compute.<br />
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I felt like I had suddenly morphed into <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DC_PACr5cT8" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">Gerry Fleck</span></a>, Eugene Levy's character from <i>Best in Show</i>, forced to dance despite being born with two left feet.<br />
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"I can't dance, I can't dance; I was born with two left feet!"<br />
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Each song was a different Latin music genre and brought its own set of challenges/minor indignities. There was one song that seemed entirely devoted to jiggling our behinds/inner thighs as fast as we could while giving sassy shakes of our heads. I was, of course, positioned directly in front of the 75 year old man for the entire duration of this song. And it's not like I'm against butt jiggling<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">—</span>on the contrary! I encourage it! But I think it takes a special kind of person who is okay with shaking their butt on command at 8:00 a.m. Maybe I'm just not that type of person. This revelation surprised me. <br />
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Beyonc<span lang="EN-CA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", "serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-CA; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">é </span>is obviously that type of person.<br />
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But onwards we went! We Zumba'd our way through "Waka Waka." Through "Tempted to Touch." Through the salsa. The merengue. Christina and I massacred them all with our own special combination of club-foot grace and wooden-hip sass. I tried not to look at her because I knew once we started laughing, we wouldn't stop. It didn't seem to help.<br />
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But the thing with Zumba is that no matter how awkward you feel, eventually you start to relax a bit. The music is kinda fun. If I called things "saucy," I might use that to describe Zumba tunes. I found myself starting to think things like, <i>"Hmm, maybe I could add a little hip pop here; yeah, that'd be nice,"</i> or <i>"My rhythmic butt movements would sure look sweet in a pair of spandex fuchsia pants." </i>I might have even complimented Christina once in a burst of confidence: "Work it, gurl!"<br />
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But there is always a price to pay for hubris. Each time a cocksure thought like that would pop into my head, I would promptly catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. And each time, it was the worst feeling in the world.<br />
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Christina and I didn't look like this:<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NNg5QIFQ9do/T_CAhXpytdI/AAAAAAAACZY/gD_1ywvhI9A/s1600/zumba+pretty+sexy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NNg5QIFQ9do/T_CAhXpytdI/AAAAAAAACZY/gD_1ywvhI9A/s320/zumba+pretty+sexy.jpg" height="242" width="320" /></a></div>
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We didn't even look like this:<br />
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We looked, every time, almost exactly like this:<br />
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<b>OH DEAR GOD WHAT IS WRONG WITH US.</b><br />
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During the hour long class, I mastered the art of locking eyes with our sexy Zumba instructor at the most awkward of moments. Moments with my face twisted in an enchanting grimace, concentrating on my rumba. Mouthing obscenities. Shooting dirty looks to the 75 year old man who was Zumba-ing better than I was. Staring in horror at each new move demonstrated. For the first half of the class, she would offer me encouraging smiles and <i>"You can do it!"</i> pity thumbs-up. Eventually the smiles faded and the thumbs-up stopped. By the end, I felt we had reached a mutual, unspoken agreement to avoid direct eye contact.<br />
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Do I blame her? No. It was self-preservation. Would you actually want to encourage something that looked very similar to this?<br />
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No. Don't even pretend you would. You would not.<br />
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Our hour with Zumba was a very long hour. Entire work days have flown by faster. Battles have been fought and won in the span of our salsa song. And during that hour, it seemed like everyone in the gym decided it was the perfect day to pause by our class window to take a gander at us "dancing."<br />
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<b>Everyone. </b><br />
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Each time I looked out the window a new person was there. The gym manager, standing with a clipboard and nodding attentively. The cleaning lady, taking a break from her tasks. Potential gym-joiners taking a tour of the facilities and staring, mouths agape. Gym-goers I hadn't seen in months. I'm pretty sure an ex-boyfriend was there, delighting in the scene. And I'm even more certain that whenever I go for my next interview, the boss will remark, "Say, didn't I see you in a Zumba class three years ago? You were doing a body roll and crying, correct?" and I will be forced to remove <i>"BORN TO DANCE!"</i> from my resume.<br />
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. . . On second thought, NO. Dancing is in my blood and they CANNOT TAKE THAT AWAY FROM ME.<br />
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Shakira, Shakira.<br />
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Thirty hip bumps later, our hour mercifully came to an end. Christina and I jetted out of there, anxious to reach the solace of our usually non-butt jiggling office. It took awhile before we could discuss what had taken place in that room. We reassured each other, <i>"Nah, you were really starting to get the hang of it by the 10th song,"</i> and <i>"I really enjoyed your interpretation of the rumba." </i>And then we just laughed and laughed.<br />
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My personal recommendations for improving Zumba? Remove the mirrors. All of them. Turn off the lights. Put black sheets over the windows so no one can see in and watch. Offer optional blindfolds for the participants. Change the class time to 3:00 a.m. to catch the post-bar crowd. I think I'd <i>kill</i> Zumba after prepping with a night of heavy drinking.<br />
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Q & A:<br />
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<b><i>Was Zumba the workout for you? </i></b><br />
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No. Not at all. Not even a little bit. No.<br />
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<b><i>Do you hate Zumba?</i></b><br />
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Well . . . I might have hated it a little bit. But I don't want you to think I'm trashing Zumba. I know lots of people who LOVE it, have a blast doing it and are able to lose themselves completely in the music. And that's awesome. Whatever makes you want to workout is the right choice for you. And I will say that Christina and I laughed waaaay more at ourselves during our one hour class than in any other fitness class I can recall. So that is certainly something. Right?<br />
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<b><i>Will we return? </i></b><br />
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Probably not. Give me push-ups. Give me jumping jacks. Make me run, do agility drills, burpees, whatever. Just please don't make me salsa dance.<br />
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<i><b>Do you still consider yourself a good, all-around dancer who can comfortably dance in all genres?</b></i><br />
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Yes.<br />
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Sassy and sexy readers, have YOU ever tried Zumba? What was the most awkward you've ever felt at the gym? Is there a certain physical activity that you refuse to try? Is salsa dancing in front of strangers your personal nightmare, or just mine? Please share and don't forget to include pictures.</div>
Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-80560939324364684272012-06-19T07:16:00.001-07:002012-06-19T07:16:47.019-07:00Hobbit Heartache: Chapter Ten<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>WHO WANTS TO GET NAKED?!? </b></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eu1XsxwVezg/T96ZYugXZjI/AAAAAAAACV0/RTXvgdQGaZc/s1600/chapter10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-eu1XsxwVezg/T96ZYugXZjI/AAAAAAAACV0/RTXvgdQGaZc/s640/chapter10.jpg" width="392" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Samwise's secret struggle with brandywine addiction ultimately cost him and Lila the chicken fight. </td></tr>
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(Sorry. I've learned that the best way to get people reading this blog is to include lots of what you might call "buzz words." I think I understand buzz words. They're things like "nipples." "Wild, untamed hair." "Tanned, glistening elbows." "Bilbo Baggins naked." Stuff like that. So don't be surprised if you see words like these sprinkled erotic hobbit burlap thong throughout.)</div>
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But ahem. That is all beside the intensely sexual and blonde point. </div>
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The important thing is that it's almost summer! Halter top and miniskirt weather is upon us! All I wanna do is eat frozen yogurt and play in the park! And then take off all of my clothes and swim in a freshwater pond with size six beauties and several excessively hairy menfolk! WHO'S WITH ME?!</div>
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<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/confused%20gif" target="_blank"><img alt="confused gif Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" src="http://i932.photobucket.com/albums/ad169/assuringlynerdy/MOVING%20PICTURES/tumblr_l9c38rj7w51qzmzb5.gif" /></a><br />
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Pretty sure that once he thinks about it, like realllllly thinks about it, he'll be in.<br />
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If you have similar aspirations, well then, it's your lucky day. Because in this latest chapter of <i>Hobbit Heartache</i>, the <i>Sweet Valley High</i>/<i>Lord of the Rings</i> erotic crossover parody, we're about to go skinny dippin'!<br />
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Like my Mom always says, it's not Spring Break until you're swimming naked with Gandalf the Grey. </div>
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So grab your trusty glass of brandywine (chilled, of course), remove all of your clothes (yes, even the twine loincloth) and head down to the local freshwater pond for the time of your life. And then open your laptop, try to connect to whatever Wi-Fi network is available out in the woods, click on my blog (you've memorized the link, right? I sure hope so), and then read the chapter below. And don't forget the sunscreen! And to let someone know where you're going and when you'll be back! And to feed your cats before heading out for the erotic skinny dippin'! You should still try to be responsible even when in the presence of rock hard hobbit abs. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(I'm nailing these buzz words!)</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o2W1-CZo6xU/T9ZGbtLpY1I/AAAAAAAACVc/lc1cHrZxUfM/s1600/10-caveofwonders-colour-ver2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" fba="true" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-o2W1-CZo6xU/T9ZGbtLpY1I/AAAAAAAACVc/lc1cHrZxUfM/s640/10-caveofwonders-colour-ver2.jpg" width="576" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In a moment of uncharacteristic generosity, Bruce undressed <br />
ever so slowly to allow everyone to savor the moment. </td></tr>
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Trying to get your Canada Day/Fourth of July shopping done early? That's smart. I wish I could be like that. <i>Hobbit Heartache</i> prints are available from the amorously artistic <a href="http://vimeo.com/zaktatham" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Zak Tatham</span></a>, 4 for $20! Please, I implore you, think of your country.<br />
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<strong>Warning: Possibly NSTRAAW</strong> (Not Safe to Read Aloud at Work)<br />
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<strong>Chapter Ten</strong></div>
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“Does anyone need a water break?” asked Elizabeth with concern. </div>
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The sun was beating down upon them and they’d been hiking for hours with no rest, much like the time the gang became lost in Death Valley on a routine school field trip. Since Pippin’s slaughter, the mood had been a little less lighthearted than before. The group hadn’t laughed in over a week, not even when Winston tripped over his monstrously large extremities and fell ten feet into a deep canyon.</div>
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“We’re fine; let’s just push through,” replied Jessica flippantly. </div>
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Elizabeth gave her a stern look and subtly gestured towards Samwise. The hobbit had been hiking slowly and unsteadily with his head hanging down ever since Pippin’s death. Elizabeth could tell with just one look that not only was Samwise’s heart broken, but he was extremely intoxicated as well. His usual smell of musky beetroot was tinged with the faint yet persistent odor of bile.</div>
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<em>If there was ever anyone who needed my help, it’s Samwise,</em> she thought. </div>
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“Let’s take a ten!” Liz announced firmly, stopping in her well-trodden tracks.</div>
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“A fine idea from a most precocious lady,” agreed Georg, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. Bilbo stopped and removed his sandals. “Frodo, my feet?” he beckoned.</div>
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The group dispersed, most heading for the shade of the trees. Lila and Georg strolled off together, spiritedly discussing the merits of Italian villas. Elizabeth pulled Samwise aside discreetly.</div>
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“Samwise, I hope you don’t mind me saying this,” said Elizabeth kindly. “But you don’t seem to be doing so well these days.”</div>
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Sam shrugged. “I admit there have been days past that have treated me with higher regard.”</div>
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“What is your home life like? Do your parents love you?” Liz asked, her caring brow furrowed. </div>
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“Well, I was born to a blacksmith and a sheep spinner—” Sam began.</div>
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“Did you ever think that perhaps you should accept some of the blame for your alcoholism?”</div>
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Samwise took a step back as if he had just been slapped. </div>
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“In Hobbiton, we tend to mind our own affairs,” Sam replied curtly. “As well, hydration is very important. Perhaps if you’d stop chasing after Gandalf the Grey like a wanton hussy, you would have a moment to reflect upon your own faults!” He stalked off into the woods. </div>
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“Think about what we talked about, Sam. I’m always here for help,” Elizabeth called out after him happily. She always felt most satisfied after successfully solving someone’s problems. She chuckled to herself over Sam’s joke about her having faults. </div>
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<em>Samwise may be a severe alcoholic, but he sure has a sense of humor. </em></div>
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Humming her favorite Droids tune with perfect pitch, Elizabeth rejoined the group. They were sitting on the grass, covered with a layer of sweat and dirt. It seemed to have gone up twenty degrees in the past hour alone. Jessica had fashioned her halter top into a stylish bandeau and Winston and Bruce both had taken off their shirts. </div>
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“Everyone looks like they’re melting!” Elizabeth said, keenly accessing the situation with her journalist’s mind. </div>
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“Bilbo, we’re dying here,” said Winston. “Is there a local swimming pool or something? An ice cream shop? A lemonade stand, even?”</div>
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“I could certainly go for one of Casey’s sundae creations right now!” Liz exclaimed jubilantly. Bruce rolled his eyes. </div>
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“My friends, it is uncharacteristically warm for spring. But worry not, there does indeed happen to be a freshwater spring up just ahead,” replied Bilbo. “If it so pleases you, we could fill our canteens and perhaps even dip our feet into it.”</div>
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“Um, yes, it would so please me,” said Bruce. “I feel like I’m actually in hell right now. The only way this could be worse is if there’s some kind of hobbit freshwater song that you have to sing.”</div>
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“There surely is and it is a haunting yet poignant melody. Frodo, will you lead us with the first verse?” replied Bilbo.</div>
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With Frodo’s steady warble filling the humid air, the group hiked with a new spring in their steps. And sure enough, after about ten more minutes of hiking Elizabeth could see a shimmering dot of blue up ahead. They all ran towards the water, except Georg, who hastily marched. Liz made a mental note to pull Georg aside when she next had a chance to discuss his marching problem. </div>
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She sighed with relief when they reached the water, a refreshing breeze lifting her angora-like hair off of her un-broad shoulders. </div>
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“Who’s coming in with me?” called out Jessica, her mellifluous voice filling the air like the sound of a thousand flutes perfectly tuned to A major. </div>
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“But Jess, we don’t have our swimsuits. All of the luggage was lost in the bus explosion,” said Liz, her adorable cerebrum momentarily confused. </div>
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“Don’t be such a prude, dear sis,” replied Jess. “One doesn’t have to wear a bathing suit to swim.” She raised a photogenic eyebrow flirtatiously at Frodo. </div>
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“Jessica is correct. We hobbits swim in nothing but our bare hides,” stated Frodo.</div>
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“Oh yes, it feels smooth and luxurious upon your skin, as if someone were pouring goat’s cream all over your body,” added Merry. Elizabeth looked away. She couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable around Merry for some reason. </div>
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<em>He’s always touching his pants,</em> she thought, commending herself on a cunning observation. </div>
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When Elizabeth looked back, Bilbo had already taken off his clothes. Her innocent face turned bright red at the sight of his low-hanging belly, which thankfully obscured the view of his nether regions.</div>
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The rest of the hobbits followed suit and ran splashing into the water. Lila took one look at the naked hobbits and their flopping male parts and turned away in disgust.</div>
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“I’m going to sunbathe in that clear patch over there,” she said. “If you need to find me, I’ll be the one far away from the pack of naked wolfmen.”</div>
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The Sweet Valley gang and Georg lingered on the edge of the water, uncertain. </div>
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<em>I’ve never seen so much hair before!</em> Liz thought, watching the hobbits frolic in the water. <em>It’s like they have bathing suits made of fur. Todd and Steven sure don’t look like that. </em></div>
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The thought of Todd sent a slight pang of guilt coursing through her accomplished spinal cord system. She hadn’t thought about her longtime boyfriend for days because she’d been spending so much time talking to Gandalf.</div>
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<em>I can relate to Gandalf more because we’re both academics. That’s the only reason why I talk to him so much. </em></div>
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“What are we waiting for?” cried out Jessica. “Come on, we’re probably never going to get out of Middle-earth alive. Let’s have some fun on Spring Break before we die!” She tore off her trend-setting top, slid her suede miniskirt down to the ground and ran to join the hobbits in the water. Winston gasped at the sight of her nude, perfectly sculpted body. He sank to his knees and kissed the ground.</div>
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“I can die happy now, dear Lord,” he proclaimed. “My one wish in life has just been granted.”</div>
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“I will not be doffing my clothes,” announced Georg. “It is not the proper way to conduct oneself in public. I shall swim in my undergarments.” He removed his hunting jacket and carefully hung it on a tree, stripping down to a full-length beige woolen jumpsuit. </div>
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Elizabeth stole a look at Gandalf, who was standing by himself off to the side. She gave him a gentle smile, to which he acknowledged with a curt nod and looked away. She sighed, a wistful exhalation of sweet-smelling breath.</div>
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<em>I don’t know what it is, but I just get this strange feeling that Gandalf doesn’t like me. But that can’t be right. I’ve given him loads of advice and I’ve interviewed him at least five times. I even promised him that he’d make the front page of The Oracle, as long as Penny says yes. What else could he want? </em></div>
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<em>Well, maybe Gandalf wants a girl who’s a little wild, Liz reflected. And Jess is right, it’s Spring Break! Elizabeth Wakefield, it’s time to cut loose. </em></div>
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She pulled her honeyed hair into a neat French braid and unbuttoned her khaki capri pants. </div>
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“Liz, what are you doing? Are you going nekkid, too?” exclaimed Winston in shock.</div>
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“Maybe I am, Winston. How about that?” Liz said with false confidence. She unzipped her pants and pulled them down. She started to remove her underwear but found she couldn’t. That may have been fine for Jessica, but that just wasn’t her. Liz stood demurely in her cream-colored Swiss lace bra and matching full coverage underwear. </div>
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“Race you to the water, Win!” she called out, dashing ahead. She glanced back and saw that Winston had dropped his pants and was sprinting towards her. </div>
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<em>Oh my,</em> Liz thought, her electrifying eyes widened. Winston’s genitals were extremely large. <em>Who would have ever guessed that? Todd doesn’t even have genitals!</em></div>
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They ran into the water with Bruce and Georg following behind. Liz felt a splash and turned to see Bilbo behind her with a wink. Jessica jumped onto Frodo’s shoulders for a chicken fight between Winston and Merry, and they all tumbled into the water, laughing. </div>
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“Hey, look who decided to join us!” called out Jessica when they emerged. Everyone turned to see Lila creeping into the water.</div>
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“Whoa, nice suit, Fowler,” said Bruce, eyeing Lila’s thick white undershirt and shorts. “Are those thermal?”</div>
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“Oh, yes. I bought them in Paris, France. The France in Europe. My father is quite wealthy, you know,” replied Lila stiffly. </div>
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“Have you always had a lazy eye, Lila?” asked Winston, peering at Lila’s face.</div>
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“Yes,” answered Lila. “I attend Sweet Valley High with you.”</div>
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“Oh. Okay. Hey!” cried Winston, distracted as Merry sent a tidal wave of water his way. </div>
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Liz cocked her streamlined head and observed Lila. Something seemed not quite right. Lila’s hair, normally glossy and smooth, was thick and frizzy. Her legs, usually hairless and tan, looked stubbly and pasty. And her voice seemed hoarse, like Lila was catching a cold. </div>
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<em>I should really go make sure Lila’s feeling okay,</em> Elizabeth thought with concern, watching Lila wade over to Georg. <em>Being lost in the forest with no clothes or supplies is no excuse to let your hygiene go. I thought Lila knew better.</em></div>
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But before Elizabeth could intervene, her discerning eye caught sight of Gandalf sitting alone on the shore, looking pensive. </div>
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<em>I better make sure Gandalf doesn’t feel left out. He’s so quiet! I think he needs a friend.</em></div>
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Liz trekked out of the water and plopped herself down next to Gandalf on the sand. Her Swiss lace bra and underwear had turned translucent in the water and a faint outline of Liz’s dainty carnation-pink nipples could be seen. Liz caught Gandalf glance at her chest, then cringe and recoil. </div>
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<em>He’s nervous to be around girls,</em> she realized. <em>Poor Gandalf. He doesn’t know how excitingly handsome he is!</em></div>
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“Don’t feel much like swimming?” she asked, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder.</div>
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“I care not for swimming, but prefer to spend time thinking of the vast universe that surrounds us all,” replied Gandalf, staring off into the horizon. </div>
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“It’s okay to have body issues and not want to be seen in your swimsuit,” said Liz. “Sometimes my best friend Enid complains to me about her body. She thinks she’s ugly because she doesn’t look like me.”</div>
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“Appearances can vary greatly, but ultimately matter not. We experience alike the few primal emotions regardless of physical exteriors,” said Gandalf, stroking his long, white beard.</div>
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“One time we went to a spa and Enid was brainwashed by the spa director into almost having plastic surgery. She tried to get rid of her freckles and everything! That’s why I’m glad that I look like me. I don’t have any freckles,” Liz said helpfully. She watched Gandalf running his fingers through his beard. <em>I wish Todd could grow facial hair,</em> she thought.</div>
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Gandalf remained silent, seemingly lost in thought. Liz reached out again.</div>
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“Are you considering plastic surgery?” Liz asked. “I sure hope not. I think your looks are just fine, Gandalf.” She gave him a shy smile. </div>
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“You misconstrue my words once again, Elizabeth. I must admit that I find it tiresome to engage in endless conversation with you when you seem to comprehend little to none of what I speak,” spoke Gandalf. “The world is immense and you have much to learn.”</div>
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“Yes, you’re right. I love to learn. One time Jess and I spent a week at Sweet Valley University, where my brother Steven sometimes goes to school. We got to go to college classes and everything! But then I had to pretend I was Jess so she could get into a sorority and Jess fell in love with a sixteen year old, and it was a mess. So I can really understand what you mean, Gandalf.” </div>
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“You understand naught.”</div>
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“Look at Merry and Winston! It looks like they’re trying to imitate dogs or something!” called out Liz, pointing to the water and laughing with delight. “Winston’s such a clown. What’s he doing on top of Merry like that?”</div>
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Gandalf looked at the two and shook his head. “It is time for my solitary meditation amongst the forest trees. I shall return shortly.” He turned and walked off into the forest without so much as a backwards glance at Elizabeth. She watched his white robes flow with his fluid movement, his staff gripped tightly in his wise hands. </div>
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<em>I love our talks,</em> Liz thought with pleasure. <em>We both teach each other so much.</em></div>
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Just then panicked shouts from the water caught Elizabeth’s valued attention. Everyone was dashing in to the shore as fast as they could. Liz watched Bilbo’s belly bounce up and down with exertion. Unlike last time when she had averted her consoling eyes from Bilbo’s naked body, this time she saw it all. </div>
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<em>So shrivelled and white,</em> she observed. <em>Like a boiled mushroom in the snow. Oh, that could make a nice poem for The Oracle; I should remember to work on that later.</em></div>
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“What’s wrong, everyone? How can I help?” Liz cried out, running to join the group. </div>
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“The Ring burned dear Bilbo’s velvety skin!” cried Frodo, pointing at Bilbo. </div>
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Sure enough, there was a small, red circle burned into Bilbo’s chest, at the precise spot where the Ring had been hanging on a leather rope around his neck. </div>
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“Oh no! Let me see. I used to be a candy striper at the hospital so I understand medical issues,” Elizabeth said, moving closer to Bilbo to inspect. His naked penis brushed up against her well-exercised leg. Elizabeth turned bright red and tried to subtly move the three inches of wrinkled skin away from her. </div>
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“This looks awful. We need some butter,” she swiftly diagnosed. “Or is it mustard?”</div>
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“Sorry, Dr. Wakefield, fresh out of mustard. Any other brilliant recommendations?” asked Bruce dryly.</div>
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“If you place fresh penguin dung upon a burn, it will help to aid healing,” said Lila suddenly. Everyone froze and stared at Lila, who tugged at her undershirt and cast her eyes downward. “I’ll be right back,” she blurted out, turning and staggering into the forest.</div>
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Elizabeth locked confused yet bespangled eyes with Jessica, who shrugged, nonplussed. Elizabeth turned her attention back to the injured Bilbo.</div>
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“Maybe if we put some dirt on top of it,” she mused, staring at the fresh wound.</div>
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“Do not be foolish.” Liz turned to see Gandalf suddenly next to her, appearing out of nowhere. “This wound is a sign that cannot be misconstrued,” he continued.</div>
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“Do tell what you mean,” urged Bilbo. </div>
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“This is a message from Sauron himself. It means that we must continue in our journey and waste no further time with such idle activities. Sauron grows angry in his wait for the Ring,” stated Gandalf.</div>
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The hobbits had turned pale at the mention of Sauron, but Elizabeth didn’t quite understand. </div>
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“We are traveling to give the Ring to Lord Sauron?” questioned Frodo, his hairy face pale with fear. “You did not tell us this, Bilbo.” </div>
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“I did not know it myself until now, dear Frodo. I could only feel the pull from a mysterious force, drawing us closer to our end destination. I knew I had to trust this force, and now the purpose is clear. The Ring is the ultimate expression of power; of course it is something that Sauron would desire,” replied Bilbo, his finger anxiously tracing the ring-shaped wound on his chest.</div>
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“What is Sauron?” Elizabeth asked. “Why are you all so frightened?”</div>
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“Sauron is the lord of all things evil in Middle-earth,” explained Frodo. “He will kill us without a doubt when he lays his demonic eyes upon us. He has no soul and can suck the soul out of those who do. We will die painfully and slowly, and he will laugh with glee as he watches.”</div>
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“Oh, Frodo! That sounds awful!” whimpered Jessica. “You’ll have to protect me!”</div>
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“Is this fellow German?” enquired Georg. “Has he political affiliations?” </div>
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“Christ, this Spring Break just keeps getting better and better,” muttered Bruce, pulling on his chinos.</div>
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“Winston! Merry! Get ahold of yourselves,” whispered Liz to the two, who had been giggling and slapping each other on their naked backsides throughout Gandalf’s announcement. They had both emerged from the water with large, erect sexual organs. “I know this is exciting news, but you’re being inappropriate.” </div>
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“Come, don your garments, everyone. We must travel on in haste. The dwarf town of Dwarven is near. If we hike with speed, we can make it there by nightfall. Gimli, the head dwarf, owes me a favor. He will host us for the evening,” announced Bilbo. “Let us meet by the hopdragon bush in four minutes’ time.”</div>
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The group dispersed. Elizabeth grabbed her striped polo shirt and pulled it over her agile head, happily noting that her nipples were no longer erect. They had really made Gandalf uncomfortable. </div>
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Lila strolled up to the group, looking bronzed and relaxed. </div>
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“We’re leaving already? Hey, what’s on your chest?” she asked, pointing to Bilbo’s wound. </div>
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<em>She’s really lost in her own world,</em> Liz thought. <em>It’s just insensitive. </em>She added it to the long list of items to discuss with her party members.</div>
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Fully clothed once more, the group set off for Dwarven. Liz settled into her usual hiking spot next to Gandalf, relishing the opportunity to talk to him about important social issues. </div>
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“Gandalf, do you like Christmas or Valentine’s Day more?” she called out, enjoying the sigh of contentment that her question elicited from him.</div>
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<em>Today was a great day for us,</em> Liz reflected. <em>Gandalf really bared his soul to me.</em> She shivered with anticipation at the thought of their upcoming night in Dwarven. <em>Maybe tonight he’ll bare even more!</em></div>
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<strong><em>Will Gandalf ever reveal which holiday is his favorite? Will Elizabeth’s scandalous wish be granted in Dwarven? Are Lila’s thermal undershorts straight off the Parisian runway? And is Lord Sauron really as cranky as he sounds? </em></strong></div>
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<strong><em><br /></em></strong><br />
<strong><em>STAY TUNED. </em></strong></div>
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</div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-23998976744607814872012-06-12T07:19:00.002-07:002012-06-12T07:19:58.027-07:00The First Time I . . . was Duped by Craigslist<div style="text-align: justify;">
I've been feeling the itch to get back to some writing/blog posting lately. Posting that doesn't involve hobbits or Sweet Valley High (gasp!<i> </i><em>. . . or was that a cheer? . . .</em> ) or erotic combinations of the two (2). Not that it hasn't been fun, it's just that sometimes you wanna think outside of Jessica Wakefield's box. You know?</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C4ZibHofF30/T7LLkfQW6ZI/AAAAAAAACRs/IBxkpwAJoD8/s1600/liz_shock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kba="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-C4ZibHofF30/T7LLkfQW6ZI/AAAAAAAACRs/IBxkpwAJoD8/s1600/liz_shock.jpg" /></a></div>
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Oh calm down; I'll still be thinking of you guys way more than any healthy, gainfully employed person should.<br />
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I want to get back into other projects. Back into<span style="color: yellow;"> </span><span style="color: black;"><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/01/cut-it-out-organic-flax-plus-maple.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">letters</span></a> (you know, when I send extremely detailed letters to companies and wait months only to receive a generic form letter with my name misspelled in response . . . I miss that) and back into plain old writing. Which is why I'm beginning a new blog project<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">—</span>a way to share stories, both extraordinary and completely ordinary. It will be a continuing series called "The First Time I . . . " followed by an experience.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span">It could be something very personalized to me, like </span>"The First Time I . . . Got My Wisdom Teeth Removed and Discovered I had Five of Them" or "<span class="Apple-style-span">The First Time I . . . Received a Proposal of Marriage from an Egyptian Man Who Offered my Parents Fifty Camels for my Hand" or "The First Time I . . . Played <em>The Flight of the Bumblebee</em> in Front of My Entire High School While Wearing a Bee Costume." Or something more commonplace that everyone has been through, perhaps "The First Time I . . . was Completely Humiliated at School." (Like most good stories, mine involves 8th grade, a cute boy and vomit and <i>still</i> makes me feel very sorry for myself when I think about it.)</span></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UgTAFE4PW-M/T9dJOXuxpII/AAAAAAAACVo/yiCRB9_0MYE/s1600/Beesam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" fba="true" height="266" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UgTAFE4PW-M/T9dJOXuxpII/AAAAAAAACVo/yiCRB9_0MYE/s400/Beesam.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Was I nervous to do this? Yes. Did I screw up? Yes. Did I have bangs that were one inch thick until I was 18? Also yes. </div>
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The best part about this new series is that anyone can contribute with their own experiences. Oh, what fun! I'm one of those people who likes to know every little detail about someone (common questions that I ask of my roommate Velvet include, "So you had pizza for lunch today? Any toppings? And you were wearing that new shirt? The one with the mock turtleneck and the cat print? How's the fit on that?"). If you're not one of those kinds of people, well, then, get back to reading <em>Hobbit Heartache</em> or whatever it is that you do. And what'd you eat for lunch today, anyway?<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a6okt4en_AA/T8Qf3Zt-29I/AAAAAAAACTU/ulzCHQwgLx8/s1600/GG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a6okt4en_AA/T8Qf3Zt-29I/AAAAAAAACTU/ulzCHQwgLx8/s200/GG.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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I had a box of Great Grains. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(If you <a href="https://www.google.ca/search?q=great+grains&hl=en&rlz=1T4GGLR_enCA265CA286&prmd=imvnse&source=lnms&tbm=isch&ei=BU_FT7LfJ6Xu0gG74LTbCg&sa=X&oi=mode_link&ct=mode&cd=2&ved=0CEsQ_AUoAQ&biw=1255&bih=820" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Google Image</span></a> Great Grains, I'm currently the 9th result! Resume has been updated.)</span></div>
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So here's the first one: <strong>"The First Time I . . . was Duped by Craigslist."</strong></div>
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Well, the first time I ever used Craigslist was actually the first time I was ever duped.</div>
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I will say that I have since used Craigslist successfully many a time. I have received free hair ribbons, purchased She & Him tickets, found a garage sale or twenty. One time I bought a tent that was advertised for two adults but clearly was meant for just one large child. But you know what they say<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">—</span>the first cut is the deepest. And he who laughs first laughs the loudest. And a bird in the morning is worth two in the desert. I'll confirm it<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">—</span>they're all true.<br />
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I bet this gal's never been duped by Craigslist. </div>
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The duping occurred shortly after I had just moved to Toronto, the city I had been so desperate to live in for the past four years of undergrad. I was living completely on my own for the first time in my life in a basement bachelor apartment. It was gorgeous. Exposed concrete everywhere (like exposed brick, but way more elegant); glossy, fake-hardwood flooring which was pretty much <i>almost</i> finished (who cares about the corners, anyhow?) and snug ceilings which grazed my head and gave me a sexy, new, slouchy-cavewoman-kinda gait (ergonomics be damned!)(Oh, and I should maybe mention that I'm five foot four. Too short to even qualify for the <i>America's Next Top Model</i> "short models only" pity season). </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QD2-6MoCyZQ/T8LRvG_doWI/AAAAAAAACSw/5Ac8moVwpCo/s1600/ANTM+shorties.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QD2-6MoCyZQ/T8LRvG_doWI/AAAAAAAACSw/5Ac8moVwpCo/s320/ANTM+shorties.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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But Miss Tyra, I wanna be a model, too. </div>
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Whenever it rained, I knew I could look forward to waking up in three (3) inches of water and seeing more of my crappy belongings destroyed.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tj9Getb2RkE/T52p-W35OII/AAAAAAAACOA/U73nqylFlTI/s1600/DSCN1535.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tj9Getb2RkE/T52p-W35OII/AAAAAAAACOA/U73nqylFlTI/s320/DSCN1535.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Water stains added a kind of chic, lived-in, earthy feel to my sweet bachelor pad. Do you know how hard it is to obtain an earthy feel for your place? I was so grateful to learn I could scrap my plans for an interior designer early on.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IexHRibwWQ0/T52qiWT9hsI/AAAAAAAACOQ/bXDAe_I8mds/s1600/DSCN1539.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IexHRibwWQ0/T52qiWT9hsI/AAAAAAAACOQ/bXDAe_I8mds/s320/DSCN1539.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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And best of all, there was MOLD!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MsbCfIXdzgA/T52qVihsJII/AAAAAAAACOI/9bN1Pu8lw84/s1600/DSCN1544.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MsbCfIXdzgA/T52qVihsJII/AAAAAAAACOI/9bN1Pu8lw84/s320/DSCN1544.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I regularly wore rain boots with pajamas inside my house. I was unemployed. I knew a total of four (4) people in the entire city and I was pretty sure that one of them actively disliked me.</div>
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I spent my days walking around my new neighborhood and sitting in a dog park creepily watching dogs and reading library books. I was lonely and bored and most of all, I was broke. I hated coming home to my dark square of confinement, which was smelling more and more like the distinctive musk that is wet gym bag each day. I needed a companion. And money. And groceries. But mostly money.</div>
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So I decided to check out the trusty "Casual Encounters" section of Craigslist, specifically the "Unusual Fetish" subcategory and . . . <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rsNwu5R3VFw/T8QqlmhF4BI/AAAAAAAACT0/PfsmRyn6S2c/s1600/liz+shock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rsNwu5R3VFw/T8QqlmhF4BI/AAAAAAAACT0/PfsmRyn6S2c/s1600/liz+shock.jpg" /></a></div>
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JUST KIDDING. Calm down. No, no, that story doesn't happen for another couple of years. JUST KIDDING. </div>
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I decided to try cat-sitting. I figured it would be easy money, give me someone to talk to about all those dogs I saw earlier that day in the park and basically offer me all of the joys of owning a pet, but with none of those pesky long-term responsibilities. What could ever go wrong?!</div>
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I confidently answered an ad to cat-sit for three (3) weeks. (Let me state here that I much prefer dogs to cats, but the idea of trapping a dog inside my yard-less cube was just too mean. So a cat it would be.) The guy responded and we set up a date for me to come over and meet the cat that would be sat.</div>
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"Things are looking up!" I thought as I made the walk to his place. "Soon I'll have a pet to love! A constant companion for twenty-one days! And money to buy a new pair of rain boots for the house!" I had a great feeling about this. I'm sure in my mind's eye my walk over looked very similar to this:</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JeHRyJ8tNAw/T8LYf8WsvFI/AAAAAAAACS8/AwnflLB4bj0/s1600/Julie-Andrews-is-trippin-ballz..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JeHRyJ8tNAw/T8LYf8WsvFI/AAAAAAAACS8/AwnflLB4bj0/s400/Julie-Andrews-is-trippin-ballz..jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I met him at his apartment (with nary a cell phone, rape whistle or escape plan in mind! Innocent as a rose, indeed) and got my first glimpse of a black ball of fur hiding under a table.</div>
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"This is Money," he said. "Like the basketball player." </div>
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"Oh," I said. "Yes. The basketball player."</div>
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I hoped that nodding many times and vigorously would wordlessly convey my vast knowledge of basketball players and their curious names. And it turns out that you should never underestimate the power of a vigorous nod, because the rest of the meeting went well<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">—</span>Money didn't seem to have any immediate violent reactions to me; I managed to demonstrate that I would be mostly capable of remembering to feed Money twice a day, etc., etc. It was agreed that I would cat-sit for Money for the following three weeks. And I didn't even end up needing an escape plan!<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cPZChkrOpq0/T8QrKy3QfmI/AAAAAAAACT8/IZODlsUG0lo/s1600/money+man.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cPZChkrOpq0/T8QrKy3QfmI/AAAAAAAACT8/IZODlsUG0lo/s200/money+man.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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. . . Money the basketball player?<br />
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Money's first week at my house was an eventful one. Our bond was instantaneous and our chemistry undeniable. She spent most of her time hiding under my bed, preferring the dark, cramped futon frame to my company. She ignored my constant calls of <em>"meow?"</em> and emerged to eat only when I left to return my library books and check in at the ol' dog park.</div>
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But slowly, slowly, progress was made.</div>
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Sometimes I could tempt her into the daylight with cat treats. The exposed concrete brought out her ebony highlights nicely.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8oiTEdbNPjQ/T7RlxTC_FyI/AAAAAAAACSM/yA7r8dWT7bw/s1600/100_0191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8oiTEdbNPjQ/T7RlxTC_FyI/AAAAAAAACSM/yA7r8dWT7bw/s320/100_0191.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The day I came home and found Money perched on top of my bed was a beautiful, beautiful day.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9g6WOFV4o10/T52r4OCVd4I/AAAAAAAACOg/6H1pkrqVU18/s1600/100_0212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9g6WOFV4o10/T52r4OCVd4I/AAAAAAAACOg/6H1pkrqVU18/s320/100_0212.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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DID WE JUST BECOME BEST FRIENDS?!?</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fYtuPL-sgHE/T8Qsc8QcxxI/AAAAAAAACUE/7tridQey-Hs/s1600/bffs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fYtuPL-sgHE/T8Qsc8QcxxI/AAAAAAAACUE/7tridQey-Hs/s1600/bffs.jpg" /></a></div>
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Things went smoothly after we hit the "not cowering in fear under the bed" landmark. I was now permitted to pick up Money for brief periods of time. Sometimes we'd chase after the tiny clusters of mold spores drifting through the air or we'd splash through the puddles on my floor, and oh, how we'd laugh. My cute little hellhole was starting to seem a little less hellish. Also a lot more covered in cat hair, but hey, you can't have it all.</div>
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Here's the first picture of Money I sent to my Mom:</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CPZso6mO23w/T52q7WCEt7I/AAAAAAAACOY/BoLcGLU9CRc/s1600/Photo+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CPZso6mO23w/T52q7WCEt7I/AAAAAAAACOY/BoLcGLU9CRc/s320/Photo+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Our bond is pretty apparent, right? I've read enough Cosmos in my lifetime to learn that you can tell a lot from body language. <br />
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The three weeks flew by and I soon grew sad knowing I'd have to give this mysteriously named cat back to her rightful owner. But hark! What was this? I one day received an email from the owner, saying that he would be out of town longer than he thought, and would I perhaps mind watching Money a little bit longer? He'd pay me more, he assured me. I very eagerly replied that I'd be happy to watch her for a few more weeks. And he was even able to continuously drop off cat food and supplies to my house, despite being out of town. Sweet! And logic defying! But mostly sweet!</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_jTNMfOZJlE/T8PjHCdw1FI/AAAAAAAACTI/mhhmZTiPns0/s1600/100_0190.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qba="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_jTNMfOZJlE/T8PjHCdw1FI/AAAAAAAACTI/mhhmZTiPns0/s320/100_0190.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So Money and I continued on as roommates for a few more weeks. And then another email arrived asking for an extension. The owner was still traveling—could I do another few weeks? You bet your bippy. And then it was the holidays, and those are always busy—I could watch her, right? Sure. And then he had to inexplicably move into a new, non-cat-friendly place. But it was only temporary—one more month? Well, all right . . . by this time, my keen and perceptive brain had begun to suspect a pattern was developing. The emails were becoming shorter and the excuses more vague.<br />
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And then one day, the emails just stopped. As did the drop-offs of cat food and supplies. My emails to him went unanswered and after a few years I decided it was probably time that I start buying some cat food.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7KkzZB0lQYU/T8VK7DNJmuI/AAAAAAAACUw/STLGgugwpp8/s1600/MONEY.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rba="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7KkzZB0lQYU/T8VK7DNJmuI/AAAAAAAACUw/STLGgugwpp8/s320/MONEY.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
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Even long-haired cats need food, I've learned.<br />
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Sometimes I wonder about what happened to him. Did he intentionally run a Craigslist ad to begin a very lengthy and complicated process of getting rid of his cat? Perhaps. Did he eventually just forget that he once used to own a cat and wow, it's been a few years, wonder where that thing went? Somewhat likely. Is he locked up in the slammer for an underground betting circle on professional basketball? Yes. That is what I believe. <br />
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And then other times I worry that I'll receive an email from him out of the blue demanding his cat back. My plan if that happens is to ask for payment for my diligent cat-sitting duties of the past five years. It should pay for a pretty sweet retirement of at least a month.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LFB_M1CKcS4/T8Q022d2CYI/AAAAAAAACUc/uD5cDfvrEt4/s1600/dream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LFB_M1CKcS4/T8Q022d2CYI/AAAAAAAACUc/uD5cDfvrEt4/s1600/dream.jpg" /></a></div>
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Sound of Music tour, here I freakin' come!</div>
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But by now Money has become such a part of my life that I can't imagine things without her. She's seen me through many milestones and has scratched me at least 300 times. </div>
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She was there for me during the iron-deficient haze that was the "<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/04/cut-it-out-vegan-march.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Vegan March is Over</span></a>" celebration .</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6aiOp3wRAwM/T7LSSr0AJ3I/AAAAAAAACR4/O2rPCvjzNs0/s1600/vegan+march.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" kba="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6aiOp3wRAwM/T7LSSr0AJ3I/AAAAAAAACR4/O2rPCvjzNs0/s320/vegan+march.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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For the "I Didn't Hire a Lawyer and it Only Took Me Three Years to Get My Green Card" fete. <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v6gHNjMASrc/T8QoK64DL5I/AAAAAAAACTo/_0LrlabjZRs/s1600/GC+party.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-v6gHNjMASrc/T8QoK64DL5I/AAAAAAAACTo/_0LrlabjZRs/s320/GC+party.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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For the "I'm Giving Up on Life and Wearing Sweatpants to my Birthday Party" Party.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vIGn9dIStk4/T7Rj6ZG2hHI/AAAAAAAACSE/aUlSZoTHJLQ/s1600/bdaysweatcat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vIGn9dIStk4/T7Rj6ZG2hHI/AAAAAAAACSE/aUlSZoTHJLQ/s320/bdaysweatcat.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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For the Demon Exorcism Ritual of oh-nine.<br />
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She's there for my friends, too, like during the aspirin-filled aftermath of New Year's Eve 2010.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jBS3ludygD4/T7wJGyTKtcI/AAAAAAAACSk/E27jGFnZbOM/s1600/Money+NYE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qba="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jBS3ludygD4/T7wJGyTKtcI/AAAAAAAACSk/E27jGFnZbOM/s320/Money+NYE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And so much more. </div>
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Oh, how I love this elegant cat o' mine. </div>
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And that, my friends and people who were hoping this post would involve a sexy Craigslist dating scandal, is how I was duped by Craigslist and the cat named after a basketball player came into my life.</div>
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But hey, this isn't just about me. Have YOU ever been duped by Craigslist? Been majorly ripped off? Cluelessly corresponded with a spambot for an embarrassing amount of time? Had a Craigslist-created first date that didn't turn out as planned? Been disappointed with your way-too-small children's tent? (Is there ANYTHING worse than this?!) Inadvertently adopted a pet for life? Visited the Unusual Fetish section? (<em> </em><span style="font-size: x-small;">. . . just thought I'd slip that in here . . .)</span> If you've got a story, please share in the comments! Let's revel in our foolishness together. </div>
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Also please tell me ASAP if you know of a basketball player named Money. </div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 16px;">PS—Just </span>for fun, here's a look at how my very first place in Toronto is doing today. I pass by it often on my walk to work and recall my few asthma-inducing months spent there. The owner has wisely made a few changes in the decor. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jkvjCx-GIXc/T8_4Ey2SCEI/AAAAAAAACVI/AxmyydlgD4k/s1600/DSCN7796.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jkvjCx-GIXc/T8_4Ey2SCEI/AAAAAAAACVI/AxmyydlgD4k/s320/DSCN7796.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Did I forget to mention the exquisite French doors? How lucky was I?!</div>
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Landfill chic: always in. </div>
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<br /></div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-68190780266182708832012-05-14T07:36:00.001-07:002012-05-14T07:36:27.436-07:00Hobbit Heartache—Chapter 9: The Family von Trapp<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's official: I have mastered Photoshop.</td></tr>
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Just when you thought you were getting a grip on things . . .</div>
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Just when you were starting to think this was just another run-of-the-mill <em>Sweet Valley High</em>/<em>Lord of the Rings</em> erotic crossover fanfiction story . . .</div>
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Just when you were starting to grow bored of the overdone "evil cat-owning doppelganger from Antarctica seeking Sweet Valley High blood" storyline (like seriously, didn't Charlaine Harris do that in her last book? Or maybe it was Ken Follett, I don't know but it was someone) . . .</div>
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Well, guess what. It's all about to change.<br />
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(This is just like on <em>The Bachelor</em> when they announce big changes like 10 [ten] supermodels will now be competing with all the regular, only-somewhat-plastic-surgeried-contestants and do we think this will change anything or when on <em>America's Next Top Model</em> they announce that it's a surprise double elimination week and now two [2] beautiful girls will stand in front of Tyra and be forced to cry.)<br />
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Basically I'm telling you that you should be making a face that's similar to the ones below. <br />
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Preferably like the white t-shirt girl. <br />
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But hey! Fret not! For this is happy news. A new bachelor has entered the game. His name is Captain Georg von Trapp.</div>
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You may call him Captain. Captain Georg von Trapp. </div>
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Now, a handful of you may recognize Georg from an underground cult film called <em>The Sound of Music.</em> It had a pretty small release, played mostly in campus art cinemas and then quietly faded away, now known only to the most extreme of cinephiles. </div>
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A rare production still. </div>
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Or you might recognize him because I was lying before and <em>The Sound of Music</em> is one of the most beloved movies in the world and is a recommended film to watch if you enjoy singing, goatherding or are a human. If you haven't seen it, I would love to watch it with you. Then we can look at pictures from <a href="http://fuckyeahcaptainvontrapp.tumblr.com/">this</a> amazing tumblr together.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nXT-a_GJE9Q/T6wxp15VYjI/AAAAAAAACP4/epsQ_zyA7cA/s1600/georg+dreamy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="214" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nXT-a_GJE9Q/T6wxp15VYjI/AAAAAAAACP4/epsQ_zyA7cA/s320/georg+dreamy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It may require several hours. </div>
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ANYWAY. To briefly and inadequately sum up <em>TSOM</em>, it tells the beautiful tale of a melancholic Austrian Naval Captain (our man Georg) who feels distant from his seven (7) mischievous children after his wife has died. Instead of being a proper father, Georg hires governesses from the local Abbey to look after his wild brood. The kids tear through these governesses at a frightening speed with their tricks and general assholerly (the ol' frog in the apron pocket trick; who hasn't been there?) until Fraulein Maria arrives. </div>
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Sassy, sexy, singing Fraulein Maria.</div>
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The children fall in love with her, Georg falls in love with her, basically everyone falls in love with her except for the Georg's former fiance. Oh, and the Nazis. Who have been slowly taking over Europe throughout all of this merrymaking. Georg is a righteous and honorable man who refuses to pledge allegiance to the Nazi Party, forcing the family to flee Austria in the middle of the night after giving the performance of their lives at the Salzburg Music Festival (seriously, they nailed it. First place. Fraulein Schweiger didn't stand a chance!).</div>
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You go gurl. </div>
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<br />When we last saw Georg in <em>TSOM</em>'s<em> </em>final scene, he was hiking into the safety of the Swiss Alps with his new wife (yes, his former governess!! #SalzburgScandal #myfirsthashtagandIfeelawkward) and all seven (7) children to escape the looming threat of the Nazis. </div>
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Things were looking up for our friends. Pretty, pretty, prettttty up. </div>
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But in <em>Hobbit Heartache</em> land, things have taken a sad turn for the family von Trapp. Hopelessly lost on their quest for the Swiss Alps, the von Trapps begin to fall apart. Georg's strength is tested. His whistle becomes rusted, so to say. Will Georg and the <em>Lord of the Rings</em> and <em>SVH</em> crew eventually cross paths in the wild? Will paranoid Georg instantly assume the blonde, blue-eyed Wakefield twins are secretly Nazis and hatch a plan to kill them? Will the aristocratic Lila Fowler catch Georg's wealthy eye? </div>
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You'll have to read to find out. But the answer is yes. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-16PS5LzD1LU/T6w_hx3ZpVI/AAAAAAAACQU/m2xxwOB7L9E/s1600/twins+happy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="226" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-16PS5LzD1LU/T6w_hx3ZpVI/AAAAAAAACQU/m2xxwOB7L9E/s320/twins+happy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Nazis? Not Nazis? Only eight (8) more chapters of <em>Hobbit Heartache</em> will tell . . .</div>
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Just coming on board? I'm not sure what's going on in your life that led you to make that decision, but I'm glad to have you. Here's what you missed in one (1) handy, recycled recap (spoilers abound):</div>
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<em>It's Spring Break and the Sweet Valley High gang has landed in Middle-earth! A freak accident leaves them stranded in the forests of Middle-earth, where they happen to merge paths with a group of fun-loving and sexy hobbits. Bilbo, Frodo, Merry, Samwise and Pippin are happy to have the extremely tanned teenagers join their journey to find and destroy a beautiful and powerful ring. </em></div>
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<em>Feelings and fur start to fly as the group travels forth. Jessica has fallen hard for Frodo, but his eyes sure seem to linger intently on Bilbo, much to Merry's hidden rage. Elizabeth believes she has found her academic soulmate in Gandalf, but he appears reluctant to return her feelings. Samwise struggles to control his hidden brandywine addiction, while Pippin's lighthearted antics serve only to annoy Lila and Bruce. Distracted by excessive hair and hormones, the group fails to realize that they are being stalked by Lila's evil doppelganger, who has traveled all the way from Antarctica to take over Lila's life. </em></div>
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<em>Our most recent visit with the gang saw them travel to the ominous Land of the Elves. Winston and Merry struck up a friendship, while Frodo remains clueless to Jessica's feelings. In exchange for possession of the Ring, the Elf King Elrond demands that a sacrifice of hobbit blood must be made. After a vote, it is ruled that ______ will be sacrificed, and a shocking slaughter takes place</em> (I'm not saying who; just read Chapter Eight, lazybones). <em>Heartbroken and exhausted, the group must now continue in their quest to destroy the Ring. But will they ever be the same?</em> </div>
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Probably not.</div>
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As always, chapter links for playing catch-up:</div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/chapter-one.html">Chapter One</a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html"><span style="color: yellow;">Chapter Two</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html"><span style="color: magenta;">Chapter Three</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html"><span style="color: orange;">Chapter Four</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/12/hobbit-heartache-chapter-five.html"><span style="color: lime;">Chapter Five</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/01/hobbit-heartache-chapter-six.html"><span style="color: red;">Chapter Six</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/02/gift-of-love-hobbit-heartache-chapter.html">Chapter Seven</a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012_04_01_archive.html"><span style="color: yellow;">Chapter Eight</span></a></div>
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If reading pages of text on a computer screen isn't your idea of fun but you are still extremely invested in the mind-boggling tale of <em>Hobbit Heartache</em>, don't forget it is <a href="http://www.blurb.com/bookstore/detail/3180018" target="_blank"><span style="color: magenta;">available now</span></a> in real, actual book form. </div>
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Now go read. But first, a detailed recap of my week, beginning with the first rays of Monday's gentle sunrise, followed by...JUST KIDDING I swear I hate recaps just as much as you do. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With no drapes to be found, the von Trapp family had to resort to the <br />
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(As usual, the beautiful and semi-nude artwork is by <a href="http://deathsperate.net/" target="_blank"><span style="color: yellow;">Zak Tatham</span></a>, who makes each chapter just that much better.) </div>
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<strong>Chapter Nine</strong></div>
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<strong>The Family von Trapp</strong></div>
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Georg von Trapp stopped and rested a moment, pulling off his felt fedora to wipe his damp forehead. He glanced at the crumpled object he clutched in his hand, stained and damaged beyond recognition. He heaved a despondent sigh. </div>
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<em>This damned marionette is useless,</em> he thought. <em>I would be best to discard of it immediately. </em></div>
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But Georg knew that wasn’t possible. That wooden and cloth goatherder marionette was the last remnant he had of his family. Once known all throughout Salzburg as The von Trapp Family Singers, their prosperous musical career had been cut short by the looming threat of the Nazis. Georg and his newlywed wife Maria were forced to flee Austria and head for the safety of the Swiss Alps. With them were his seven children—Liesl, Friedrich, Louisa, Kurt, Brigitta, Marta and the little one, Gretl. </div>
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The perilous journey had started well. Liesl, the oldest at sixteen, had helped Maria to take care of the younger children, often carrying Gretl for long stretches of time. When the children’s play clothes grew tattered and stained from the outdoors, Maria fashioned them new ones out of pine branches and bark strips. Though it pained Georg to see his children roaming about the mountains dressed like savages, the children loved them. And when inclement weather struck, truly there was no one better to have around than Maria. Even Kurt, his youngest son and a pansy of a boy, could manage to curb his frightened sobs to listen to Maria sing them through the frequent hail and lightening storms.</div>
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Though the hiking was difficult, Georg and Maria were still in a state of newlywed bliss and filled the cold nights with quiet yet passionate lovemaking. Maria was the best lover that Georg had ever had, so much warmer than that cold fish Elsa and the countless forgettable girls from when he was serving overseas. Maria’s love gave Georg the strength to keep hiking, day after day after endless day. </div>
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<em>We’ll make it home one day soon,</em> he reminded his family everyday. In the beginning, he had really almost believed it.</div>
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<em>My Dearest Georg, though it pains me so I must leave you,</em> the note read, <em>for my heart belongs to another. I have gone to live with Herr Max Detweiler. He promises a life full of love and security. He also believes that my musical talents and seamstress skills will be able to make me a star in Prague. He possesses the faith in me that you never had. </em></div>
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<em>Tell the children I will love them always, even Louisa. </em></div>
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<em>Cordially,</em></div>
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<em>Fraulein Maria</em></div>
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<em>Uncle Max,</em> Georg had raged that grey morning in his makeshift tent. <em>Goddamn Uncle Max. </em></div>
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He had always thought Max was a homosexual, what with his penchant for pink lemonade and children’s choirs. <em>Oh, Herr Zeller will just love it when he gets ahold of this news. I’ll be the laughingstock of all of Salzburg,</em> he thought, his face twisted into a bitter scowl. He wondered if he should contact any of his old acquaintances from the Navy to take care of Max, but quickly dismissed the idea. He couldn’t afford to attract any attention and risk giving away the von Trapp’s location. </div>
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The family von Trapp did not fare well without Maria. The children, brokenhearted and angry, reverted to their old troublemaking ways. They quarrelled with each other often and refused to sing on command. Liesl began to sneak into the woods each night, returning to her tent to sleep for only a few hours before the sun rose. She would not elaborate as to her whereabouts, refusing to relent under Georg’s militant interrogations. Georg could on occasion hear her distant cries of “Wheeeeee!” slicing through the night air as he lay awake in his tent. </div>
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<em>She better not be drinking champagne without my consent,</em> he glowered. Liesl grew sluggish and her frequent mood swings frightened the children. </div>
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Friedrich also exhibited strange behavior. He approached Georg in private and enquired if he possessed any pictures of Baroness Elsa Schräder, Georg’s attractive old flame. Georg did, having covertly tucked a small portrait into the side of his boot before leaving his estate, and agreed to lend it to Friedrich for a short period of time. He then began to notice Friedrich stealing away from the family while hiking for fifteen minutes at a time, returning with his blonde hair dishevelled and his fair cheeks flushed. Friedrich also insisted on having his own sleeping tent, kicking Brigitta and Kurt out to sleep in the cold. </div>
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“I’m a man now, Father! When will you finally see that?” he cried. “I have needs and urges!” Georg rolled his eyes and issued Friedrich ten demerits for his lack of cooperation.</div>
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<em>Discipline. That’s what this family needs,</em> Georg thought with increasing fervor as he watched his family fall apart. <em>Discipline. </em></div>
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Perhaps discipline could have saved the von Trapp’s, but Georg wasn’t afforded the chance to see. The family von Trapp experienced mixed emotions when Louisa suddenly perished after one of her notorious pranks went awry. Her malnourished body quickly succumbed to the poisonous venom from the snake meant for little Gretl’s bed. </div>
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<em>She really had it coming,</em> Georg reflected. <em>How many times did I warn her of those damned pranks? Ah, well. </em></div>
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The family laid a meager bouquet of wildflowers on Louisa’s shallow grave and continued on their way. A certain peace seemed to have come over them, as Louisa’s vexing attitude and visage were no longer a bother.</div>
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That peace was short-lived. </div>
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He could still recall the look on Liesl’s face when she told him the news. She hung her head in shame, shifting uncomfortably in her now-bulging bark strip dress. </div>
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It wasn’t that the two didn’t seem to be in love. It was obvious that Liesl was quite enamored with the fellow, her blue eyes lighting up as she described how they had met on a hike and courted each other. She quite literally sang his praises.</div>
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<em>“Oh Father, he dictated me thirty telegrams in one night!”</em></div>
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<em>“He’s promised to take me for a ride on his sailboat once we make it out of here!”</em></div>
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<em>“Nicholas knows everything about technology, Father, and he’s even made an appearance on the television box!” </em></div>
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<em>“We both have dead sisters!”</em></div>
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<em>“He’s not a member of the Third Reich!”</em></div>
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Georg was confounded. He grilled Liesl about her suitor. Morrow, his surname was, which he instantly recognized as a family of North American wealth. When he met Nicholas, he could see why Liesl repeatedly referred to him as a “certified hunk.” Georg had to concede that the chap was eloquent.</div>
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“Sir, I promise I can lead you and your family to the safety of the Swiss Alps. I know them well ever since my deaf sister Regina, may she rest in peace, had to move there to undergo surgery to restore her hearing. It was a miracle, sir! All of Sweet Valley rejoiced. I went to visit her often and discovered a love of mountain climbing. When she passed, I was lost with grief. I decided to leave the family business and go live in the mountains. And that’s where I met Liesl and I discovered joy again,” Nicholas said, lovingly patting Liesl’s plump belly. “I would be honored to join your family and escort you to Switzerland.” </div>
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Georg considered Nicholas’ words. The proposition of bringing his family to safety and ending their nightmare was certainly tempting. They could make a home once again, and poor Marta could finally obtain medicine for the rash that had ravaged all of her body. Then a moment of clarity hit and Georg realized he was in danger of losing his daughter, much like he lost his wife and other less important daughter. </div>
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<em>Empty promises,</em> Georg thought, <em>and deception. To impregnate my daughter and then imply that I’m incapable of keeping my family safe. The gall of this young man! And he hasn’t even served in the Imperial Navy! </em></div>
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His decision was made.</div>
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“No daughter of mine will be an unwed mother. You have shamed your family and the very name of von Trapp, Liesl. You have shamed all of my associates, including Frau Schmidt and Franz. Most importantly, you have shamed Austria. I ask you to pack your things this minute and return to the Abbey.” </div>
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As his eldest daughter said her final <em>auf wiedersehen</em>, Georg stood frozen in spot. </div>
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“I always knew you still needed a governess!” Georg shouted after Liesl, his grief emerging as anger. And though Georg usually experienced a thrill when banishing someone to the Abbey, this time he felt nothing but pain. </div>
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And so another von Trapp was gone. The family hiked each day as usual but Georg took no pleasure from life. When he realized he had forgotten Marta’s birthday for the third year in a row, he offered to sing his and Liesl’s favorite duet “Edelweiss” with her as a present. Marta was sharply out of tune and whined of severe pain. He began to realize that a growing part of him despised his children.</div>
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Georg awoke early one morning and watched the sun rise over his family’s battered tents. At one point in his life he had believed that he was a brave man. He was even decorated by the emperor, for Christ’s sake. But hiking lost through the mountains with five children, always answering their questions about where Fraulein Maria went, why did Liesl leave, <em>“we’re so hungry, Father,”</em> is Louisa really dead, <em>“why are these strawberries blue, Father?”</em> never having just one, JUST ONE goddamn moment of silence. He could take no more. </div>
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He pulled on his equestrian riding pants, hunter green woolen jacket and his felt fedora. After gathering all of their food, Georg walked over to the children’s tents. He knelt and placed his silver whistle on the ground next to Friedrich.</div>
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“So long, farewell, my children,” he had whispered. “We shall not meet again.” </div>
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And now Georg stood, wiping his brow and reflecting on the past six months. He had discovered that without the children he was much more efficient and had nearly tripled his progress. Though still quite lost, he had renewed hopes of soon reaching human civilization. Earlier in the day, Georg had come across campfire remnants that were still warm and had thus increased his pace to catch up with the unknown hikers. He was walking faster than he had in weeks and could feel his woolen jacket sticking to his chest. His muscular quadriceps burned from exertion, yet he pushed further.</div>
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<em>I feel like I’ve just danced ten Ländlers,</em> Georg thought. <em>Stiffen up, Captain. I can hear voices just ahead.</em></div>
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He broke into a march and high-stepped over a hill. His suspicions were confirmed as he spotted an eccentric-looking group of people sitting in a circle on the ground, appearing to rest.</div>
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“You! You there! Stop at once!” he cried. “State your names and ages.”</div>
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The group looked up in surprise. They were comprised of males and females of all ages, with varying degrees of body hair.</div>
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“Why hullo there, fellow weary traveler,” replied the oldest male. His wild, cottony-white hair appeared to not have been brushed in several weeks' time. </div>
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“I am Bilbo Baggins and this is Frodo, Merry and Samwise, all members of my hobbit clan. I am one hundred and fifty-two years living.” He gestured to three boys lounging beside him. Georg did not know what a hobbit was but he disliked this unkempt fellow almost immediately.</div>
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“I am Captain Georg von Trapp of the Austrian Navy. You may call me Captain,” said Georg stiffly. </div>
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“And we’re Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield,” chimed in a strangely tanned blonde girl, pointing to her apparent twin sister. “We have a Spanish-style kitchen.” </div>
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Georg stared suspiciously at the twins’ blonde hair, blue eyes and perfect Aryan features. </div>
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<em>Nazis, plain as day,</em> he thought with alarm. <em>And I would gamble that they’re holding these hair-covered children hostage. </em></div>
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The rest of the tanned teenagers introduced themselves, but Georg was still staring at the Nazi females, contemplating how best to kill them. <em>If I bludgeon one with my marionette . . .</em></div>
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Another female voice broke through his pondering. “And I’m Lila Fowler.” </div>
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Georg turned and froze. Facing him was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her glossy brown hair, so like the color of the espresso once served to him by Frau Schmidt each morning. Her lips, as ruby-red as the jam and bread he ate ad nauseam. The whites of her eyes, the same dazzling white as the edelweiss he had kept in his undergarment drawer. In that instant, he forgot Maria, Elsa, Sister Margaretta and his array of one-night stands ever existed. There was only Lila Fowler. He struggled to gain composure. </div>
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“Lila Fowler, was it? Are you by chance related to the von Fowlërris family of Klagenfurt?”</div>
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“No, my ancestors are all from California,” replied the woman.</div>
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“How very strange—I would have insisted that you descend from royal blood,” said Georg. </div>
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The lady Lila smiled while the rest of the teenagers muffled their laughter. Georg noticed, and wondered if he would have to bludgeon the rest of them as well. </div>
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<em>The scrawny fellow with oversized feet will be first, after the twins,</em> he thought. </div>
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He began to plan his method of attack when he noticed the hobbits huddling in a group and heard the unmistakable sounds of voices blending in a choral fashion.</div>
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“What’s that?” he demanded.</div>
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“It’s singing,” answered the scrawny boy.</div>
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“Yes, I realize it’s singing, but who is singing?”</div>
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“The hobbits.” </div>
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“The hobbits?” questioned Georg.</div>
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“Yeah, it’s kind of weird. They sing all the time. Like five times a day. You get used to it pretty fast. And then you start to learn some of the songs and it’s more fun,” explained the boy. </div>
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The singing stopped as suddenly as it began. A diminutive hobbit stepped forward, hair-blanketed arms extended towards Georg. </div>
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“Kind stranger, we insist on you joining our party. ‘Tis not safe for a lone man out in the mountains,” one of the hobbits said. <em>Flodo? Dodo? What was his name?</em> Georg wondered. “We are in the midst of a grand journey, one that may result in all of our deaths. We cannot promise your safety but we can promise you our tender companionship.”</div>
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Georg paused, and then spoke with trepidation. “Yes, I will join you. But I insist that you answer the following query before we proceed: are you or are you not members of the Third Reich?”</div>
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Half of the party appeared to be horrified while the other half remained blasé. </div>
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“The third what?” asked the more attractive blonde Nazi.</div>
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“Goodness, no! We’re not Nazis!” exclaimed the dowdy one. “I mean, we don’t have any Jewish people in Sweet Valley, but I’m almost certain we would tolerate them if we did.”</div>
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“And I will speak for the hobbits when I say that we enjoy men of all backgrounds and walks of life,” added Bilbo.</div>
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<em>Falsehoods,</em> thought Georg with certainty. <em>Precisely what a Nazi would answer. I will use them for their knowledge of the land and kill them when I must. Yes, I shall kill them all except for Lila Fowler. </em></div>
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“Wonderful. In that case, I should be most pleased to join you,” he stated with feigned pleasantry. “Let us march!”</div>
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Georg set off with his new hiking companions and marveled at how quickly his journey had changed. He made sure he was positioned next to Lila and marched with extra finesse to impress her. Each time he and Lila locked eyes, Georg felt as if he had sat on twenty pine cones. </div>
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<em>Nazi or not,</em> he thought, <em>I think I may be in love. </em><br />
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<em><strong>Have Jessica and Elizabeth been hiding a deep, dark secret from us? Will Georg's disciplinarian side catch the perverse eye of Merry? Will Liesl and Nicholas Morrow give birth to like the most attractive baby ever? Will the hobbits re-bring music back to Georg's life? </strong></em><br />
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<em><strong>STAY TUNED. </strong></em><br />
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</div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-16733030235917514232012-04-05T07:22:00.000-07:002012-04-05T07:26:38.388-07:00Hobbit Heartache—Chapter 8: The Land of the Elves<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With all of the excitement over the past week (ten [10] copies of <i>Hobbit Heartache</i> are being shipped AT THIS VERY MOMENT! I have received a crate of twenty-four [24] boxes of Great Grains! I got to wear face paint and a costume in a dodgeball tournament!), I have fallen ill. My immune system became overloaded with the sudden joy and decided instead that I should go to bed by 9:00 p.m. each night this week.</div>
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So my happy thoughts of these things:</div>
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(I'm sorry<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">—</span>I promise this is probably the last time in this blog post that I'm going to show the book cover.) </div>
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(I can't even believe I'm writing this post right now! I have twenty-four (24) boxes of Great Grains to eat!)</div>
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. . . have now turned to thoughts of these things:</div>
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-Homemade neti pots (yes, Velvet helped me make one last night for my stuffy nose, and NO, I did not take pictures you sick freaks.)</div>
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-An unprecedented amount of Vitamin C and my FAVORITE THING EVER, oregano oil.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l9izDDZbCm0/T3z5hbinppI/AAAAAAAACNA/NL3ct0HZgp4/s1600/oregano+oil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-l9izDDZbCm0/T3z5hbinppI/AAAAAAAACNA/NL3ct0HZgp4/s200/oregano+oil.jpg" width="136" /></a></div>
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(If you're unsure of whether I'm being sarcastic or not, please try oregano oil. One drop under your tongue will quickly give you the answer.)</div>
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And basically I'm just really preoccupied with all my concerns about what exactly is the sexiest way to smear Vaseline around my sore nose, and is it prettier to keep Kleenex hanging from both nostrils, or just one? I have so many questions and <em>Glamour</em> magazine isn't helping!</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E_bK3XNmMQ8/T3z9C4zBaaI/AAAAAAAACNQ/ts_X48uT32U/s1600/sickhag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E_bK3XNmMQ8/T3z9C4zBaaI/AAAAAAAACNQ/ts_X48uT32U/s200/sickhag.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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This is the face of someone who would clearly die in the Cornucopia stage of the Hunger Games. Without even grabbing any supplies first. </div>
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But I have sworn to return to the blogging game, so enough complaining: IT'S BACK TO BUSINESS.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BJMUQaXFadY/T30CzJVx8UI/AAAAAAAACNY/OAkyBSVCvZM/s1600/book+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BJMUQaXFadY/T30CzJVx8UI/AAAAAAAACNY/OAkyBSVCvZM/s320/book+cover.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
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(I lied.) </div>
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Let's get right into it. Recap time! For those just joining us, here's what you've missed in the first seven (7) chapters of <i>Hobbit Heartache</i>, the <i>Sweet Valley High/Lord of the Rings</i> erotic crossover parody. </div>
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<i>It's Spring Break and the Sweet Valley High gang has landed in Middle-earth! A freak accident leaves them stranded in the forests of Middle-earth, where they happen to merge paths with a group of fun-loving and sexy hobbits. Bilbo, Frodo, Merry, Samwise and Pippin are happy to have the extremely tanned teenagers join their journey to find and destroy a beautiful and powerful ring. </i></div>
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<i>Feelings and fur start to fly as the group travels forth. Jessica has fallen hard for Frodo, but his eyes sure seem to linger intently on Bilbo, much to Merry's hidden rage. Elizabeth believes she has found her academic soulmate in Gandalf, but Gandalf appears reluctant to return her feelings. Samwise struggles to control his brandywine addiction, while Pippin's lighthearted antics serve only to annoy Lila and Bruce. Distracted by excessive hair and hormones, the group fails to realize that they are being stalked by Lila's evil doppelganger, who has traveled all the way from Antarctica to take over Lila's life. </i></div>
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<i>Will Pippin's premonitions about the Land of the Elves come true? Will the gang ever realize that an evil doppelganger and her cat are among them? Will Elizabeth summon the guts to make a move on Gandalf? Will Merry's secret hatred for Bilbo make things a little awkward?</i></div>
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<b>READ IF YOU DARE! AND LET US NOT FORGET THAT I KNOW NOTHING OF THE <i>LORD OF THE RINGS</i> WORLD!</b></div>
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Got it? Ready to jump in and read the latest erotic adventure? No? Extremely confused and kind of irritated? Need some fresh Kleenex for your nose holes? Me too. Sometimes you have to do things the hard way. Get the full story here:</div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/chapter-one.html"><span style="color: yellow;">Chapter One</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html"><span style="color: magenta;">Two</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html"><span style="color: lime;">Three</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html"><span style="color: red;">Four</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/12/hobbit-heartache-chapter-five.html"><span style="background-color: blue; color: #b4a7d6;">Five</span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/01/hobbit-heartache-chapter-six.html"><span style="color: yellow;">Six </span></a></div>
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<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/02/gift-of-love-hobbit-heartache-chapter.html"><span style="color: orange;">Seven</span></a></div>
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. . . and that brings us up-to-date. Now read and enjoy<span style="font-family: "Arial", "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;">—</span>I gotta go. Twenty-four (24) boxes of cereal aren't gonna eat themselves.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r6hm8QXIRfQ/T3Ya-NeWgUI/AAAAAAAACMY/h_Hn-nTGxPI/s1600/8-landofelves-colour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" dea="true" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r6hm8QXIRfQ/T3Ya-NeWgUI/AAAAAAAACMY/h_Hn-nTGxPI/s640/8-landofelves-colour.jpg" width="456" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who knew that Pippin could pull off a moustache?!</td></tr>
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As always, the lovely, hair-filled artwork is by <a href="http://vimeo.com/zaktatham"><span style="color: yellow;">Zak Tatham</span></a>.<br />
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<strong>Chapter Eight</strong></div>
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<strong>The Land of the Elves</strong></div>
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Merry awoke in the morning to the sound of Bilbo’s strained wheezing. <em>Ah, good, the old bag slumbers still,</em> he thought, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. </div>
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He watched the cavernous chest of Baggins rise and fall in its rhythmic way, hoping it would suddenly halt. He stared for quite some time, until he noticed that Frodo was beginning to stir. Soon he would wake. </div>
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Merry glanced down under his moss blanket. Yes, surely enough, his morning visitor was there, as reliable as the tide and just as unruly. He shed his blanket and pulled himself upright to prominently display his bulging wand to Frodo. Merry hoped that it might be the first sight Frodo laid his eyes upon in the morn. Merry had used that same trick with Sandyman once, and the sight had been so impressive that Sandyman had screamed loudly once, and then fainted.</div>
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Frodo slumbered on soundly, so Merry coughed and rustled the branches by his head. This produced the desired effect. Frodo jolted awake as if branded by a dwarf’s iron prod. </div>
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Merry moved his hips to and fro in a languid fashion and called out, “Good morn, dear Frodo! Delightful dreams did visit me the night past!”</div>
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“Oh, good morn, Merry. The sun smiles upon us today, does she not? Oh my, how sweetly Bilbo sleeps!” exclaimed Frodo, his eyes glued to the sleeping beast.</div>
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Merry’s smile vanished and he nodded. He despised feeling dejected so early in the morn. He walked by Bilbo and imperceptibly gave him a kick, a kick filled with jealous ire. </div>
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“Time to wake oneself!” <em>You horrid brute,</em> he added silently. <br />
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The camp was soon bustling as the inhabitants dressed and made a breakfast of blackened squirrel and a liquid concoction of forest greens and peat moss. A smoothie, the twins had called it. </div>
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<em>How strange and delicious,</em> Merry thought, wiping the green remnants from his mouth. Today was the day the group would enter the Land of the Elves and the nerves were palpable. After digestion and the post-breakfast song, the group set off on their way.</div>
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Merry took his usual position in the middle of the group and watched as Frodo chatted with Jessica and Bilbo. The more licentious twin had had her arm linked through Frodo’s every day for the past week’s time. </div>
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<em>She is a fool,</em> Merry thought, <em>for Frodo is not charmed by golden skin or pectoral mounds of useless fat. Frodo is charmed by wit and courage and strength, every trait that I possess that he is blind to.</em></div>
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Being blind did not always bother Merry. In fact, he could recall one particular rousing occasion in which he spent an entire evening blindfolded by the hairy hands of Hugo Bracegirdle. He had been forced to crawl on his hands and knees for hours at a time, feeling his furry skin contract with goose flesh as it was tantalized by quail feathers, porcupine quills and a leather hat. It was some of the most thrilling thirteen hours of his life. </div>
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Merry felt a commotion behind him and swiftly removed his hand from his burlap trousers. He turned and saw Winston sprawled on the ground, having faltered over his immense feet once more. Merry extended a damp hand to the young lad.</div>
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“Hey Merry, what’s shaking?” said Winston.</div>
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“Why, nothing is shaking. Everything appears perfectly stable,” replied Merry.</div>
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Winston chuckled. “Well, that’s good. But I was asking how you’re doing.”</div>
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“Oh. I see. I am perfectly adequate and surely not aroused,” answered Merry. </div>
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“Really? Because you seem kind of sad. And I don’t want to be nosy, but I noticed that you stare at Frodo a lot . . . and sometimes you say his name in your sleep,” said Winston slowly.</div>
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“Am I truly that transparent?” wondered Merry. “Is my affection as unconcealed as Bilbo’s cumbersome corpulence?” </div>
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“Uh, well, I’m not sure. Some people may not have noticed. I think I did because I know how it is to love someone and feel invisible to them,” said Winston sadly.</div>
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“Who is it that you love, my friend?” asked Merry.</div>
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Winston did not answer, but instead stared straight ahead, his doleful eyes boring into Frodo and Jessica’s backsides. Merry felt bile rising in his throat.</div>
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“Frodo?” Merry spit out, a vein emerging in his forehead. </div>
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“Jessica,” Winston whispered. “I’ve loved her since I was six. But she just sees me as goofy old Winston, only good for a laugh, always falling down and stalking her.”</div>
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Merry’s limbs returned to their relaxed state and he reflected upon Winston’s words. It certainly did make sense. Winston was always trying to speak with the golden-haired girl but she took no note of him, preferring to drape herself over the indifferent Frodo.</div>
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“Why do you not try to love the other one? Surely they must be similar,” suggested Merry, pointing at Elizabeth. Elizabeth was hiking next to the wise Gandalf, nodding her head vigorously and taking notes on a piece of bark as he spoke. </div>
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“Oh, no. You really don’t know the Wakefield twins,” replied Winston, giving his head a wry shake. “They’re like chocolate and vanilla, like a tidal wave and a bubble bath, like the Droids and Spontaneous Combustion. Wait, is any of this making sense to you?”</div>
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“Perhaps they are akin to a comparison of Mabel’s peasant jelly and Vermillia’s grass stew,” suggested Merry after a moment’s thought. “Or a tiltrove tree and a hopdragon bush. These are truly different things!” </div>
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Winston began to laugh, and laugh he did until his face turned as scarlet as a cardinal. It was then that Merry first noticed how handsome Winston’s face was, how smooth the skin appeared, like the silken rags that he enjoyed bonding his limbs with on occasion. The two shared a smile.</div>
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“We have arrived!” called out Bilbo, halting the group. Merry looked up in surprise. He and Winston must have chatted for over two hours, for they had indeed reached the entrance to the Land of the Elves. </div>
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“This is it?” asked the Bruce fellow, whose face seemed to be frozen in a dour expression. Merry did not care for him much but did appreciate his form-fitting trousers. </div>
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The village was comprised of many thin, tall buildings that seemed to touch the sky, as the Elves were quite taller than the hobbits. A few of the structures looked so thin that they could topple over in a breeze. </div>
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<em>Bilbo shan’t be able to fit through the doorways!</em> thought Merry with gleeful amusement. </div>
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While the group stood outside the entrance gazing in, the sound of a tambourine flitted through the air. It was shortly joined by at least thirty more. The teenagers exchanged confused glances and Jessica pressed her body against Frodo’s. </div>
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<em>Harlot,</em> thought Merry. </div>
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“Ah, they are beckoning us to enter,” explained Bilbo. “While we hobbits love to sing, Elves are masters of the tambourine and other belled instruments. It is one of our greatest differences, and one that is most difficult to overcome. Come, we must obey.”</div>
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The all-knowing Gandalf led the group under the grand entranceway and did not pause a moment before heading to the tallest and most majestic building, topped with flags and a small Elven sentry. This was the Elf King Elrond and Queen Galadriel’s abode. </div>
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“Welcome, Gandalf the Grey, hobbits and unappealing creatures. We have been expecting you,” announced the King of the Elves, perched on a throne made of golden pine cones. His auburn hair swept along the floor, so long and lustrous was it.</div>
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“Salutations from Hobbiton, King Elrond. We are searching for information about the Ring,” said Bilbo. “Have you information to share?”</div>
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“Not only have I information, but I have the Ring itself,” announced the King. “It was given to me after I killed the guardian of the Rivendell sinkhole. I brought his body home and we feasted upon it for twenty-four days, so much girth had he.</div>
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“But I had to struggle for this Ring and now so must you. It is a Ring of immense power, as you know, and if you wish to obtain it, you must provide me with something.”</div>
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“What is this item you require?” asked Frodo. “We should be most happy to help.”</div>
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The Elf King laughed, and it was a laugh that frightened Merry and weakened his bladder. “Oh, I do hope so. What I require is the blood of a hobbit.”</div>
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Pippin let out a squeal at the mention of blood, while Samwise set free a hearty belch. </div>
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“A member of our Elven community has fallen ill and will soon perish if she goes without help. Our elders have tried everything, every herb and every prayer, but nothing will aid her. There is one spell left to try and it requires the sacrificial blood of a hobbit.” </div>
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“There must be some other option!” cried out Elizabeth. “Maybe I could take a look and try to help.” </div>
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“Have you knowledge of Elven spells? Have you ever once cured a fallen Elf? Could you tell the difference between a ragweed salve and a lavender potion?” the King replied, his deep voice rising with anger. “You speak foolishly, human, and your choice in apparel offends me! I wish you to face the wall.” </div>
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Her cheeks as red as one of Mabel’s cherry and taproot tarts, Elizabeth closed her loquacious mouth and turned to the wall in shame. </div>
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“Is it true, Gandalf? Must we sacrifice one of our own?” cried out Frodo in fear. </div>
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“Yes, my hobbit. I am afraid what Elrond states is verily true. Hobbit blood must be shed,” answered Gandalf solemnly. “And it must be shed soon. The ailing Elf’s time runs short.”</div>
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“But how would we even begin to decide upon a situation like this? How can we decide who travels onto the Land of the Lifeless?” asked Merry.</div>
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“Well, where we come from, we usually put important things to a vote,” chimed in Jessica. “Like Best Hair or Miss Sweet Valley High or Sexiest Family Member, stuff like that. Do you have any slam books?”</div>
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“I won Best Jawline eight years in a row,” added Bruce, stroking his face while smirking at Galadriel. </div>
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“Misguided as she may be, I believe that Jessica’s solution may be the most efficient, given our lack of time. Let us put it to a vote,” said Bilbo, looking at the stricken group. Merry stared back at him, unable to conceal the small sliver of glee creeping into his eyes. </div>
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<em>Oh Master Bilbo, how sweet it will be to say a final farewell,</em> Merry thought. <em>Do not worry; I shall keep the memory of you alive. I will name the rat that lives in the sludge by the tar pits after you. And then I shall eat it for dessert after Frodo and I have wholly merged our bodies.</em></div>
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“Let us vote immediately, then! There is no sense in delaying our journey,” declared Merry. “Have you parchment and ostrich ink for us, King Elrond?”</div>
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King Elrond of course did, and left the room after supplying the group with such. Bilbo instructed each member of the party to write down the name of the hobbit they believed should be sacrificed.</div>
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“Now, please remember that this is not the occasion to be petty. One must keep our journey in mind and the ultimate goal of destroying evil,” said Bilbo. “Everyone shall have but one vote, and Gandalf shall count and proclaim the results.” </div>
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<em>Your pompous breaths are numbered.</em> “Give me the paper!” Merry screamed.</div>
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Frozen in contemplation stood the group, each clutching their parchment. Merry scrawled his answer with deep, strong strokes and was the first to hand his paper to Gandalf. Lila and Bruce followed, and soon the wizard left the room to count the votes.</div>
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It took but a moment before he returned, his aged face unreadable. </div>
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<em>Say it,</em> willed Merry. <em>Say Bilbo’s name, Gandalf. SAY IT. </em></div>
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The pungent aroma of sweat and fresh urine had filled the room, and only when Merry felt the dampness in his trousers did he realize he was the source. Merry was not unfamiliar with the feeling of urine in burlap, but he did not enjoy the sensation.</div>
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“My friends,” spoke Gandalf, “the vote rules that Pippin’s blood must be spilled.”</div>
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Pippin let out a cheer at the sound of his name and skipped ‘round the room, oblivious of his impending doom. Samwise sank to his knees, mouth agape.</div>
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“Count again!” roared Merry. “Why must you lie, Gandalf?”</div>
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“You know Gandalf speaks the truth, Merry. ‘Tis a most unfortunate and devastating truth, to be sure, but Gandalf the Grey’s integrity shall not be questioned,” voiced Bilbo. “It is time to say our farewells to dear Pippin.”</div>
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Pippin was most pleased by the embraces and kind words he received from all. He sang and danced in happiness and only shrieked once when he saw King Elrond’s twenty-two inch silver carving knife. </div>
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<em>Goodbye, sweet Pippin,</em> thought Merry, tears running down his face. <em>You did not deserve such a death. </em></div>
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Elizabeth read a short poem she had quickly composed for the occasion. Merry found it quite dreadful, lacking in both style and depth. <em>And she fancies herself an author,</em> he thought with disbelief. </div>
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“I’m sorry for yelling at you so many times,” cried out Lila. “But you pulled my hair and created a lot of root damage.” </div>
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Samwise attempted to give a rambling eulogy, but his incoherent words became choked by sobs as he swayed back and forth. He leaned upon Bruce for support, unable to stand upright on his own. After a few painful minutes, he gave up and simply kissed Pippin’s forehead.</div>
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And so Pippin’s gentle throat was slit. </div>
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His blood, fresh and pure, was collected into an amphora and given to the King. In return, the Elf Leader handed to Gandalf the golden Ring and bid the hobbits goodbye. Both Winston and Sam vomited after leaving the Land of the Elves, while the twins’ faces shined with glimmering tears. Bilbo led the group in a three-hour dirge. </div>
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It was with weighted hearts that the hobbits lay their heads down to sleep that evening. The heart of one hobbit was filled with a rage so strong it simmered black, and the heart of another hobbit was broken into two, never to be repaired. </div>
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<strong><em>Is Pippin truly gone forever? Can the hobbits and Elves ever overcome their deeply-rooted differences about belled instruments? Will Elizabeth's poem make the cut for The Oracle? Will Merry's excitable bladder lead him to destroy all of his burlap trousers? </em></strong><br />
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<strong><em>STAY TUNED. </em></strong></div>
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</div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-88666547806164082482012-03-29T08:52:00.002-07:002012-03-29T08:56:42.616-07:00A Journey is Complete<div style="text-align: justify;">
My friends and misdirected Google users, I have important news. </div>
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After 12 months, 16.5 chapters and 160 pages, I have finished my first novel. More specifically, my first <em>Sweet Valley High</em>/<em>Lord of the Rings</em> erotic fanfiction/parody novel. It is now an actual book. A book with pages and a spine and a glossy cover, and, most importantly, a name on that glossy cover that is mine. </div>
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Can you believe this thing actually happened?<br />
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Time for a celebratory gif. And a huge glass or ten of brandywine.<br />
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<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/lord%20of%20the%20rings%20gif" target="_blank"><img alt="lord of the rings gif Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" src="http://i257.photobucket.com/albums/hh227/Game_Cube_Girl/GIF/tumblr_lwh32nDWRa1qer29u.gif" /></a><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/happy%20gif" target="_blank"></a><br />
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(Oh, are you too distracted by that lovely sheen on my forehead to celebrate? Just call that a new novelist's glow. It's certainly not a post-kickboxing layer of sweat. No. I'm glowing because of books.)</div>
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Perhaps you've noticed that I haven't done a blog post in about five (5) weeks. While you may have assumed that I was in the hospital from a Great Grains overdose (or something equally scandalous), or I had been partially eaten by my cats (something way more likely), I've just been in hibernation mode the past month. I was determined to finish this book, no matter how many episodes of <i>The Bachelor </i>I had to watch late. </div>
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Sometimes sacrifices must be made, even when their hair looks really, really good. </div>
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To catch you up, here's what you missed:</div>
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This was my month of March. Barricading myself in my room and getting stuff done. Stuff that did not include making my bed or wearing pants that couldn't double as sleeping/work-out attire. </div>
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Have you ever reached the point where you're ashamed of how you're living? Where you have more dirty laundry on the floor than clean clothes in your closet? Where your <i>Sweet Valley High</i> books are strewn about out of order, mixing freely with your <i>Baby-sitters Club</i> Super Specials? Where you try to get the cats to come into your room for a distraction but they wisely know not to venture into that dark hellhole for fear of never emerging?</div>
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I have no idea what that's like, but it must be awful.<br />
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But all of the stress and late nights and not showering have been worth it, because now there is something tangible to show for it. <br />
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Just look at the pictures! <a href="http://familycontact.ca/"><span style="color: magenta;">Zak</span></a>'s artwork looks beautiful, even in grayscale. <br />
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<i><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2011/08/introducinghobbit-heartache.html"><span style="color: yellow;">Hobbit Heartache</span></a></i> was made into a book using a really cool site called <a href="http://www.blurb.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">Blurb</span></a> (because, really, who wants to go through the whole ordeal of publishers fighting to buy the rights to your book? So stressful!) and I just recently received the test copy. It was perhaps the most thrilling mail delivery I have ever experienced, and considering <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2012/02/major-life-announcement.html"><span style="color: magenta;">I've won a year's supply of Great Grains</span></a> and have been mailed an <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.ca/2010/02/cut-it-out-anthony-stewart-head.html"><span style="color: magenta;">autographed headshot</span></a> of Anthony Stewart Head, that's saying a lot. </div>
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No offense, Giles. You thrill me, too, but in a different kind of way. <br />
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After living with <i>Hobbit Heartache: the Real Life Novel</i> for just a few days, my house is in agreement: how did we ever live without it? I can easily speak for almost every single person I know that lives inside my house when I say that this book has been life changing. It's given back so much. </div>
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It has had a profound effect on all of us.<br />
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Some more than others.</div>
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While I'm still planning on posting the book on here chapter by chapter, I wanted to share my happy news with all of you, the people who have supported me during the world's longest Spring Break in Middle-earth ever. I will be ordering more copies through Blurb in the next few days for some friends, family and prospective employers. If anyone is interested in having their own copy, just let me know and we'll talk. </div>
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Are you wondering exactly how <em>Hobbit Heartache</em> can benefit your life? Besides the above handy examples, I can think of at least one hundred and thirty-seven (137) extremely relevant other ways. </div>
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LIKE WHAT, you ask? Weeeeelllllll, just off the top of my head...</div>
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Upcoming baptism ceremony? No need to stress over your gift. <br />
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Need to have "the talk" with your preteen/thirty-something child? Allow Zak's helpful erotic drawings to do the explaining. </div>
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Important job interview coming up? Nothing makes a better first impression than the gift of classic literature.</div>
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Clueless about how to celebrate the New Moon on April 21st? Come on, it's a no-brainer!</div>
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<em>Hobbit Heartache</em>: truly appropriate for any occasion. You'll also get the first peek of the new surprise cover, which is a bit less lawsuit-friendly. </div>
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My plan now is to fully emerge from hibernation mode and get back in the blogging game, so hopefully you'll be seeing some new posts soon. Chapter Eight (8) is coming up next, which is perhaps my favorite chapter in the entire book. Gentle erotica and shocking twists coming your way! Hope you're not too attached to those Wakefield twins...</div>
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Misleading teaser? I would never!</div>
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Now, I must return to the world of last minute book editing and formatting, but before I go, I leave you with this cool image that I just found online:</div>
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(Does subliminal messaging work? I don't know. You <em>pre-order</em> <em>Hobbit Heartache</em> tell me.)</div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-86766659417909021452012-02-14T06:52:00.000-08:002012-04-03T05:54:16.967-07:00A Gift of Love: Hobbit Heartache--Chapter Seven: A Day with Pippin<div style="font: 12px Arial; margin: 0px; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">If you're feeling all lovey-dovey today, well, then that's swell. Hooray! Ain't love grand! Further romantic exclamations!</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">...And if you're feeling not so lovey-dovey today, well, then don't worry. We've got you covered, too. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">While I personally don't care much either way about Valentine's Day (except for the facts that I like to wear red, eat chocolate and I was supposed to be born today), I understand that for many it's a special day. So in honor of this romantic holiday, it is only fitting that the latest chapter of <i>Hobbit Heartache</i>, the <i>Sweet Valley High</i>/<i>Lord of the Rings</i> erotic fanfiction novel, features an unsung romantic hero. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">His name is Pippin. </span></div>
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Pippin is a hobbit. He's kinda cute. But he can be overlooked by the other more hunkly hunks of <i>Hobbit Heartache.</i></div>
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Frodo, Bruce, Bilbo--how does a guy compete?<br />
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(Be prepared for next Valentine's Day by pre-ordering your copy of the 2013 calendar "Hunkly Hunks of <i>Hobbit Heartache</i>" today! Going fast! Mention code 'beefcake' for 10 percent discount!)</div>
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But Pippin's not one to be concerned about being a hunk. He's a simple guy. If Pippin were into the online dating scene (which he would not be), his profile might look something like this:<br />
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<b>Name:</b> <i>Pippin! I'm a Hobbit!</i><br />
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<strong>Likes:</strong> <em>Animals (the shinier, the better!), dancing, my best friend in the whole world Samwise, when Bilbo sings, Mork & Mindy</em><br />
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<strong>Dislikes:</strong> <em>Ghosts (so scary!), rain, drinking, sleeping in, Elves (so scary!), when Samwise yells, reading (too hard), Dexter</em><br />
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<strong>Quote:</strong> <i>"Pine cones are pretty but they hurt my mouth so!"</i><br />
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<strong>People I Want to Meet:</strong><br />
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<strong>People Who Frighten Me:</strong><strong><br /></strong><br />
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<strong>Personal Goals:</strong> <em>Finish my three-hour song for Sam, discover a brand new bird species, eat an entire field of daisies!</em><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S2yciLszRoA/TzlZ2Hqao7I/AAAAAAAACJA/Ylyg4EKrWfs/s1600/lady+gg+scary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br />
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Pippin: the hobbit with a heart of gold and a brain of Swiss cheese. But lovable cheese that you don't care has a few holes in it. Can you tell I have a soft spot for dear Pippin? <br />
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(<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Oh hey, here's where I throw in my usual spiel about having little-to-no knowledge of the LOTR world and how I've been having far too much fun filling in the question marks with these characters. It's gotten to the point where I feel seriously attached to my character versions and whenever I hear someone say something that differs [e.g., Samwise <em>isn't </em>a raging alcoholic], in my head I'm all like 'Pshhhhh. What do you know?')</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The proof is in that half-longing/half-furious gaze at Frodo's brandywine. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">But enough about that. Come celebrate love in all its forms by spending a day in Middle-earth with Pippin!</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> (And if you're spending Valentine's Day all alone, well, what better occasion to catch up on the erotic adventures of <em>Hobbit Heartache</em>? <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/chapter-one.html"><span style="color: yellow;">Chapter One</span></a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html"><span style="color: magenta;">Two</span></a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html"><span style="color: lime;">Three</span></a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html">Four</a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/12/hobbit-heartache-chapter-five.html"><span style="color: orange;">Five</span></a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2012/01/hobbit-heartache-chapter-six.html"><span style="color: yellow;">Six</span></a>)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As always, erotic and beautiful artwork is courtesy of <a href="http://vimeo.com/zaktatham"><span style="color: yellow;">Zak Tatham</span></a>, whose brain nowhere near resembles Swiss cheese. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alpha male Bruce has always had a weakness for finely toned rumps. </td></tr>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Chapter Seven</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“BIRD!” cried out Pippin, pointing to the sky. “And there! Bird!” Birds were Pippin’s favorite thing. Whenever he saw one, he had to tell everyone and make sure they saw, too. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“That is a most beautiful bird, Pippin!” said Sam. He smiled at Pippin and touched his back.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pippin loved Sam. Sam was kind and warm. Pippin liked to touch Sam’s hair and play with his curls, so soft, just like a hat made out of birds. Pippin wished he had a hat made of birds. He would never remove it from his head! He grabbed the ponytail of the girl with long brown hair and pulled, HARD. It was a fun game.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“I’m going to kill him,” said the Lila girl, rubbing her sore head. She glared at Pippin and her eyes looked like mud. Pippin liked it when Lila’s face turned red like fire and she spoke very loudly, like she was singing at the top of her lungs. He made her do this a lot. Thinking about it made Pippin want to sing very loudly and dance very fast. So he did that. For a very long time, perhaps even an hour!</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Dancing very fast always made Pippin’s throat hurt. He spied the goatskin canteen on Sam’s hip and thought <i>I want that!</i> He grabbed it and took a big gulp, a huge gulp that would fill his aching throat right up to the brim. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But it did not help! No, instead it burned this throat and made his eyes be like rivers, like the time he ate hot tar. He spit it out as fast as he could.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“Pippin, no!” said Sam. “I told you that you must never drink from my goatskin canteen! This is my water only.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pippin hated when Sam yelled like so. He yelled each time Pippin took his water but Pippin always forgot until it was too late and the burning happened again. Then he had to cry rivers until he saw a bird or flower. Sometimes he could eat the flowers and then he felt better.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pippin and his friends had been walking for so long that he forgot where they came from. He remembered a town where they took baths together but in the outside. Once he saw Frodo taking a bath and then he saw Merry in the woods and Merry had not a single stitch of his clothes on and he said he was playing a hiding game and it was a surprise for Frodo. So Pippin was good and did not tell a single soul, not even the frog that lived in his shoe. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pippin looked at Merry now so he could tell him that story. But Merry was busy talking to the new boy Winston. Winston was as tall as a tree and his feet were like big sticks, but he was kind like Sam. Bruce was mean like a bear but his face was so pretty that Pippin wanted to touch it all over. Bruce did not like that though so Pippin had to dance instead. He danced right in front of Bruce and shook his rump at him, back and forth, back and forth, back and-</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“BIRD!” Pippin hollered. “Purple bird! Red bird! And a yellow bird!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">“That’s a butterfly, Pippin,” said Elizabeth. Her clothes were not pretty but her face was. Pippin was happy to have new friends but he wished they were all boys. It was fun to have new friends, young ones like him, because Bilbo was very old now and had lines all over his face. Bilbo’s feet hurt all the time but Frodo was always touching them. Pippin asked Frodo to touch his feet but Frodo said no. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Everyone always said no and it made Pippin scream. Sometimes he screamed at night just to wake everyone up so they could all laugh together. He screamed so loud once that it killed a cat.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pippin was scared to go to visit the Land of the Elves, which is where they were going. He had never seen an Elf and thought they had long yellow teeth with red eyes and he did not want to see one, ever! He bet they smelled like fish like the girl in the woods and that they would try to eat him. Pippin would be sad if they got eaten. He would miss Sam the most, his best friend in all of Middle-earth.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pippin thought very hard about Sam being eaten and had to run and find Sam to give him a hug so it would not come true. Sam was in the middle of a big gulp but Pippin wrapped his arms around Sam tight, tight, tight, like ivy on a tree. Like a belt around Bilbo’s big soft waist. Or like a bird in a bird house! Sam was so surprised by the hug that he choked on his water and stumbled. Sam was clumsy sometimes and fell down. He loved Sam so.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then they all stopped. Bilbo told them that it was time to rest and sleep and tomorrow they would be at the Land of the Elves. Pippin did not like to sleep, he liked to dance and move, and it was hard to be still for so long. His belly felt full of jumping frogs and bugs and he was scared of seeing Elves in his sleep. So he decided he would stay up all night and listen to Sam snore. Bilbo sang songs in his sleep and Merry’s hands moved very fast. The girls with gold hair smiled all night long and Pippin thought they must have dreams of birds.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Pippin looked up at the night sky while they all slept. He looked at the stars and thought the sky was so big, so big that if it fell down you would never find your way out of it. Then that thought scared him so he looked for birds instead. There were never any birds at night. Pippin did not like the nights, not one bit.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Pippin wished he had a hat made out of birds.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Will the hobbits indeed be eaten at the Land of the Elves? Will Bruce ever learn to appreciate his spirited, private dancer? Was that REALLY a butterfly like Elizabeth said, or something a bit more dastardly? And finally, will someone just give Pippin his freakin' hat made out of birds?</span></i></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">STAY TUNED.</span></i></b></span></span></div>
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</div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-41088710499756783992012-02-09T20:49:00.000-08:002012-02-10T07:44:27.401-08:00A MAJOR LIFE ANNOUNCEMENTMy friends and misdirected Google users, a wonderful, year-making event has occurred. It has changed me. I am a changed woman. <b><br />
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<b>I AM CAPABLE OF ANYTHING.</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gTgRnCLa6wE/TzHXJ-ZkcYI/AAAAAAAACGY/FBy7WCBaWl4/s1600/anything.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gTgRnCLa6wE/TzHXJ-ZkcYI/AAAAAAAACGY/FBy7WCBaWl4/s320/anything.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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(Things I am painfully aware that I am still incapable of: basic mental math, eating mushrooms without shuddering and writing a blog post in less than five [5] hours.)<br />
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For you see, earlier this week I WON A FREE YEAR'S SUPPLY OF GREAT GRAINS CEREAL.<br />
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Imagine this box, but times twenty-four (24). <br />
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(Are we all applauding now? Just me? Surely one of you must be clapping now, right? No?)<br />
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<a href="http://www.gifbin.com/983855"><img alt="funny gifs" src="http://gifs.gifbin.com/012010/1264591971_brendan_frase_clap.gif" /></a><br />
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Okay, there we go. THANK YOU. Someone who gets it.<br />
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Now, let me take you behind the scenes and give you a glimpse of how one wins a free year's supply of Great Grains cereal. It hasn't been easy. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">For the past few weeks, Great Grains has been holding a photo competition called "Raise the Seam." To enter, all you had to do was submit a picture of yourself with a cereal flake, making sure that the grain's seam down the middle was clearly displayed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e9H9FRei8G4/TzHb7rEwoHI/AAAAAAAACGo/10wv5TvwmJ8/s1600/seam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-e9H9FRei8G4/TzHb7rEwoHI/AAAAAAAACGo/10wv5TvwmJ8/s1600/seam.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This thing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">There were two (2) phases to this competition, each running for about a week. You could submit a new photo each day and at the end of the week, the almighty Great Grains judges would select their favorite five (5). It was highly encouraged that you display both creativity and enthusiasm for Great Grains in your submissions.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A Great Grains-themed photo contest? Please. I was born for this. I knew this was a challenge I was going to...<b>accept</b>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WLv7UUME0Jg/TzHgcCPOcyI/AAAAAAAACGw/O9C41yY2-78/s1600/corky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WLv7UUME0Jg/TzHgcCPOcyI/AAAAAAAACGw/O9C41yY2-78/s320/corky.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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IT'S ON, GREAT GRAINS.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">...Kinda. I somehow missed the boat on Phase One (1) of the competition (goddamn you, full-time employment!) and only managed to submit a single photo on the last day. I knew it had to be something special, something eye-catching, and yes, perhaps something fear-provoking.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>BEHOLD THE POWER OF THE SEAM.</strong></div><strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bGaS2BnzwAY/TzGyUGYeDNI/AAAAAAAACE4/XuXGTL9sB3k/s1600/IMG_6811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bGaS2BnzwAY/TzGyUGYeDNI/AAAAAAAACE4/XuXGTL9sB3k/s400/IMG_6811.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><strong><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">...and I did not win. I was rejected. I lost. I lost while wearing a blue, shiny bolero jacket. Where is the justice in that? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Oh, sure, Great Grains tried to placate me by saying "Great photo!" but I mean, come on. Actions speak louder than words. Clearly they HATED it. Phase One (1) was an abysmal bust. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I only had one more chance. It was time for Phase Two. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">But like any successful project, it must begin with a cereal-themed photo shoot. My talented roommate/photographer Heather and I sat down with a storyboard to create a vision. Tens upon tens of photos were snapped. Stress levels? High. Makeup was applied, including eyeliner (EYELINER. That's major). There were multiple costume changes. Phrases such as "giving good face" and "losing your neck" were tossed about way too freely. Character back stories were created. One had lived several past grain-filled lives. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Thirteen (13) hours later, we had our shots for the week. The following pictures were submitted to Great Grains, one for each contest day. I included captions whenever I felt it added something. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mml0QdAbYvI/TzRH8iGGxzI/AAAAAAAACHo/tgxdpC-YrRI/s1600/GreatGrainsy2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" sda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mml0QdAbYvI/TzRH8iGGxzI/AAAAAAAACHo/tgxdpC-YrRI/s320/GreatGrainsy2.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">(self-explanatory)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KtAvnfKrBGQ/TzHAe4LSZkI/AAAAAAAACFI/cNwNYupyQA4/s1600/IMG_7056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KtAvnfKrBGQ/TzHAe4LSZkI/AAAAAAAACFI/cNwNYupyQA4/s320/IMG_7056.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Submitted with the keenly observed caption: "You can raise the seam anywhere, really. Even outside."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UtCf_uH4bnU/TzHA_i4EllI/AAAAAAAACFQ/Dwli3U8c6pk/s1600/_MG_7065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UtCf_uH4bnU/TzHA_i4EllI/AAAAAAAACFQ/Dwli3U8c6pk/s320/_MG_7065.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Submitted with the sadly true caption: "A romantic night at home is not complete without Great Grains I think. You don't even need anyone else."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P52jTIElHrE/TzHELaI7FHI/AAAAAAAACFY/gz6HnGI3u8M/s1600/IMG_7084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-P52jTIElHrE/TzHELaI7FHI/AAAAAAAACFY/gz6HnGI3u8M/s320/IMG_7084.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"Great Grains are great for an active lifestyle."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JFOBBpjszLw/TzHFlWQvIOI/AAAAAAAACFg/CiNJLDARE_Y/s1600/IMG_6834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-JFOBBpjszLw/TzHFlWQvIOI/AAAAAAAACFg/CiNJLDARE_Y/s320/IMG_6834.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">You don't need a caption when you're wearing a bolero jacket. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">After my final submission, all I could do was sit and wait for an entire weekend while the judges deliberated. I'm not gonna lie. It was a rough weekend. I can finally understand how the contestants on America's Next Top Model feel during the judging panels. I could only hope that the Tyra Banks and Nigel Barker of Great Grains could tell that I really wanted it, for all of the right reasons. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ktTKALeNcUQ/TzScT9I9HHI/AAAAAAAACH4/Q4bGe7zPpgc/s1600/ANTM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ktTKALeNcUQ/TzScT9I9HHI/AAAAAAAACH4/Q4bGe7zPpgc/s320/ANTM.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">It's also important to note that I didn't enter the Great Grains contest to make friends.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The days dragged. I was tense, maybe a little irritable. It's hard to relax and unwind to a third viewing of "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0409011/"><span style="color: magenta;">Lovewrecked</span></a>" (our current favorite house movie) when you know your entire professional reputation is at stake. I didn't know if I could take being humiliated by Great Grains yet again. I'm strong, but not THAT strong. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aHtyZQAGfOc/TzHn9D-OzvI/AAAAAAAACG4/uONtYaC4Wb0/s1600/IMG_7104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-aHtyZQAGfOc/TzHn9D-OzvI/AAAAAAAACG4/uONtYaC4Wb0/s320/IMG_7104.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">But still pretty strong. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">On Tuesday morning, on an extended break from work that my boss surely wouldn't care about, I logged onto Facebook. I was hoping for this so hard that I wouldn't even let myself think about the possibility of winning. But in my Newsfeed, which usually serves as a daily reminder that my life is really boring and I don't have an iPhone, I was greeted by a familiar scene. A coyly smiling face cradling a cereal flake much like a mother cat cradles her kitten but with her teeth, or how Samwise the hobbit cradles his goatskin of brandywine after getting wrecked at the Shire. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">You get what I'm saying here, right? Screw it. It was me holding a piece of cereal. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UtCf_uH4bnU/TzHA_i4EllI/AAAAAAAACFQ/Dwli3U8c6pk/s1600/_MG_7065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UtCf_uH4bnU/TzHA_i4EllI/AAAAAAAACFQ/Dwli3U8c6pk/s400/_MG_7065.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande", tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;"><i>"BIG congrats to Samantha C., Scott S., Connie F., Jennifer S. and April S.! You've won a year's supply of Great Grains for entering our "Raise the Seam" contest! Your photos made us smile and laugh -- we couldn't ask for better fans! We'll be in touch with you soon. Fans, we've got more exciting promotions coming up, so watch this </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "lucida grande", tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 14px;"><i>spot!"</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><strong>I, Samantha Clark, had just won a year's supply of Great Grains. </strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I didn't even know how to process this news. It was like all of my life's dreams, everything I've worked for in the past five (5) years, had just come true in a single Facebook post. The day was a blur--I completed my release form, filled out my flavor preferences (Crunchy Pecans, duh!) and received congratulations and warm wishes all day long. I felt like I had gotten engaged or given birth to multiple babies. But this news was better because it was free cereal and that will last forever.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G9wJ8o077lw/TzNaNK5rLxI/AAAAAAAACHQ/9WF_uWHlVR0/s1600/IMG_7051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-G9wJ8o077lw/TzNaNK5rLxI/AAAAAAAACHQ/9WF_uWHlVR0/s320/IMG_7051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">You and me, GG. That's all I need...and my young adult book collection. And my cat. And my lava lamp and my bathrobe and that's all I need. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Has winning the Great Grains contest made me a different person? Yes. One hundred percent. It's hard for me to remember a time when I hadn't been a Great Grains contest winner. My roommates say it's difficult to live with me now, that I'm "drunk with power." I say "tell it to my 24 boxes of cereal." </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PpntThwMBu4/TzNdCVpXVAI/AAAAAAAACHg/OXsmNyIiOiI/s1600/IMG_7075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PpntThwMBu4/TzNdCVpXVAI/AAAAAAAACHg/OXsmNyIiOiI/s320/IMG_7075.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Maniacal laugh...maniacal laugh...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">But that's why I'm going to try my best to stay humble and remember my roots. My various missteps. Had I submitted other pictures from our shoot, there's a great chance that I would still be like one of you today. There were plenty of pictures that would have been perfect for "Not-Quite-Great Grains." Or "Women-Prisoners-Enjoy-Cereal-Too-Grains." Or "Is-that-Actually-Sweat-and-is-it-Actually-Dripping-onto-her-Sports-Bra-Grains"? Or "Is-Cereal-Supposed-to-Make-Me-Feel-So-Uncomfortable-Grains?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>BEHOLD: THE REJECTS OF GREAT GRAINS</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZECLJ0WnpG0/TzHJHmq6RGI/AAAAAAAACFo/tgERqRCRfoI/s1600/IMG_6832.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZECLJ0WnpG0/TzHJHmq6RGI/AAAAAAAACFo/tgERqRCRfoI/s320/IMG_6832.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">We tried a series where cereal flakes rained down upon me. While we really wanted it to work, ultimately we had to admit defeat. The flakes just made the camera lens look dusty and in several shots it looked like I had huge chunks of dandruff. No go.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jF6iUucynio/TzHM3IyCboI/AAAAAAAACFw/fhbpeSzhN8c/s1600/IMG_6846.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jF6iUucynio/TzHM3IyCboI/AAAAAAAACFw/fhbpeSzhN8c/s320/IMG_6846.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">"Too intense," said Heather. Well, actually Heather said this one was perfect and that I should definitely submit it (do you ever have that weird feeling that sometimes your friends don't have your best interests at heart?), but I went with my gut which said "too intense."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C10iky9QXPY/TzHNxI_mjWI/AAAAAAAACF4/gSX-_O2qaow/s1600/IMG_7077.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-C10iky9QXPY/TzHNxI_mjWI/AAAAAAAACF4/gSX-_O2qaow/s320/IMG_7077.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Too sexy. Way, way, waaaaay too sexy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IRvyhVJMnUY/TzNbd4LqrDI/AAAAAAAACHY/HIBgLQ6rMM0/s1600/IMG_7093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IRvyhVJMnUY/TzNbd4LqrDI/AAAAAAAACHY/HIBgLQ6rMM0/s320/IMG_7093.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I think there was a rule about no bodily fluids, so this one got the axe. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hGedTvSw0aE/TzHS4ABDrnI/AAAAAAAACGQ/b0JtBpEHRlw/s1600/IMG_7042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hGedTvSw0aE/TzHS4ABDrnI/AAAAAAAACGQ/b0JtBpEHRlw/s320/IMG_7042.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">This one made me feel vaguely uncomfortable every time I looked at it, so no. Just...no. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">My plan for the rest of the month is to bask in the glory of this and also update my resume's "Accomplishments" section. I feel like the world just said to me "Hey, your birthday's coming up. Let's give you a gift so magnificent, so wonderful, so perfectly crafted just for you that all of your friend's gifts shall pale in comparison." And I said, "OKAY!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I'd like to say thank you, thank you, thank you to Great Grains, for bestowing this overwhelming honor upon me. I promise I will not let you down. I'd like to thank my Mom, for always believing in me and telling me never to give up on my dreams of winning a year's supply of my favorite cereal. And I'd like to thank Heather, for indulging me in yet another Great Grains photoshoot. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NhCfrVrNJIc/TzHt-gb2ImI/AAAAAAAACHA/ZY7-Gf_ryDg/s1600/DSCN5712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NhCfrVrNJIc/TzHt-gb2ImI/AAAAAAAACHA/ZY7-Gf_ryDg/s320/DSCN5712.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Vintage GG photo shoot, c. 2010. What an amateur. </div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-82762335120489037602012-02-08T12:24:00.000-08:002012-02-08T12:24:09.816-08:00Love Me<div style="text-align: justify;">I'm trying something new...join me if you dare.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But no big deal if you don't.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I assume that you're like most readers in that you follow several blogs and not just mine (WHY?! I'm all that you need!). If so, you might find this thing I'm hawking to be helpful. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm trying to pay a lot of attention to my blog these days. Trying to nourish it, make it grow, and yes, perhaps expand my following. I just signed my blog up for Bloglovin, "the easiest way to follow your favorite blogs!" All you do is log in, find your regular blogs and then you'll be able to see all of the latest posts and updates in a single location. My friends say it's very helpful. Easy breezy. Cuts way back on those tiring mouse clicks, which is a big problem these days. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So if you're interested, click the below link. If not, we shall never speak of this again and I'll see you in hell.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">(just kidding! I'm going to bring this up all the time.)</div><br />
<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/3266635/samantha-clark-cuts-it-out?claim=gyuxd9grjcj">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a><br />
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And remember, trying new things is good. If people didn't try new things, we never would have discovered that geese look so good in fancy-lady clothes.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EbCdi0Z7zZ4/TzLPjlvez1I/AAAAAAAACHI/Y68DSmjTSCU/s1600/geese+ladies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" sda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EbCdi0Z7zZ4/TzLPjlvez1I/AAAAAAAACHI/Y68DSmjTSCU/s320/geese+ladies.jpg" width="272" /></a></div><br />
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And that would be very sad.Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-64999507440689577372012-01-24T08:26:00.000-08:002012-01-25T19:41:24.247-08:00I'm Gonna Find My Purpose: or How to Make Your Own Vision Board<div style="text-align: justify;">It's the first month in a gloriously new year!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9SAU44cJsZ8/Tx2AD2TBldI/AAAAAAAACDQ/aypNvYqv5Is/s1600/IMG_6703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" nfa="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9SAU44cJsZ8/Tx2AD2TBldI/AAAAAAAACDQ/aypNvYqv5Is/s320/IMG_6703.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A glorious new year that hasn't yet been tainted by your passive-aggressive boss who leaves a new project for you at 4:45 p.m. on a Friday, or that stupid ex who still hasn't discovered what "feelings" are and is therefore incapable of discussing them, or those cats who puke after every meal and seriously why do I even bother buying the expensive brand of food when they just throw it all up anyway and oh my lord this year is going to suck.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q0mJTG6j5as/Tx2AamaeNTI/AAAAAAAACDY/2ymiJ65hiic/s1600/IMG_6739.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" nfa="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-q0mJTG6j5as/Tx2AamaeNTI/AAAAAAAACDY/2ymiJ65hiic/s320/IMG_6739.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<strong>NO. </strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We must combat this type of thinking. It is negative and soul-sucking and there's just no good reason to do that to yourself. And here's how you fight it:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>YOU MAKE A VISION BOARD! </strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You've probably heard of these before. Google image them and a million (1,000,000) come up. While you don't need to convince me of the power of a good collage, many other people not related to me credit vision boards with helping them to discover their life ambition, refine their goals and to manifest their dreams into destiny.<br />
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I know, sounds familiar, right? But no, my Jennifer Aniston/Angelina Jolie reversible collage does not technically count as a vision board.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1E-HxFXwQFA/Tx419s_t5cI/AAAAAAAACDo/U4Y627qdN6k/s1600/DSCN3700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1E-HxFXwQFA/Tx419s_t5cI/AAAAAAAACDo/U4Y627qdN6k/s200/DSCN3700.JPG" width="200" /></a></div> <a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O19txl5yQsQ/Tx42HGaHDYI/AAAAAAAACDw/rlMww1EhhN8/s1600/DSCN3705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-O19txl5yQsQ/Tx42HGaHDYI/AAAAAAAACDw/rlMww1EhhN8/s200/DSCN3705.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
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(still for sale, price negotiable)<br />
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And all you have to do is fill a poster board with images that you feel connected to, things that represent your goals or inspire you. You can also use words or phrases. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Vision boards can come in all different forms, as everyone's vision/aptitude for creating beautiful art is different. Check out a few I found via Google:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1-h0vS_KF3E/TxigFLJiCCI/AAAAAAAACA0/qXILinLwp-M/s1600/vision+board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" nfa="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1-h0vS_KF3E/TxigFLJiCCI/AAAAAAAACA0/qXILinLwp-M/s320/vision+board.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oHeJaZCCElA/TxigX_Lm0CI/AAAAAAAACA8/V2y8-k3ZxBw/s1600/vision+board+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" nfa="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oHeJaZCCElA/TxigX_Lm0CI/AAAAAAAACA8/V2y8-k3ZxBw/s320/vision+board+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N-s39DO0auA/TxxQHoBrzkI/AAAAAAAACBs/uKIH7X5H3RY/s1600/vb+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-N-s39DO0auA/TxxQHoBrzkI/AAAAAAAACBs/uKIH7X5H3RY/s320/vb+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">These are all correct, although some look a bit more correct than others.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Since it's late January and I haven't yet manifested anything, much less my dreams, into destiny and also haven't made a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2010/03/subversive-spring.html">subversive collage</a> </span>in awhile, I decided to give it a try. My roommate Velvet and I sat down with a huge pile of magazines on a Sunday evening to MANIFEST OUR DESTINIES. And you too can MANIFEST YOUR DESTINY in just a few simple steps.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><u>HOW TO MAKE A VISION BOARD IN JUST A FEW SIMPLE </u></strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><u>BUT EXTREMELY IMPORTANT STEPS</u></strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">1.) Make sure you're dressed properly for the occasion. Do you really think destiny is going to want to manifest with you when you're wearing those elastic-ankle sweatpants that need a wash? No, it won't. It'll manifest with the guy wearing the four thousand (4,000) dollar suit. COME ON, Velvet. Think!</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7WvRb5zodvU/TxsADD0eWVI/AAAAAAAACBE/5udiWbEQQuA/s1600/67422_1586079826119_1659480047_31419076_2270254_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7WvRb5zodvU/TxsADD0eWVI/AAAAAAAACBE/5udiWbEQQuA/s320/67422_1586079826119_1659480047_31419076_2270254_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">Now, THIS...this we can work with.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">2.) Rustle up some ambition-finding snacks to fuel yourself as you begin this journey. Might I suggest some lentil beans with brown rice? A cup or two (2) of pumpkin puree with coconut milk?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ylFQp-CWzLk/Txslly90vOI/AAAAAAAACBc/9nBzJaDj6cY/s1600/lentils.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ylFQp-CWzLk/Txslly90vOI/AAAAAAAACBc/9nBzJaDj6cY/s200/lentils.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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Oh, wait a minute. Are you not on Day Eight (8) of a three (3) week <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elimination_diet"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">elimination diet</span></a> like myself? Well, then eat some chips or chocolate or something delicious for me. NO WAIT, eat THESE:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4dGDGtgzLbY/TxsRj7utYlI/AAAAAAAACBU/j1hL_FAru4I/s1600/smiles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4dGDGtgzLbY/TxsRj7utYlI/AAAAAAAACBU/j1hL_FAru4I/s200/smiles.jpg" width="198" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">McCain Smiles, I hope you fit into my destiny.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">3.) Feed the cats. You have to do this or else they'll meow the whole time and distract you from your destiny. They will; trust me, I know. They don't care about your dreams. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wBl-xEIpo9U/TxsBb5F-TqI/AAAAAAAACBM/1HGOtQW2OQY/s1600/IMG_1528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wBl-xEIpo9U/TxsBb5F-TqI/AAAAAAAACBM/1HGOtQW2OQY/s320/IMG_1528.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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Quiet, you; you're sabotaging my life!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">4.) Sit down with a huge pile of magazines. I already have an inconveniently large collection of magazines due to my occupation, but you may not be so lucky. If this is the case, then your vision board may require an extra step of procuring materials. Magazines can be found in almost any drugstore, grocery store or bookstore. Just ask a store employee to direct you towards the "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magazine"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">magazine</span></a> section." They should understand what you mean.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JhMcU1G9Dwg/TxspzJ3VlQI/AAAAAAAACBk/THWdKsMfueE/s1600/YM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JhMcU1G9Dwg/TxspzJ3VlQI/AAAAAAAACBk/THWdKsMfueE/s320/YM.jpg" width="230" /></a></div><br />
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This is an example of what a typical magazine looks like. It may be helpful to print this picture out and bring it with you on your search for magazines.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">(Thrifty vision boarders may wish to check neighbors' recycling bins for used magazines instead of purchasing new ones. Your vision board may smell slightly of garbage juice but hey, it's just your hopes and goals for the year.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">5.) Begin to leaf through your new and/or garbage-tainted magazines. Look for images or words that you feel a connection to, ones that represent your aspirations for the year. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Some examples--if, like Velvet, one of your goals is to "buy more cats in 2012," you may wish to cut a picture like this out for your board:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f7-1FHd0RIY/TxygsZ5V4yI/AAAAAAAACB8/8XAuvERBt6U/s1600/cat+inspiration+board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f7-1FHd0RIY/TxygsZ5V4yI/AAAAAAAACB8/8XAuvERBt6U/s200/cat+inspiration+board.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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Or if, like Velvet, one of your goals is to "turn bedroom into cat shelter," this picture might be for you:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9WZStgnkkDM/TxykRPReq_I/AAAAAAAACCE/KjGOqkBKIs0/s1600/cat+lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9WZStgnkkDM/TxykRPReq_I/AAAAAAAACCE/KjGOqkBKIs0/s200/cat+lady.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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6.) Now, sometimes your goals may not easily translate into images. Try to avoid that creeping frustration you feel setting in when, after an hour of searching, you've found barely any images/words that align with your aspirations. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is the step when I began to struggle.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Like, seriously, where are the images/power phrases that represent "Complete <i>Hobbit Heartache</i>, the<i> Sweet Valley High</i>/<i>Lord of the Rings</i> erotic fanfiction novel"? Or "Send my fan letter to Jason Segel convincing him that we should go for a drink and maybe write a fun movie together"? Or "Pick out my outfits the night before so I don't end up wearing the same jeans every single day of the week like I usually do and hating myself"? Or "finally finish rebuilding my collection of <i>The Baby-sitters Club </i>series"?</div><br />
AND WHY ARE THERE NO HOBBIT PICTURES IN <i>GLAMOUR </i>MAGAZINE?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hXDfOeoNoeU/Tx5BTiu1KdI/AAAAAAAACEY/Z55YxeCnvKY/s1600/hobbits.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hXDfOeoNoeU/Tx5BTiu1KdI/AAAAAAAACEY/Z55YxeCnvKY/s320/hobbits.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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I know, guys. It's not fair. One day society will see you as beautiful.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">7.) Keep reciting/chanting your list of goals aloud to make sure you remain true to them. This step can make vision boarding in a group a little confusing, but it's vital. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You may start to feel the urge to subtly shift your goals to better align with the magazines on hand. Ask yourself if the power phrases "Keep it Casual but Cute at the Movies" or "Make His Dirty Dreams Come True" or "How to Tan like a Pro for Your Show" are <em>really</em> what you want to work towards this year. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When you find yourself declaring out loud "You know what, I DO want the Kardashians in my life this year!" then it's time to put your vision board down and get some space.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8iSu3pljKM8/Tx45KYapZdI/AAAAAAAACD4/S2TSHy18XJ0/s1600/sears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8iSu3pljKM8/Tx45KYapZdI/AAAAAAAACD4/S2TSHy18XJ0/s320/sears.jpg" width="265" /></a></div><br />
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HURRY BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">8.) Take a break to clear your head. After all of your intense concentration on MANIFESTING YOUR DESTINY, this is a great time to reward your body and mind. A session of Bikram hot yoga will help to soothe your tense limbs, while delving into that new hobby you've always wanted to try (like stained glass making--both easy and inexpensive!) will invigorate your mind. Velvet and I both soothed our limbs and invigorated our minds by watching four (4) episodes of <em>Roswell</em>, season three (3). </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-52LZtrFC62A/Tx37-cXMYVI/AAAAAAAACDg/_xc-OERc_Ek/s1600/max+and+liz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nfa="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-52LZtrFC62A/Tx37-cXMYVI/AAAAAAAACDg/_xc-OERc_Ek/s320/max+and+liz.jpg" width="216" /></a></div><br />
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It's just frustrating because things are kind of crazy right now with Maria and Michael broken up and Liz at boarding school even though she KNOWS that she and Max are destined for each other even though he's an alien. Why won't life just let them be? It really puts things in perspective.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">9.) After a one (1) to four (4) hour break, come back to your board. It might be very late in the evening and you are most likely on the verge of exhaustion after all of the soothing exercise you just performed. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You are now in the perfect state to complete your vision board. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Because, as you all know, it is only after true exhaustion that your visions can be seen clearly and grasped in board form. (This is an old quote but I can't seem to find the source.)<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1sl8xkVgQxc/Tx4_Oh0eLBI/AAAAAAAACEQ/DmDCqq_Bifc/s1600/beautiful+bed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1sl8xkVgQxc/Tx4_Oh0eLBI/AAAAAAAACEQ/DmDCqq_Bifc/s320/beautiful+bed.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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This is about the time when I made five (5) impromptu resolutions for the year, all involving sleep, and also about the time when my vision board became filled with pictures of beds.<br />
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10.) Remember, any spots left blank may be an indication that your year will be empty and unfulfilled. Cover those boards! You know you <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EoCLFUQEStI"><span style="color: yellow;">can't be lazy</span></a>!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ifkr2w44hx8/Tx4-JKqlSjI/AAAAAAAACEI/HaR_Hgc3KxQ/s1600/lazy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ifkr2w44hx8/Tx4-JKqlSjI/AAAAAAAACEI/HaR_Hgc3KxQ/s320/lazy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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12.) Feed the cats again. It's been seven (7) hours since you last fed them. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4MS6nadZJ7s/Tx46wX41_LI/AAAAAAAACEA/B1AuTWYiJmY/s1600/IMG_1528.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4MS6nadZJ7s/Tx46wX41_LI/AAAAAAAACEA/B1AuTWYiJmY/s320/IMG_1528.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><br />
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13.) Don't forget to do the reverse side of your vision boards! Repeat steps 1-13. It is <u>crucial </u>that this all take place on the same evening. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">14.) Now that your vision board is complete, you'll want to place it in a prominent spot where you'll be sure to see it frequently. Velvet and I have placed ours inside of our pillow cases.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After all of this hard work, I thought I'd share with you my completed project. But wait! Life is never that simple, is it? To mimic the unpredictable and often chaotic nature of contemporary life, see if you can pick out which of the below images are my completed vision board and which are from a "Where's Hilary Swank?" puzzler I made years ago. </div><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpjyRp4g4Qc/TxzfrEtsvRI/AAAAAAAACC0/Z2nClwr9Mgc/s1600/DSCN7370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><br />
</a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpjyRp4g4Qc/TxzfrEtsvRI/AAAAAAAACC0/Z2nClwr9Mgc/s1600/DSCN7370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpjyRp4g4Qc/TxzfrEtsvRI/AAAAAAAACC0/Z2nClwr9Mgc/s320/DSCN7370.JPG" width="240" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YC0yleQ89LY/TxzdaczxTaI/AAAAAAAACCc/5KfEo5uAjsM/s1600/DSCN7365.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-YC0yleQ89LY/TxzdaczxTaI/AAAAAAAACCc/5KfEo5uAjsM/s320/DSCN7365.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-syXIirWO_GY/TxzeilgMQEI/AAAAAAAACCk/b0C14ixmLPI/s1600/DSCN7364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-syXIirWO_GY/TxzeilgMQEI/AAAAAAAACCk/b0C14ixmLPI/s320/DSCN7364.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KXUqP268Vqk/TxzfJDNhJII/AAAAAAAACCs/wbNKpU7gtbI/s1600/DSCN7368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KXUqP268Vqk/TxzfJDNhJII/AAAAAAAACCs/wbNKpU7gtbI/s320/DSCN7368.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r56INlDIVDo/TxzgVw_SH6I/AAAAAAAACC8/zDNWasVcYb8/s1600/DSCN7369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r56INlDIVDo/TxzgVw_SH6I/AAAAAAAACC8/zDNWasVcYb8/s320/DSCN7369.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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"Where's Hilary Swank?" is also still for sale, $1,500 as is. Contact me for more details.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I didn't post pictures of Velvet's vision board because visions can be a private thing, but it was pretty much just this:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i665snsos5I/TxxeW9Ht4fI/AAAAAAAACB0/EAf9TWm8DX8/s1600/cat+board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-i665snsos5I/TxxeW9Ht4fI/AAAAAAAACB0/EAf9TWm8DX8/s320/cat+board.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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It's gonna be a great year!<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">Has anyone here made their own vision board? How did it turn out? Did you have to feed the cats more than two (2) times while making it? Has your vision board helped you to MANIFEST YOUR DESTINY? Show me pics and keep it clean!<br />
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PS--Here's my actual vision board.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8snDRk3vltA/TyDLAYxcIhI/AAAAAAAACEg/L--QIToqvjk/s1600/DSCN7356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8snDRk3vltA/TyDLAYxcIhI/AAAAAAAACEg/L--QIToqvjk/s400/DSCN7356.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
</div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-26270471705957822892012-01-17T07:26:00.000-08:002012-01-17T07:30:15.015-08:00Hobbit Heartache: Chapter Six<div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ncvdn55jDio/TvS0vSRKLXI/AAAAAAAAB08/JMK_ljmhCk0/s1600/6-largo-colour-web.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ncvdn55jDio/TvS0vSRKLXI/AAAAAAAAB08/JMK_ljmhCk0/s400/6-largo-colour-web.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Enticing, huh?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Well, this is embarrassing.<br />
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It's been roughly a month and a half since my last installment of <i>Hobbit Heartache</i>, the <i>Sweet Valley High</i>/<i>Lord of the Rings</i> erotic fanfiction novel was posted. 47 days have passed. The last time I wrote, it was a different year. That's pretty bad.<br />
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And I'm sorry. I really am. If you could see me right now, this is how I look:<br />
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Only even sadder. And human. And dressed in a stunning vintage dress and perfect eye makeup. Certainly not wearing sweatpants covered with cat hair.<br />
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Anyways, I do apologize for the wait. It won't happen again, at least not until my night job picks up again.<br />
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To atone, I give to you an actual recap this time. You deserve it.<br />
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<i>The Sweet Valley High gang are somewhat psyched to spend their Spring Break in Middle-earth; however, things quickly go awry when their tour bus explodes and they become lost and stranded in the forest. Meanwhile, Bilbo Baggins, Frodo, Samwise, Merry and Pippin have set out on their journey to destroy a mysterious and powerful ring. Frodo is feeling a bit down these days, not realizing that he's secretly in love with Bilbo, while Merry's heart and loins burn fervently for the distant Frodo. </i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Here's where I throw in my gentle reminder that I know nothing of the LOTR and this is my complete imagining of their world. Don't hate.)</span><br />
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<i>When we last visited, the SVH gang had just crossed paths with the hobbits for the first time. Jessica developed an instant attraction to the clueless Frodo, while Elizabeth is harboring some deep and intense feelings for Gandalf. The two groups agree to merge and continue forth on the adventure of a lifetime. Will Jessica's aquamarine eyes be enough to entice Frodo away from his secret love? Will Elizabeth's feelings for Gandalf be reciprocated? Will the Sweet Valley gang be able to survive the dangerous forests of Middle-earth, despite having no common sense or logic? </i><br />
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<i>ONLY BY READING FURTHER CHAPTERS WILL YOU BE ABLE TO TELL. </i><br />
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Liz is all like "MUST READ MORE!"<br />
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(If that recap's not doing it for you, ain't nothing like the real thang: Chapters <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/chapter-one.html"><span style="color: magenta;">1</span></a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011_09_01_archive.html"><span style="color: lime;">2</span></a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html">3</a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html"><span style="color: yellow;">4</span></a><span style="color: yellow;">,</span> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/12/hobbit-heartache-chapter-five.html"><span style="color: cyan;">5</span></a>.)<br />
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Now that you're all caught up, I'm going to throw a bit of a curveball your way. Chapter six (6) introduces a new character, never before seen in the SVH or LOTR worlds. <i>Sweet Valley High</i> fans may find her familiar, and that is because she is following in the grand SVH tradition of the evil doppelganger. <br />
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You might think I'm kidding here, but I'm not. The evil doppelganger was a very real and extremely terrifying plot used multiple times in SVH history. Each time was more believable than the last.<br />
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This new doppelganger has a lot of work to do before she joins the SVH Evil Doppelganger Hall of Fame, and don't she know it.<br />
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Now, come, gather 'round, ignore your work for the next ten (10) minutes and learn a bit about our newest character: Largo. She's a little insane, a little blood-thirsty, but ultimately, very lovable.<br />
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<strong style="font-weight: bold;">Chapter Six: Hark! A Lurker Approaches. Largo Appears.</strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><br />
</strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Unbeknownst to the group trekking ahead, a lone female followed close behind. Largo watched the rag-tag hikers and listened to their songs, each out-of-tune note curdling her ears more and more. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Oh good, they’re singing about nature again,</i> she thought, the sarcasm twisting her moderately attractive face into a grimace. <i>They never stop,</i> she silently raged. <i>They fill the air with poison. </i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo used to sing. And she remembered laughing once. But that was a very long time ago, a time that had gone hazy in Largo’s mind. It was time full of love and warmth that she once shared with her parents while growing up in Florida. As a young girl and only child in her close-knit family, she adored her parents and her tabby cat, Alberta.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo would spend afternoons lazing in the soft green grass of her backyard, bathing in the warm sunshine and staring at the fluffy clouds. Then her mother would ring the dinner bell, calling Largo and Alberta inside for a warm, delicious meal. Largo would run to join her parents and sit at the cherry oak table and listen to stories about their day. Largo’s parents were both scientists and always had fascinating tales to share. Largo would listen, held captive by her parents’ voices, until her mocha-brown eyes would begin to slowly close. Feeling too tired to move, Largo would be carried off to her canopy bed by her loving father. Largo’s life was perfect. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">That is, until she started first grade.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The first day of school was the day that Largo’s life changed forever. It was the day that she realized that she wasn’t like all the other kids, even though her parents had always told her that she was perfect. It was the day that Largo learned that even well-educated scientists who specialize in the formation of glaciers can be wrong. It was the day that Largo learned that school can teach a person how to read and also how to cry. It was the day that Largo learned how rage can overtake a person, can fill their mouths with bile and make their hearts spread venom throughout their bodies until it paralyzes them with anger and the need for sweet retribution. It was, in short, a big day.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Lazy eye Largo, Lazy Eye Largo!” the school children taunted her with. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo couldn’t help that her left eye slowly gravitated towards her nose. She could feel when it started drifting, could feel that slight pressure building in her eye, and she would instantly start to sweat. They wouldn’t stop chanting their cruel song until Largo cried tears out of her right eye. The tears from the left eye would soon follow, slightly delayed by their incorrect positioning.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The teasing was so relentless that it began to change Largo. She took up the habit of wearing a blindfold when at home so her lazy eye couldn’t be seen. She refused to say the word “I” and spoke only in third person. All mirrors in Largo’s room were smashed and then covered with black construction paper for good measure. Largo began prowling the house at night and broke several valuables due to her blindfold, including her mother’s antique "Remains of the Day" lunchbox. She spoke only to Alberta, the one creature she felt no judgment from.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo’s parents noticed these changes in their six year old and were alarmed. Their valuables were being destroyed at a shocking rate and soon there would be no more. Largo’s outfits had also taken an appalling turn, as her perpetual blindfold greatly restricted the act of color coordinating. They knew something drastic needed to be done to save their amblyopia-ridden daughter. So when they were both offered the opportunity to move to Antarctica and work in a remote, state of the art laboratory to study the movements of glaciers, they jumped at the chance. Having both been unemployed for the last four years, they had recently come to terms with the fact that Florida was not the ideal place for glaciologists.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Antarctica proved to be the perfect place for Largo and her family. The nearest sign of human life was hundreds of miles away and Largo could be homeschooled in peace. She adored the snow and spent her days roaming outside, building snowmen and laughing at the penguins that waddled about near the lab.<br />
Her lazy eye disappeared within weeks of moving, which helped to restore her shattered self-esteem. Her parents appreciated the privacy that the remote location offered and found that their productivity greatly increased around the presence of actual glaciers.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Alberta suffered the only misfortune during their first year in the cold when she tragically lost half of her tail to frostbite. After burying the misshapen tail, Largo’s father fashioned a protective feline snowsuit for Alberta to wear outside. After that, everything was perfect for Largo once again.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The years went by and Largo soon celebrated her thirteenth birthday in Antarctica. She anxiously waited for her parents to return from their day expedition to determine if glaciers were edible so they could celebrate with a double-decker Mississippi Mud cake like they did for all of her birthdays. When seven o’clock hit, Largo took the cake out from the lab refrigerator and set it on the stainless steel table. When eight o’clock came around, she took a few bites of the melted cake and wondered where her parents were. By nine o’clock, she feared something awful had occurred.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo donned her protective human snowsuit and placed Alberta in her feline one. They trekked into the Antarctic tundra, struggling to see in the pitch black darkness. Largo called out for her mother and father and tried to fight the sinking feeling she had in her stomach. After an hour of searching, Largo’s foot slipped on something wet. She lost her footing and fell face-first into a puddle of warm liquid. As soon as the metallic salty tang hit her tongue she knew it was fresh blood, type O negative.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo screamed and retched onto the sullied snow, unwilling to look closer. It was only the sound of Alberta happily licking from the huge lake of blood that forced Largo to confront the petrifying sight. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She took a step forward and knelt down, coming face to face with a sight that most thirteen year old children should never have to see—both parents’ dead bodies viciously torn apart and mutilated by murderous polar bears.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She had never seen such carnage before, not even when the penguins had their annual feast of carp and squid. Her mother’s legs had been ripped from her body and her protective human snowsuit was tattered and soaked with blood, most likely rendering it useless for future wear. Her father’s abdominal cavity had been torn open and his intestines were now decorating the snow, the bright red blood splatters looking like confetti at a very sad birthday party. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A tuft of white polar bear fur was still clenched in her mother’s frozen hand. Largo clutched her mother’s hand to her heart and cried out in fright as three fingers fell off onto the snow. Largo threw back her head and howled to the night sky, a howl filled with anguish and rage. Alberta meowed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo spent the rest of the evening sitting next to her parents’ partially eaten corpses. The rising sun cast pink and golden rays onto the snow, allowing Largo to fully see the desecration that had taken place. She began to weep, her lean body shaking with grief. It took Largo a moment to realize that the tears from her left eye were slightly delayed. Her lazy eye had returned.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The trek home was a long one, as Alberta’s protective feline snowsuit had developed a hole and Largo had to carry her the entire way. Once home, Largo sat down in front of her forgotten birthday cake, methodically eating the entire melted cake slice by slice. Once finished, she licked the platter clean and sang herself “Happy Birthday,” her warbly falsetto voice echoing in the empty lab. She sang it again and again, until her voice gave out and her diaphragm was raw from vibrato. Exhausted, Largo curled up under the lab table and fell asleep.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In her dreams, she saw her parents in the snowy distance, sitting hunched over with two polar bears. All were wearing protective human snowsuits. The air was eerily quiet as Largo approached, her parents grinning as she came closer. Largo had almost reached them when she realized that something was horribly wrong. Her parents and the bears were hunched over a bloodied birthday cake filled with carp, gore smeared all over their faces. Their teeth were stained red with blood and plasma as they grinned manically at Largo. As if led by an invisible conductor, the group suddenly began to sing. Instead of the “Happy Birthday” which Largo expected, they chanted “Lazy eye Largo, Lazy Eye Largo.” The sound of her own screams woke her.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The pain felt duller with each passing day. Largo developed an obsession with her late father’s golden fishing hook, used when he caught salmon or gutted seals for their dinners. It was his favorite weapon and he used to polish it daily while chatting with his daughter. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Why didn’t you use it to kill those polar bears, Father?</i> Largo wondered. <i>Why didn’t you gouge out their coal-black eyes? Why didn’t you think of me and sever a paw? Now I’m so very alone and have to run the lab by myself.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The isolation and responsibility of running a glaciology lab by herself slowly drove Largo mad. Over the next three years, she ran pointless experiments and meticulously recorded the results, determined to make her dead parents proud. She measured empty beakers and weighed Alberta four times a day. She began to write a children’s book about two hungry polar bears named Curdy and Curdica whose appetites could only be satisfied by devouring young boys and girls.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo’s coffee colored hair grew long and wild and her hygiene suffered immensely. She went for weeks without speaking aloud, giving her voice a strange timbre whenever she eventually did. Largo became prone to fits of silent rage and would scream in her head at Alberta for hours on end, her face contorted with anger. Night terrors and taunts of “Lazy Eye Largo” haunted her dreams each night. She craved sunshine but did not dare to leave the lab. She had responsibilities and could trust no one but Alberta. At times, she worried of sabotage.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was this yearning for the warmth of the sun that led Largo to look up pictures of California. She stumbled across a newspaper article online from a quaint town called Sweet Valley. Largo was instantly charmed by this magical town, a place where the residents had golden skin and the streets were lined with flowers and swimming pools. Her extensive lab experiments became neglected as Largo grew more and more fascinated by Sweet Valley and its inhabitants. Alberta was reduced to twice daily weigh-ins. The empty beakers remained empty but now gathered dust. Curdy and Curdica were forgotten.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo scoured the internet for every article she could find about Sweet Valley. She encountered an unusual amount of articles focusing on a pair of blonde twins and their mediocre accomplishments.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Look at those self-satisfied smiles,</i> Largo thought with disgust. <i>I wonder who they’re boning on the newspaper staff to get so much attention.</i> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She remembered how her mother used to debone a Northern Pike fish in under a minute and she sighed with loneliness. She felt a strange connection with the town of Sweet Valley, felt like it was important but she couldn’t understand why.<br />
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<i>Keep looking,</i> she told herself.<i> It will soon make sense.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And she was right. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo discovered an article written about a wealthy computer magnate named George Fowler. He had just brokered the sale of a groundbreaking computer program and sold it for millions, making him even wealthier. Several pictures accompanied the article, including one of Mr. Fowler’s home, a sprawling mansion called Fowler Crest. Largo looked at the beautiful estate, the lush grounds bathed in sunlight. She longed to live there, to lie on the manicured grass with Alberta and to be able to swim in the Olympic-sized pool.<br />
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<i>There would be so much space to store my beakers, </i>she thought wistfully.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo poured over the pictures and froze as she came to the final one, a photo of Mr. Fowler and his sixteen year old daughter, Lila. Largo gasped and gripped Alberta, accidentally pulling on her misshapen stump of a tail.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>She’s so beautiful,</i> marveled Largo, staring at Lila’s picture. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lila was standing next to her father, a tasteful smile on her aristocratic face. Her coffee colored long hair was shiny and smooth and her porcelain skin was flawless. She was the picture of sophistication in her white linen slacks and mauve boat neck raw silk blouse. Freshwater pearls graced her delicate wrists and neck. Lila looked slightly bored, like she was used to people taking her picture and fawning over her.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Lila,” Largo croaked aloud, enjoying the silky feel of the name in her throat. <i>That’s almost like my name. And our hair is almost the exact same color, too, even though mine is two feet longer.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo touched the computer screen with her fingers, softly stroking the photo. <i>What a life Lila must have, </i>she thought with awe. <i>I bet Mr. Fowler would never be partially devoured by a polar bear. I wish I had that life. I deserve that life after all of my hard work here in the lab.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The fleeting thought suddenly reverberated in Largo’s broken mind. <i>I CAN have that life,</i> she realized with glee. <i>I could be Lila!</i> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A plan was instantly formed as Largo now understood her purpose. She would transform herself so she looked exactly like Lila Fowler. Seeing as they both were female with brown hair and brown eyes, Largo had no doubt that this was attainable. She grabbed her golden fishing hook and used it to chop off her ragged, witch-like hair until it was the same length as Lila’s. This task took over an hour due to a fishing hook’s inadequacy at cutting hair. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo laughed wildly the entire time, a raspy cackle that frightened Alberta.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Over the next few months, Largo researched every aspect of Lila’s life. She learned about her friends, her age and her hatred of the poor. She mastered the slow and graceful gait that she imagined Lila would have. She held empty beakers like they were crystal champagne flutes and cawed her way through lengthy toasts at imaginary parties. Largo practiced speaking in an elegant manner but couldn’t seem to shake her gruff voice.<br />
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<i>Oh well, no big deal,</i> she figured. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When Largo discovered that Lila was soon embarking on a school trip to Middle-earth for Spring Break, she knew this was her big chance. She blew up her lab with dynamite and boarded the same flight to Middle-earth, Alberta hidden in her carry-on bag.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo stared at the Sweet Valley students on the plane and almost wept with joy when she glimpsed Lila for the first time in person. The gleam of her cappuccino hair, the slight sneer painted onto her red lips, the Italian suede heels that were so very different from the black rubber triple thermal insulated waterproof snow boots that Largo was wearing. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>How dare they put her in coach with these fools? </i>she wondered with fury. <i>Lila belongs in first class.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">She followed the students closely behind once they landed in Middle-earth, and watched with amusement as their rickety tour bus exploded, delighting in the chaos. Largo hadn’t anticipated the Sweet Valley gang to converge with an unfortunate-looking group of hair covered men-children, but she was confident that her plan would succeed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Largo now clutched the golden fishing hook tightly in her palm as she watched the strange group begin another song, this time a musical round about seedlings. She relished the sudden sting of pain as the hook cut through her skin and she could feel the familiar warm trickle of blood.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Lila Fowler,” gurgled Largo from her concealed foxhole, “you are mine.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><br />
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<strong><strong><em>Does Largo have what it takes to join the ranks of Sweet Valley's famed evil doppelgangers? Will Elizabeth's keen journalistic instincts be able to swiftly sniff out an impostor? Will Largo's extreme fear of polar bears hinder her journey in Middle-earth? And will a case of mistaken identity lead Gandalf to find love in all the wrong places? </em></strong></strong><br />
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<strong><strong><em>STAY TUNED. </em></strong></strong></div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-81297788129756014072012-01-04T21:28:00.000-08:002012-01-06T13:13:28.950-08:002011: A Picture Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AiRuz2xnhe8/TwEA6TnPdfI/AAAAAAAAB5I/Cwk5Cyq-L3o/s1600/fallingfireworks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AiRuz2xnhe8/TwEA6TnPdfI/AAAAAAAAB5I/Cwk5Cyq-L3o/s320/fallingfireworks.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">A new year has begun. Like many, I have high hopes for this year. High hopes and big plans. Productivity will be key. I can already cross "lie on couch slightly hungover and watch ten (10) episodes of 'Blossom' in a row" off of my New Year's resolution list. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Like I said, productivity will be key. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ipfrj5yjom0/TwIrzIWpSbI/AAAAAAAAB6M/6MsENyY75bE/s1600/blossom+six+jacket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ipfrj5yjom0/TwIrzIWpSbI/AAAAAAAAB6M/6MsENyY75bE/s320/blossom+six+jacket.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Impromptu New Year's Resolutions that were Certainly Not Inspired by Blossom: Wear more hats. Make more friends who have numbers for names. Bring vests back into my life. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I know that during this first week of the new year, most people will be encouraging you to look to the future, leave the past behind, seize the day and many other time-related sayings. I say yes, let's do all of these things. All of them! Out with the old, in with the new. <a href="http://www.google.ca/imgres?q=camp+nowhere&hl=en&sa=X&qscrl=1&nord=1&rlz=1T4GGLR_enCA265CA286&biw=1180&bih=824&tbm=isch&prmd=imvns&tbnid=o4mTKKD00zZCYM:&imgrefurl=http://www.movieposter.com/poster/MPW-39301/Camp_Nowhere.html&docid=U3cn1aafbG6_UM&imgurl=http://www.movieposter.com/posters/archive/main/78/MPW-39301&w=500&h=769&ei=I2EDT8bCDOji2QW7r6ydAg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=676&vpy=426&dur=3156&hovh=279&hovw=181&tx=97&ty=256&sig=115951669963362789606&page=1&tbnh=142&tbnw=95&start=0&ndsp=25&ved=1t:429,r:16,s:0">Sniff my butt</a>, 2011.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">But first, before the seizing and the sniffing, let's cling to the past for just one more blog post, a Holiday Edition Best of 2011 edition. Come and marvel, as we travel back into the depths of 2011!<br />
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Okay, okay; it's getting weird. For both of us. Stop marveling. Let's just read it.<br />
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The year began with a Sunday spent in the snow with my dodgeball team, the Devil Bats. It was a day full of tobogganing, creating sick snow jumps and many a failed attempt at "snowball dodgeball." We optimistically declared that Sundays would hereto be known as "Anything Can Happen Sundays" and filled with wondrous activities. <br />
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Never happened again. </div><div style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
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After eight (8) years in Canada, I become an official, government-approved Permanent Resident. This had to be the most important (/time-consuming/expensive/emotionally draining, etc.) highlight of my year. My roommates and cat rejoice knowing that I can now stay in Canada FOREVER.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L-X05IC8EEc/TwPNY7FX7pI/AAAAAAAAB6w/rpzXBAjQjp8/s1600/Photo+on+2011-01-12+at+22.40+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L-X05IC8EEc/TwPNY7FX7pI/AAAAAAAAB6w/rpzXBAjQjp8/s320/Photo+on+2011-01-12+at+22.40+%25232.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">After a <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2010/06/we-will-not-stop.html"><span style="color: yellow;">two (2) year letter writing campaign</span></a>, Great Grains finally made their Canadian debut. My friends promptly clamor to try them. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">(This was probably the second most important highlight. It was all pretty much downhill from here.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gSD0tS-tbKI/TwSC3l5zfhI/AAAAAAAAB9A/5vJdL8Xdegs/s1600/gg+boys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gSD0tS-tbKI/TwSC3l5zfhI/AAAAAAAAB9A/5vJdL8Xdegs/s320/gg+boys.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I turn 26 and celebrate in an age-appropriate fashion. </div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e8bTVtDPru8/TwD-iSTqZ8I/AAAAAAAAB3Q/L4r8CRenZGk/s1600/189204_1760456345423_1659480047_31742992_1543382_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-e8bTVtDPru8/TwD-iSTqZ8I/AAAAAAAAB3Q/L4r8CRenZGk/s320/189204_1760456345423_1659480047_31742992_1543382_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">A slew of dodgeball tournaments provided us with plenty of opportunities to dress in ridiculous costumes. Lessons learned in costumed dodgeball included that losing a tournament while dressed as the ThunderCats notches up the humiliation factor juuuuust a little bit more; on the other hand, destroying another team while playing as the Rainbow Unicorns feels pretty sweet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OgPo-oFMwCc/TwD-7i576mI/AAAAAAAAB3c/pnAjsPcy8pA/s1600/198530_10150142447948841_504463840_6410633_521990_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OgPo-oFMwCc/TwD-7i576mI/AAAAAAAAB3c/pnAjsPcy8pA/s320/198530_10150142447948841_504463840_6410633_521990_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pKGEbBNFipA/TwD_BBhXzmI/AAAAAAAAB3k/XfS97zxFdXQ/s1600/248260_1954405154022_1659480047_32005063_948633_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pKGEbBNFipA/TwD_BBhXzmI/AAAAAAAAB3k/XfS97zxFdXQ/s320/248260_1954405154022_1659480047_32005063_948633_n.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">A springtime jaunt to Detroit turns into an impromptu carnival visit. We cast aside whatever doubts we had concerning tourist traps and safety regulations and take a brief, one-ride-worth's-look-see.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UiSy3XcelMo/TwD_HSy1zUI/AAAAAAAAB3s/lQHwFuteI4s/s1600/249598_1927661565449_1659480047_31966600_6534201_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-UiSy3XcelMo/TwD_HSy1zUI/AAAAAAAAB3s/lQHwFuteI4s/s320/249598_1927661565449_1659480047_31966600_6534201_n.jpg" width="213" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Such hopeful smiles.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KqiZhHC580E/TwNzCuy20HI/AAAAAAAAB6k/bYgSGaMTWQY/s1600/enterprise+awful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" rea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KqiZhHC580E/TwNzCuy20HI/AAAAAAAAB6k/bYgSGaMTWQY/s320/enterprise+awful.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The adolescent ride operator made sure to give us the time of our lives during the four (4) minute ride aboard the Enterprise. Ride recaps included: "I've never been so nauseous in my entire life,""Why wouldn't it end?" and "Can thirteen year olds legally operate carnival rides?" We shared a nice, silent car ride out of the park, each of us intently concentrating on not throwing up out of the window. Detroit never fails to disappoint. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">(2011: yet another year when <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2010/06/cut-it-out-detroit-motorama-motel.html"><span style="color: yellow;">Detroit touched my heart</span></a> and also my vomitary system.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Summer begins and we try to spend as much as time as possible at the park. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QFYkuNCBE-w/TwD_vMWy70I/AAAAAAAAB4c/wqDFksnp6bQ/s1600/271172_2074443874915_1659480047_32088010_499956_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QFYkuNCBE-w/TwD_vMWy70I/AAAAAAAAB4c/wqDFksnp6bQ/s320/271172_2074443874915_1659480047_32088010_499956_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">We learn just how badly a group of people can be at badminton. You can add badminton, frisbee baseball, soccer dodgeball, gymnastics and cool breakdancing tricks to the list of activities we did not master this summer. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nM9-PjRKa4o/TwNu9tROKoI/AAAAAAAAB6Y/bSaE5opJcH4/s1600/badbadminton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" rea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-nM9-PjRKa4o/TwNu9tROKoI/AAAAAAAAB6Y/bSaE5opJcH4/s320/badbadminton.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Activities we DID master, you ask? Mostly beach dodgeball, the art of the sporadic kip-up, ways to achieve the perfect sunburn even when drenched in sunscreen and how to be the creepy clothed people at a nude beach. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qflCDPBZ5zM/TwD_LyoXP9I/AAAAAAAAB30/TF3cldIazRM/s1600/256931_1983817089302_1659480047_32043641_2251906_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qflCDPBZ5zM/TwD_LyoXP9I/AAAAAAAAB30/TF3cldIazRM/s320/256931_1983817089302_1659480047_32043641_2251906_o.jpg" width="239" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ItKv4jxch9I/TwD_TqiGOEI/AAAAAAAAB38/qxTBXCIIRQY/s1600/257076_1983816009275_1659480047_32043638_3340049_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ItKv4jxch9I/TwD_TqiGOEI/AAAAAAAAB38/qxTBXCIIRQY/s320/257076_1983816009275_1659480047_32043638_3340049_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hz5EvQrMhX0/TwURF-AAUGI/AAAAAAAAB-g/-jaG8fzpa9k/s1600/185390_2154264390378_1659480047_32198253_3590841_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hz5EvQrMhX0/TwURF-AAUGI/AAAAAAAAB-g/-jaG8fzpa9k/s320/185390_2154264390378_1659480047_32198253_3590841_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">We willingly forked over money to go see Katy Perry in concert. Are you wondering if we dressed up in costume?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">...If you don't know me by now, you will never never never know me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">(no you won't)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">(ooooh)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vJ34M54TLlc/TwD_YYmohbI/AAAAAAAAB4E/0escULVyDxs/s1600/262619_2065537332257_1659480047_32075963_2540726_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vJ34M54TLlc/TwD_YYmohbI/AAAAAAAAB4E/0escULVyDxs/s320/262619_2065537332257_1659480047_32075963_2540726_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M1rAZS25ubc/TwUS4o6CYPI/AAAAAAAAB-s/twpiei-9dc4/s1600/DSCN7020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M1rAZS25ubc/TwUS4o6CYPI/AAAAAAAAB-s/twpiei-9dc4/s320/DSCN7020.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">A few of my dearest friends from home decide I should have no money for the rest of year and hold various wedding-related activities way, way, way, far away from Canada. Bridal showers, bachelorette parties, Tennessee and Florida weddings--I attend them all!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">(Were they worth it? You bet your bippy they were.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Dreams come true when Velvet and I transform into Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield for Halloween.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">On a just-as-important note: <i>Sweet Valley Confidential</i> WAS FINALLY RELEASED. As someone currently writing an erotic <i>Sweet Valley High</i> fanfiction novel, this was extremely pertinent market research. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uDTVz38EGEs/TwPR61t11kI/AAAAAAAAB7g/mu1YLh-VAwo/s1600/svh+confidential.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uDTVz38EGEs/TwPR61t11kI/AAAAAAAAB7g/mu1YLh-VAwo/s320/svh+confidential.jpg" width="229" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WHt1jJwYQDw/TwPbVIAKZgI/AAAAAAAAB7s/YJzE2eXnFwY/s1600/10042011126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WHt1jJwYQDw/TwPbVIAKZgI/AAAAAAAAB7s/YJzE2eXnFwY/s320/10042011126.JPG" width="180" /> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Uom0PNcNWSM/TwPbvXdz2wI/AAAAAAAAB74/pAsTi7jUED8/s1600/10042011127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Uom0PNcNWSM/TwPbvXdz2wI/AAAAAAAAB74/pAsTi7jUED8/s320/10042011127.JPG" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I only finished it in one (1) day because it was such pertinent market research. Nothing more. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I attend Fan Expo Canada by myself dressed as Buffy the Vampire Slayer (this is a 2011 highlight/lowlight). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rBi9Sw8517g/TwECTE940SI/AAAAAAAAB5Q/WCx1sWXwNZ4/s1600/IMG_6153.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rBi9Sw8517g/TwECTE940SI/AAAAAAAAB5Q/WCx1sWXwNZ4/s320/IMG_6153.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The roommates and I wrap up the year with our first house Christmas. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tN4Vgi_8F_s/TwUcnzBPGYI/AAAAAAAAB_Q/ug9Rniva1z8/s1600/IMG_6690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tN4Vgi_8F_s/TwUcnzBPGYI/AAAAAAAAB_Q/ug9Rniva1z8/s320/IMG_6690.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Marley wraps up the year by inching his BMI closer and closer to the danger zone. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BefjFD-zLTY/TwUdPqr52wI/AAAAAAAAB_c/T5ha3L9H37c/s1600/IMG_6693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BefjFD-zLTY/TwUdPqr52wI/AAAAAAAAB_c/T5ha3L9H37c/s320/IMG_6693.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b>IN CONCLUSION:</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">It was a year filled with friends, both near and far.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-onEudpsBvZo/TwD-Nm7g7xI/AAAAAAAAB28/p4AN9FJCDUM/s1600/188796_1760464345623_1659480047_31743033_7292872_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-onEudpsBvZo/TwD-Nm7g7xI/AAAAAAAAB28/p4AN9FJCDUM/s320/188796_1760464345623_1659480047_31743033_7292872_n.jpg" width="213" /></a><br />
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And more importantly, it was a year of Canadian-accessible Great Grains.<br />
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(the gorgeous Great Grains pics are courtesy of the cereal-lovin' William Matthews)<br />
(other photo credits go to the usuals: <a href="http://misspfaff.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: lime;">Jenn</span></a><span style="color: lime;">,</span> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_0d_qsFJVL9A/TSy2y8LbS2I/AAAAAAAABHI/jwTdkhDcVRs/s1600/heather%2Bpaint.jpg"><span style="color: cyan;">Heather</span></a>, <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_0d_qsFJVL9A/TFBTcfFLYTI/AAAAAAAAAkM/gw3Zi4tKjuc/s1600/marley+butler.bmp">Velvet</a> and <a href="http://salmanspets.files.wordpress.com/2011/08/puppy.jpg"><span style="color: #ffe599;">Ryan P.--</span></a>thanks a <a href="http://millpictures.com/images/mills//Ga-06-01-RagsdaleMill.jpg"><span style="color: magenta;">mill</span></a>!)<br />
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*A small but important note: though it may look like all of 2011 was spent skipping in the sunshine while wearing sequined boas and hoisting trophies into the air, I don't want to be misleading. There were certainly low, un-blogged-about moments. Financial stress, zero free time and putting far too much effort into things/people undeserving are all things I'm happy to leave behind. I'm optimistic for 2012.<br />
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Apart from the world ending and all that.<br />
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Obligatory New Year's resolution mention:</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Though, like every year, I have about sixty (60) New Year's resolutions, I want to assure you readers that <em><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/chapter-one.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">Hobbit Heartache</span></a></em>, the <em><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html">Sweet Valley High</a>/<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: cyan;">Lord of the Rings</span></a></em> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html"><span style="color: magenta;">erotic</span></a> <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/12/hobbit-heartache-chapter-five.html"><span style="color: lime;">crossover</span></a> <a href="http://www.tumblr.com/tagged/hobbit-heartache"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #8e7cc3;">fanfiction</span></a> WILL be completed in 2012. <br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hIZM5EZcac0/TwUmifR8oSI/AAAAAAAAB_o/wtzU6fHZd_Y/s1600/book+cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hIZM5EZcac0/TwUmifR8oSI/AAAAAAAAB_o/wtzU6fHZd_Y/s320/book+cover.jpg" width="194" /></a></div><br />
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Though it will be sad not to have to ponder such queries as "Is a size six the same in hobbit clothing?""Would Bruce Patman and Bilbo fight over who will be the group's alpha male?" and "Would Jessica ever consider a threesome with Bilbo and Frodo?", I do promise that our journey will reach its conclusion in the upcoming months.<br />
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To all of you who have read and supported my blog and stories over the year, you warm my heart and if I could, I'd give a cat and box of Great Grains to each of you.<br />
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HAPPY NEW YEAR! Share some resolutions below. </div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-3378699339760732742011-12-25T21:33:00.000-08:002011-12-25T21:33:34.639-08:00No Snow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Yw29HZWsniA/TvS7YqSmERI/AAAAAAAAB1U/MqUP4e-xfd8/s1600/caroling+copy+small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Yw29HZWsniA/TvS7YqSmERI/AAAAAAAAB1U/MqUP4e-xfd8/s400/caroling+copy+small.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I really wanted to send my holiday wishes to all of you guys earlier, but I was too busy going wassailing door to door with my roommates and cats. Sorry about the delay; we just had to make sure we hit up the ol' retirement home and cat shelter.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i8ozYrvVFNY/Tvf74SxhkOI/AAAAAAAAB14/OZqWzEOgC0s/s1600/mar+smile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i8ozYrvVFNY/Tvf74SxhkOI/AAAAAAAAB14/OZqWzEOgC0s/s320/mar+smile.jpg" width="292" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">If we can make just one (1), JUST ONE (1), cat smile, then we've done our job.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Juuuuust kidding; I'm currently in Florida visiting family. It's almost 80 degrees (F) outside and nary a wassail was had. It feels strange to be sweating on Christmas. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">But don't let anyone ever tell you that Christmas dreams can't come true. Because sometimes, when someone reads your blog and sees what you really want and then goes on eBay and wins a bidding war and then wraps it and gives it to you on Christmas, your Christmas dreams CAN come true. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M0SU-NZUINg/TvfuKo37tcI/AAAAAAAAB1s/AeoBpUTPPsg/s1600/photo-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-M0SU-NZUINg/TvfuKo37tcI/AAAAAAAAB1s/AeoBpUTPPsg/s320/photo-4.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">...Christmas dreams like <i>SWEET VALLEY HIGH</i>: THE BOARD GAME! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">(for when the books just aren't enough)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Devin definitely earned the Brother of the Week award with this one. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-04K2lenag5E/TvgEiN-6LEI/AAAAAAAAB2Q/luoUkzvHRtI/s1600/blaine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-04K2lenag5E/TvgEiN-6LEI/AAAAAAAAB2Q/luoUkzvHRtI/s320/blaine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">He also got my Mom this t-shirt, so it's safe to say he won Christmas this year. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">You can bet your bippy I'll do a full post dedicated to a review of this game, but for now, I made my Mom and brother play a "quick round" with me to give it a whirl. Two (2) hours later, I was triumphant, having found my boyfriend, corsage, prom decorations and prom gown in time for the big date. My Mom came in a close second and Devin wholly regretted his purchase. (His biggest mistake? Choosing Enid as his character. Newb!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Happy holidays, everyone! I hope your cats are smiling, your weather is brisk and your <i>Sweet Valley High</i> memorabilia is plentiful. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D-qomeGdi9A/TvgAyALwyQI/AAAAAAAAB2E/Zvbi6QSufw0/s1600/334400_2660517846398_1659480047_32537093_820037611_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-D-qomeGdi9A/TvgAyALwyQI/AAAAAAAAB2E/Zvbi6QSufw0/s320/334400_2660517846398_1659480047_32537093_820037611_o.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">...and I hope your Santa beards were more durable than mine. Helpful holiday tip: use cotton balls instead of makeup remover pads. You live and you learn. Now enough wisdom; there's a King of Queens Christmas marathon that's calling my name. </div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-49640187354339616442011-12-01T08:39:00.000-08:002011-12-05T11:45:26.540-08:00Hobbit Heartache--Chapter Five <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gsPvG_9u6tQ/TtMRgO5NC3I/AAAAAAAAB0A/scOrUC3OP4c/s1600/Chapter+Five.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="340" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gsPvG_9u6tQ/TtMRgO5NC3I/AAAAAAAAB0A/scOrUC3OP4c/s400/Chapter+Five.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><em>Will Jessica steal Frodo's hair-covered heart?</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">The rumors? All true. That office scuttlebutt you overhead? Confirmed. The word on the street? Verily accurate.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">The moment you've all been waiting for is finally here.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b>THE SWEET VALLEY GANG AND THE LORD OF THE RINGS CREW ARE FINALLY GOING TO MEET!</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I think we all know what that means...it's time to break out the brandywine and root beer floats and rejoice! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><b><a href="http://s291.photobucket.com/albums/ll314/recklesslent/gifs/?action=view&current=71305c8.gif" target="_blank"><img alt="happy" border="0" src="http://i291.photobucket.com/albums/ll314/recklesslent/gifs/71305c8.gif" /></a></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Like I said, rejoice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Are you feeling a bit on the fence over whether you should read Chapter Five (5)? Well, here's what I can tell you:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><strong>Worlds will collide! Hobbit hair will fly! Aquamarine eyes will sparkle! Merry will get his perv on! Graphic sexual encounters will occur!</strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zC63YWR4e-M/Ttb45vizwJI/AAAAAAAAB0I/4RM1BpQEc1s/s1600/merry+perv+on.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zC63YWR4e-M/Ttb45vizwJI/AAAAAAAAB0I/4RM1BpQEc1s/s200/merry+perv+on.jpg" width="151" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">What else is new, right?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(also, one of those <em>might</em> not be entirely true...yet. )</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">...and that's all you get for spoilers. We both have to put in some effort to make this work.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Now, if you've fallen a bit behind in <i>Hobbit Heartache</i>, the <i>Sweet Valley High/Lord of the Rings</i> crossover erotic fanfiction, it's okay. Things get busy. Costumes gotta be worn. Cats gotta be tended to. I know how it is.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2TiFS7J-u5Y/TtejQCqqtrI/AAAAAAAAB0Q/_OPR-GMO6yU/s1600/marley+hurr+stensions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2TiFS7J-u5Y/TtejQCqqtrI/AAAAAAAAB0Q/_OPR-GMO6yU/s320/marley+hurr+stensions.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Trust me, I know.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div>Backstory, get your backstory here:<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/chapter-one.html"><span style="color: yellow;">Chapter One</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html"><span style="color: magenta;">Chapter Two</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html"><span style="color: lime;">Chapter Three</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/11/hobbit-heartache-chapter-four-journey.html"><span style="color: purple;">Chapter Four</span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">Okay, enough fanfare. Let's do this thing! I hope you enjoy, and I'd like to thank everyone who actually takes the time to wade their way through these chapters. You guys are the Bilbo to my Frodo. <3</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pBbHM0AHW1A/Tt0e-Npe1WI/AAAAAAAAB0Y/bOPlRSZHDKk/s1600/5-meet-colour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dda="true" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pBbHM0AHW1A/Tt0e-Npe1WI/AAAAAAAAB0Y/bOPlRSZHDKk/s400/5-meet-colour.jpg" width="357" /></a></div>Prints available from the talented<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;"> <a href="http://familycontact.ca/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">Zak Tatham</span></a></span>. I hear he's open for cash or haggling, whatever you got. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>Chapter Five</strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Can we please take a break? My feet are killing me,” moaned Lila, stopping abruptly in her tracks. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica rolled her glorious eyes as the group came to a halt. This was the third time they’d taken a break that day, all due to Lila’s nonstop complaining. Lila was one of Jessica’s best friends but was sometimes best in small doses. And this trip to Middle-earth had been anything but a small dose of Lila. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Maybe if you hadn’t worn your brand new Italian suede heels just for a plane ride you’d be able to walk for more than ten minutes,” replied Jessica testily. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“You’re one to talk,” said Lila, staring pointedly at Jessica’s striped espadrilles. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Excuse me? I’m leading the pack here, not limping around and whining,” exclaimed Jessica, her feisty southern Californian temper beginning to emerge. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Ladies, ladies,” interrupted Bruce. “You’re both morons. But let’s not forget the biggest moron here, Mr. Winston Egbert himself, destroyer of buses and buzz killer of vacations.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Oh, forgive me, guys. Anyone remember our old friend Olivia? The one who died by being burned alive in an explosion? Maybe you should think about her for a second instead of whining about your shoes,” snapped Winston, uncharacteristically serious.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Guys, guys. Let’s cool it, okay? I know we’ve been walking all day and we’re all tired and stressed, but arguing isn’t going to get us anywhere. Let’s take a quick break and then regroup. I have a feeling we might come across a town soon and then we can get help,” said Elizabeth, trying her best to soothe the tense group. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica rolled her mesmerizing eyes to herself once more. <em>Thank you very much, Mother Teresa,</em> she thought. She knew Elizabeth was just trying to help, but her relentless optimism was starting to wear thin. They had been hiking deeper and deeper into the thick forest all day trying to find anyone who could help them. After endless hours of walking, it looked like they were in the exact same place as where they started—surrounded by trees and not a single sign of human life. </div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><em>At least all this hiking has probably made me drop five pounds,</em> thought Jessica as she walked away from the group to get some space. Jessica was correct. Her swift metabolism allowed her to lose weight with ease, although weight loss was completely unnecessary. The Wakefield’s family doctor had confirmed that both Jessica and Elizabeth’s Body Mass Index measurements were perfectly suited for their heights. Jessica recalled this fact and smiled, then caught sight of Bruce standing in the distance. He sniffed a purple berry and threw it to the ground in distaste. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em>Now, if just Bruce and I were lost in the woods together, this would be a different story,</em> Jessica thought, a sultry smile coming over her dainty features. But before Jessica could start daydreaming about riding 1BRUCE1, she happened to see Elizabeth sitting by herself, looking hunched over and dejected. Jessica sighed, realizing she had twin sister duties to fulfill. She marched over and plopped herself down next to her sister. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Lizzie, cheer up. We’re going to be okay,” said Jessica in what she hoped was a calming tone. Inside she was imagining being with Bruce at Miller’s Point, keeping warm on a cool Sweet Valley evening. She’d run her tawny hands over his white linen jacket, slowly moving them down to his grey silk slacks. Bruce would eye her favored tuxedo shirt and matching pants and wonder what the hell she was wearing. Jessica would slide her hands under his jacket, and marvel at the fact that none of the males in Sweet Valley seemed to have chest hair. Bruce would begin to wish that Jessica was in a deep coma so she would finally stop talking and he could comfortably make a move. Jessica would think how handsome Bruce was, almost as good looking as her older brother Steven. Bruce would cup her--</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Her steamy daydream was interrupted when Elizabeth looked up, her angelic face startled. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“What? Oh, hi Jess. Yeah, I know. I’m sure we’ll find help soon. It’s just…” she trailed off, her fluorescent eyes filling with tears.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Oh, come on, we’ve been lost in nature and on the brink of certain death a hundred and thirty-seven times before. Remember when we got lost in Death Valley and held hostage by those escaped convicts and were saved only because one fell in love with me? ” asked Jessica.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Yes, I do. That was really unusual; escaped convicts usually resort to their roots and commit violent crimes again,” said Elizabeth slowly. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Or how about when I got stuck on a deserted island with Winston and had to fend off a bear attack? And Winston was in love with me the whole time? Can you believe that?” said Jessica. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I’m still surprised about that, considering you’ve had no wilderness training,” said Elizabeth, sounding a bit more like herself.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“And remember when I pulled Todd out from his burning car right before it fell off a cliff? And then he thought he was in love with me!” exclaimed Jessica.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I do recall that, yes. I actually hated you for that,” replied Elizabeth stiffly. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica laughed, a peal of amused delight.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“And there’s always the time we were stranded in that blizzard in Stoneybrook after twenty-one inches of snow fell and Logan kept flirting with me. Southern guys have always had a thing for me.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Was that us?” asked Elizabeth, her SAT-acing brain momentarily confused. Jessica took no note of this and plowed on with her examples. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Or the time that the gang leader of Palisades High fell in love with me but then he died and I won a surfing contest? Or that time we were stuck on a bus that couldn’t go under fifty miles an hour or it would blow up and that cop fell in love with me? Or the time I starred in the school play and Bill Chase fell in love with me?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Those are all great examples, Jess. You’re right, little sis-- we’ve been through a lot before and come out just fine. Thanks for the encouragement—you’re almost as good a listener as Mr. Collins is!” said Elizabeth.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica gave a thin smile and nodded. She had always thought her sister’s preoccupation with their English teacher and school newspaper advisor was a little strange, even though he did look just like Robert Redford. She could often hear her sister talking to him on the phone late at night in hushed tones, her soft, delicate laughs slowly turning into heated moans. Jessica could always tell in the morning when her sister had been having a special “emergency <em>Oracle</em> meeting” over the phone with Mr. Collins the previous night, her teal eyes bloodshot and a guilty expression painted onto her bronzed face. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">With Elizabeth momentarily reassured, the next few hours of hiking went smoothly. Jessica and Lila’s steady stream of gossip kept the group occupied and in more relaxed spirits. They were on another break for Lila’s feet when suddenly Winston froze, his size eleven feet ceasing all movement.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Did you guys hear that?” he whispered, looking around furiously. “It sounds like there are people up ahead.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“All I hear is a much-needed break from these two yabbering on about Caroline Pearce this, Ronnie Edwards that,” replied Bruce. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“No, shhhh. I hear it, too!” said Jessica, straining her vigorous ear canals to listen. She could barely detect the faint sound of muffled voices and footsteps in the woods.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Let’s check it out! I bet Mr. Jaworski sent out park rangers looking for us!” said Elizabeth. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The group broke out into a run and dashed ahead, with Jessica and Elizabeth leading the way with their God-given athletic ability. They burst into a clearing and suddenly came face to face with an old, saggy looking man and a group of four strange children. Or were they men? Jessica wasn’t sure, but she quickly hiked up her suede miniskirt and smoothed her silky hair. The air was filled with silence as the two groups stood frozen in place staring at each other.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The twins were naturally the first to gain their composure. Elizabeth stepped forward and extended a tan hand, a soft smile on her tired yet friendly face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Hello, I’m Elizabeth Wakefield and this is my twin sister, Jessica. Maybe you’ve heard of us. We’re both a size six. We come from a town called Sweet Valley. My friends and I are students on a class trip but our bus broke down, and right now we’re a little lost. Maybe you can help us?” asked Elizabeth.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The old man who looked to be their leader stepped forward. His pale face was covered with wrinkles and he carried many extra pounds on his short frame, which made Jessica cringe just looking at him. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em>He’d look so much better if he just lost twenty pounds,</em> she thought. She opened her muscular mouth to tell him this but was interrupted as he suddenly began to sing a song, something about the moon and a river. The Sweet Valley gang stared with their blemish-free jaws dropped.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Can someone tell me what the hell is going on?” broke in Bruce with disgust. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The man abruptly stopped his song, a surprised expression coming over his shapeless features. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I am Master Bilbo Baggins, wisest resident of Hobbiton. I have travelled these lands and have many stories to share,” said the man.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“And I am Frodo,” said a small hairy boy, stepping forward. “And this is Samwise, Merry and dear Pippin.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em>Cute,</em> thought Jessica, casting an alluring look at Frodo. <em>He must be European. </em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Nice to meet you, all of you,” said Elizabeth graciously. “And this is Lila, Bruce and Winston.” </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A tall man wearing a white cloak suddenly stepped out of the shadows. Jessica felt her comely sister gasp and stiffen.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“And you are?” Jessica purred, bestowing an enticing smile upon the almost painfully thin man. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I am Gandalf the Grey,” replied the mysterious man. He offered no further information. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Uh, hi. I’m Liz, I mean Elizabeth, uh, Wakefield. We’re a size seven. I mean six. Six! I like your robe,” Elizabeth sputtered, her smooth face turning scarlet. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica watched her usually eloquent sister bumble over her words and raised her sparkling eyebrows at Lila. What was going on? Liz never got flustered around people. In fact, Jessica often found her in the midst of giving reassuring speeches to various strangers in the grocery store. The only time Jessica ever saw her sister ruffled was when she first met Todd. A light bulb went off in Jessica’s lightweight head. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em>Hmm, so Liz has a crush on this homeless guy, huh?</em> Jessica thought. <em>She did always like the older type. I think that Frodo boy may have some potential but the rest are lost causes. </em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica snapped back to attention as she heard her name. The chubby man was talking again. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“’Tis like looking at the same person when I look at you two,” Bilbo said. “Never have I seen such a thing, and I have seen wolves sing and a parade of nude country dwarves march by. Were you touched by a sorceress in your mother’s womb?” </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Thanks, yeah; people always tell us that we’re beautiful. What do you think, Frodo?” asked Jessica, staring deeply into the boy’s chocolate colored eyes, a shock of brown hair curled onto his forehead. He mumbled a few unintelligible words and looked down at the ground.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em>He must be visually impaired or ill,</em> thought Jessica, feeling slightly offended by Frodo’s lack of response. <em>Or maybe he’s one of those slow people from other towns that you see on TV.</em></div><em></em><br />
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</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">“So we’re here because our bus broke down—why are you guys singing like church boys in the middle of a forest?” asked Bruce bluntly.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Ah, ‘tis quite a tale. It began with a journey prior, of which I take many, and it was there that a discovery was made,” began Bilbo.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Abridged version, please,” interrupted Bruce. “I’m already in a bad mood.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Poor Brucey didn’t get his usual breakfast of champagne and lobsters,” put in Winston, which earned him a punch on the arm from Bruce. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Very well, my new acquaintance. My fellow hobbits and I are on a mysterious quest which will take us far and near. We will cross the Lothlorien Forest, travel through many towns and most likely encounter sensual dwarves and Elves on our way. When we reach our destination, we shall have a dangerous task to execute. We would be most pleased if you would join us, as your soaring heights and robust bodies will prove most useful,” explained Bilbo. “Will you join us on our quest?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Well, if you aren’t able to help us find Mr. Jaworski or a way out of here, then I think we’re wasting our time,” said Lila.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Yeah, maybe we should just keep moving,” added Winston. “These guys have their own problems to deal with without us tagging along.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“No! We have to stay together! For safety!” cried Elizabeth in a panic. “Mr. Jaworski left me in charge and I say we should stay with Gandalf and the rest of them. Don’t you think so, Jess?” She looked at Jessica with imploring and vibrant eyes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica felt indifferent and wanted to work on her tan. <em>At least I’ll get some attention from males if we stick around these guys. I bet they’ll compliment me a lot,</em> she figured. “Sure, let’s go with Bilbo Bagpan and Frodo. It can’t hurt to stay with some guys who know the land, right?”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“If that’s what you want, Jess, then I agree one hundred percent,” said Winston shyly, holding his size eleven shoe in his hand.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Thanks, Win,” Jessica replied with a playful wink. <em>It’s so easy to manipulate people when they’re in love with me,</em> she wisely reflected. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Whatever, Wakefield. Just know that if I die out here, my father will sue the hell out of your parents,” said Bruce. “He’ll take your dog just to spite you.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica rolled her graceful eyes and glanced at Lila to get her thoughts on the matter. Lila was staring in disdain at the small boy named Pippin, who was dancing in circles around Lila and trying to touch her hair. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Great! We’re all in agreement!” announced Jessica. “Let’s get moving! Frodo, would you mind giving me a hand? I’m a little tired.” She stooped over to link her sultry arm through Frodo’s hairy one. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em>Did he just shudder at my touch?</em> Jessica wondered. <em>No, that’s the most insane thing I’ve ever heard.</em> <em>Must have just been a shiver of excitement.</em> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Frodo again mumbled a few incoherent words which Jessica didn’t catch but let out a peal of flirtatious laughter anyway.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">With Frodo and Jessica leading the way, the newly formed group set off together. Elizabeth lingered one step behind Gandalf, while Winston and Merry began chatting. Lila and Bruce walked together, both avoiding the weird dancing boy.<br />
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"To the Land of the Elves!" cried out Bilbo.</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica looked down at Frodo and smiled. <em>You can play hard to get as long as you want, Frodo,</em> she thought. <em>No man or young boy can resist Jessica Wakefield in the end!</em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><em>Will Frodo succumb to Jessica’s delightfully subtle yet gracefully flagrant charm, or does he have other plans in mind? Will Elizabeth and Gandalf soon call an emergency meeting of “The Oracle” to order? Will Pippin's lighthearted zest for life melt the cold, dead heart of Bruce Patman? And most importantly, will the Sweet Valley teens and the Hobbiton hobbits merge more than their collective groups?</em></strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>STAY TUNED. </strong></div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-47260376112370640292011-11-25T09:18:00.000-08:002011-11-25T13:11:34.959-08:00Thanksgiving Part II<div style="text-align: justify;">Yesterday was American Thanksgiving, aka Thanksgiving Part II, aka the day my boss lets us order in Swiss Chalet <a href="http://www.yummylocal.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/11/Swiss-Chalet-Festive-Special-580x685.jpg"><span style="color: magenta;">Festive Specials</span></a> for lunch. It was also the day when I got to wear my sexy turkey costume to work.</div><br />
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You know, people scoffed last Halloween when I told them of my sexy turkey costume plans, but I was thinking of the long-term benefits. When would I ever reuse a sexy pigeon costume?! I have no regrets.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Though my Thanksgiving was spent in an office, it was probably pretty similar to yours.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">We expressed our gratitude for the meal we were about to consume.</div><br />
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We feasted.<br />
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We forced festive cheer upon those who did not want it.<br />
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And we spilled cranberry sauce on the white carpet.<br />
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The stain is now covered by a desk drawer that must forever remain open. The boss will never suspect a thing!<br />
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This year, I am thankful for many a reason.<br />
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I am thankful for the Great Grains Facebook group, of which I participate in daily.<br />
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I like talking to other people who enjoy Great Grains. And I like talking about cats in relation to Great Grains. And I like talking about my ideas for Great Grains-themed fanfictions (mostly non-erotic). I think the group might hate me but I sure do love them. <br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I am thankful for my roommates, who make me laugh and are among the very few people that I could stand seeing in the mornings for 6:00 a.m. jogs. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">(Explanation: we've just embarked on a new fitness routine and I am actually very pumped about it because I love exercise, even when it takes place in the pitch black and it's minus ten Celsius outside. Talk to me in a week to see how pumped up I remain.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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My roommates are also perhaps the most frequent commenters on my blog and I promise you that I do not force them to do this. Yes, I give each of them the silent treatment until I see a sufficiently complimentary comment on each post, and yeah, I withhold necessary life resources from them until they congratulate me in person on each new post , but I use no force. I'm way too busy for that.<br />
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I am thankful that Money has made it through another year. </div><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">That may sound callous, but I think it is something worth celebrating. It's been a rough year for Money. There was that short bout with fleas (are they still there? Who knows? It's more fun being a mystery) and her balance has grown so poor that she falls off the couch at least twice a day. It's not easy being Money but at least she looks good in hats. A lot of cats don't.</div><br />
I am thankful for an eventful year of travel that allowed me to see my Mom and my brother Devin, hang with my cherished old friends and also make a few new ones. <br />
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(fancy photos courtesy of my talented friend <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/misspfaff/"><span style="color: yellow;">Jenn</span></a>)</div><div align="justify"><br />
</div><div align="justify">But mostly I'm thankful for the self-serve frozen yogurt place that's opening up right by my work. That stuff is crazy!<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">(I hope you had a) Happy Thanksgiving, my American family and friends! Let's just ignore Black Friday, aight? Unless it's at Target and then I completely understand.</div></div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-31893407963849964892011-11-14T20:15:00.000-08:002011-11-30T13:43:26.651-08:00Hobbit Heartache-- Chapter Four: A Journey Begins<div style="text-align: justify;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yfRxYPZnNuk/Tq9piPNDRjI/AAAAAAAABm4/yplYje0n5gI/s1600/chapter4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yfRxYPZnNuk/Tq9piPNDRjI/AAAAAAAABm4/yplYje0n5gI/s400/chapter4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i><b>The hobbits are caught in an erotic web of love and also the cohesive material that spider webs are made out of. </b></i></span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">As I begin this post, I am sitting on the floor in the Washington Dulles International Airport at 11:00 p.m., waiting for a delayed flight back home. I've just spent the weekend celebrating one of my best friend's wedding (congratulations, Rosie and Joe!), and am feeling overwhelmed with all of the happiness this weekend brought. Old friendships, new friendships, jumping shots on the beach-- this weekend truly had it all.</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Love.<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">And I thought to myself, still whilst sitting on that airport floor, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>what better way to capture these feelings of love than to work on the ol' erotic fanfiction novel? </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Rosie and Joe, I hereby dedicate this erotic chapter of </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Hobbit Heartache</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> to you (the best wedding present money could buy, eh?). </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I know it's been awhile, so I will very kindly sum up<i> Hobbit Heartache</i>, the <i>Sweet Valley High/Lord of the Rings</i> crossover erotic fanfiction novel, thus far in one (1) sentence for everyone.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Spring Break in Middle-earth isn't exactly what the Sweet Valley High gang envisioned after their tour bus explodes, leaving them stranded and lost in the forest; meanwhile, the gaping hole in Frodo's heart leads him to volunteer for a mysterious journey with his beloved Bilbo Baggins, who, along with the carnally creative Merry, the staggering sot Samwise, the delightfully dimwitted Pippin and the masterfully mystifying Gandalf, will soon prove that Sweet Valley isn't the only town where almost anything can happen... </i></span><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Got it? </span><br />
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<a href="http://photobucket.com/images/confused%20gif" target="_blank"><img alt="confused gif Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" src="http://i942.photobucket.com/albums/ad263/strawberryturtle/GIF%20Album/tumblr_li4vjqc2081qfo1z0.gif" /></a><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Okay, you know what? I tried. Do it the hard way and read <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/chapter-one.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">Chapter One</span></a>, <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: yellow;">Two</span></a> and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/10/hobbit-heartache-chapter-3.html">Three</a>. </span>Or call me and we'll talk through it. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Now that we're all caught up, let's get to what you've all been waiting for: the chapter where you get to read about a nude Bilbo bathing in the Hobbiton springs! Hot damn. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Enjoy. (And also remember that I know nothing about LOTR and this is my complete imagining of their world. And enjoy.)</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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Limited edition prints available from <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;"><a href="http://familycontact.ca/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: magenta;">Zak Tatham</span></a>.</span> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><br />
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<strong>Chapter Four—A Journey Begins</strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Morning in Hobbiton came as rays of sun spread over the remnants of the previous night’s festivities. Sleeping hobbits lay splayed across grass, covered by a moist blanket of dewdrops. The once-magnificent fire had breathed its last breath and was now composed of a few dying embers, cool to the touch. Though the hobbits had danced well into the night, the revelry had been mixed with a touch of apprehension, for all of Hobbiton wondered what would soon face them. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">From within a deep slumber, Frodo heard the sweet call of a lilac-spotted dove and willed his eyes to open and face the morn. He tried to move his body upright but found he could not, for Merry’s arm was strewn over him, the long, black strands of curly hair shining with clear drops of dew. It seemed that Merry’s warm body had pressed close against Frodo’s all the night long, for there was not a bit of space between the two. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Merry,” Frodo whispered into his friend’s ear, “it is time to rouse yourself, for the sun is shining and the song of the birds can be heard loud and clear.” </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Merry awoke with a start, his eyes widening as the realization of his close proximity to Frodo dawned upon him. His hands fluttered to the front of his brown tunic, brushing against his hardened rod with alarm. It brought none of the pleasure that it normally did. He smoothed his tunic front over his burlap trousers with the speed of a jackrabbit and silently willed for Frodo to look elsewhere. Merry’s interrupted dream had been quite stimulating, as his dreams tended to be.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“You must have been fraught with cold throughout the night, Merry, for I awoke with your body pressed tightly against mine!” said Frodo.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Merry forced himself to chuckle and opened his mouth to voice feeble excuses but Frodo continued to speak.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“What ho! Look Merry, Bilbo is coming! He looks grand in the sunlight, does he not?” said Frodo, gazing with shining eyes at the approaching figure. Merry shuddered with silent rage at the sight of Bilbo’s aged and boastful face. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“What morn, Frodo, Merry!” called Bilbo, his arms filled with rucksacks and a goatskin of water. “I hope the evening’s slumber found you well, for today is the day that we must begin our journey. Wake Samwise and Pippin and prepare your rucksack as I instructed. We shall meet in one hour’s time, by the town well. Do what you must. I will be at the spring, soaking my body one last time before our trek. Oh, how I will miss my soaks!” Bilbo declared, a sad smile on his wizened face. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">He turned and headed towards Hobbiton’s clear cold-water spring. The spring was used for bathing and the washing of clothes. In warmer weather, many a hobbit could be found splashing in the frigid waters amongst the large, tiger-striped fish that lived there in peace.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Frodo knelt to rouse the sleeping Samwise and Pippin, who were surrounded by a circle of dried vomitus. He kept one wide eye on Bilbo at the spring in the distance. He watched enraptured as Bilbo removed his robe, a flash of saggy, snow white skin suddenly visible. As Bilbo waded into the water, the sweet rolls of his well-upholstered body gently undulated and his generous buttocks swayed to and fro. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;">An hour quickly flew by, as they are known to do. The four hobbits gathered by the well, having packed their bags and said their farewells. Samwise had a small vomiting spell into the town well before they left, which he attributed to the nerves in his belly. Bilbo joined them, and as they set off into the forest and left their dear Hobbiton behind, he began a walking song.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Bilbo sang for the next three hours time as they hiked deep into the woods. Pippin skipped forward and danced to the tune that Bilbo sang, clapping his small hands to the beat. The rest of the hobbits enjoyed the shade of the pine trees and willows, their calloused feet travelling with ease over the roots and gullies that covered the forest bed. Merry walked behind Frodo, taking unnatural pleasure in watching his hard-working rump, while Sam held Pippin in his sight at all times. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">They travelled forth in this manner, stopping occasionally to sip from a cool brook or to pick wild berries. Samwise took increasingly frequent swallows from his goatskin canteen but the hydration did not seem to help his balance. On and on they walked, until the sun had made her way to the west and Bilbo finally halted. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Now, dear hobbits, we rest,” he instructed, “for exhaustion will serve us no purpose.” He sat down on a fallen log and stretched his feet in front of him, the whitened hair covering his feet like the snow that fell freely in the Land of the Elves. The rest of the hobbits joined him on the forest floor.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Bilbo, would you care for me to massage your feet into health? They surely must grow weary carrying so much wisdom around,” Frodo asked eagerly. Sam nodded his head in agreement while Merry felt a surge of nausea. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“No, no, Frodo, that is most kind but you must save your strength. Tomorrow will be a most important day, I feel,” replied Bilbo. His eyelids began to droop and Pippin gave him a gentle poke to keep him awake. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Mr. Bilbo, what will happen tomorrow? And where are we traveling to?” asked Sam.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Samwise, tomorrow I know not what will happen. And I know not where we travel towards. What I do know is that we travel with a clear purpose in our hearts and that we will be guided along the way. We must trust that we will learn our journey as it comes and it will lead us to the ring, which we will then destroy,” said Bilbo. “Here, I shall sing you a song which will ease your fears.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em>Along a path I know not of</em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em>And the shadows that--</em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“No disrespect do I intend, Mr. Bilbo, but I myself would feel better had we a map or a plan of sorts,” interrupted Merry, the scorn dripping from his voice like the sweet viridescent liquid that so often dripped from his rigid scepter. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Ah Merry, worry not about these lands; I know them all well from my travels. We have passed the outskirts of Hobbiton now, and passed into the shaded lands. If we travel forth in this direction, tomorrow we will enter the Fangorn Forest. There we will see flowers with blossoms larger than our heads and must be wary of the wild boars that roam the land,” replied Bilbo. “But that is not now. Now, we sleep.” </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">All questions had been answered and all fears allayed. With hairy feet and weighed eyelids, the hobbits crafted beds out of the pine brushes and leaves and went to sleep.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The slumber was deep and soon their heads were filled with dreams. From the depths of his nocturnal world, in which Bilbo had been performing a slow and enticing jig, Frodo heard Pippin faintly calling out his name. Pippin called yet again, and he called for Samwise as well. Frodo used all his might to reluctantly leave his dreams and open his eyes. As soon as he did so, he was greeted by a thick blanket of silver around his body, so tightly woven that he was unable to move. It shone brightly in the moonlight and glimmered as if composed of the steel found in human town of Gondor.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Pippin! What is this above my head? I cannot move!” cried out Frodo in distress. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Spiders! Oh, spiders!” moaned Pippin, who was trying to thrash about but could not, for the restraining nature of the substance.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Frodo moved his head in the slightest degrees to see that his fellow travellers were encased like he in a massive cocoon of sorts. Bilbo was still in a deep sleep but Samwise and Merry had woken and their eyes were wide with fear. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Frodo, what imprisons us so? What is this silver material?” called out Merry. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Spiders!” cried Pippin yet again. For a spirited dancer such as Pippin, this captivity was akin to torture, though Merry was finding that he almost enjoyed the binding. It brought him back to a particularly stirring night spent in the company of Lobelia and Otho after many a jug of brandywine had been consumed. Merry had used his knowledge of twine and knotting to create a netting with which Otho was restrained, and-- <em>No,</em> Merry thought to himself, ceasing his tantalizing line of thought<em>. I must not venture there now, for Frodo needs me.</em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Hush Pippin, worry not. We shall resolve this and soon be free,” said Frodo to soothe the worried boy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Your bravery reassures me to my deepest core, Frodo,” said Merry, “and it fills my lower regions with—” Merry was interrupted by the voice of Sam. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Listen with care, Frodo! I believe Pippin might be correct when he cries of spiders. Look at this silver material. It seems to be strong yet translucent, much like the web of a spider! We are deep in a strange forest, where we know not the creatures that hide within. I do not doubt that this web could have been woven by forest spiders,” said Sam.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“But imagine the size of the spiders who could craft such an intricate and immense web in a mere few hours time, Samwise! It is comparable to the blankets that Mabel weaves and those take her quite some time, though she is a diligent worker,” said Frodo.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Aye, she is,” agreed Sam, unable to nod his head. “And if these spiders worked so diligently on this web which surrounds us, I believe they must have indeed wanted us trapped.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Frodo reflected upon this thought for a moment and felt fear slowly take over his stocky limbs. Could it truly be spiders? Frodo had hated spiders since he was a young hobbit and Pippin had mischievously hidden a spider into his boiled root stew. Frodo had not realized what he ingested until it was far too late and by then he could only grip his belly and moan. Since that occasion he had taken care to avoid spiders as much as possible in Hobbiton and Pippin was most certainly forbidden from entering his kitchen. But now the hobbits were quite possibly entrapped deep within a vast spider’s web! Oh, what to do!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Oh, if only Bilbo were awake! He would surely sing a song which could help us out of this tricky state,” cried Frodo. Merry could hear the desperation which filled Frodo’s voice and wished that he were bound closer to him to ease his fear with the touch of his bushy hands. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Shadows of darkness suddenly clouded the silver webs. Frodo could feel the web push closer to his face, weighted down by the landing of black objects which could only be the feared arachnids. The web obscured his vision but he could feel the multiple legs sinking slowly into the web and baring down onto his body. His breathing became staggered as the weight on this chest grew. To imagine the size of these spiders brought tears to his eyes. The creatures felt composed of cast iron, so heavy were they! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">A single black spider leg broke through the web and grazed Frodo’s face. A scream from Pippin let Frodo know that the same was happening to the rest of his companions.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“We are doomed! Hullo Death, you have arrived early!” sobbed Frodo. “And still Bilbo sleeps, unaware that soon we shall part!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The spider’s massive body crawled through the web and Frodo could glimpse five more spiders behind him still. Their eyes shone a deep red, glowing as if lit by a sorcerer’s fire. Frodo felt the warm, rancid breath of the beast on his face and mourned, for his end was near. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But what was this? The hot breath of the spiders grew as they let out a piercing call which burned the hobbit’s ears. A light suddenly spread over the entrapped group. It was iridescent and beautiful and somehow soothed Frodo’s fear. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As he struggled to see the source of this light, he felt his chest move with ease and discovered that the giant spiders were scurrying off into the woods. They moved away from the hobbits as fast as their considerable legs could carry them. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Frodo let out a cry of wonderment as he realized he could once again move. They were free! The four hobbits clawed their way through the loose webs, limbs fighting through layer after layer of the viscous strings. Though their vision was clouded, Frodo could make out the indistinct shape of a towering male, standing before them in the shadows. Frodo staggered to his feet, helping his friends to stand up forth alongside him. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Merry, there is no need to cling to me so tightly in fear. We have somehow been freed!” called out Frodo. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Aye Frodo, such a harrowing experience it was! Truly one that bonds two souls and one that makes you yearn for the weight of a body on top of you,” said Merry. He was massaging Frodo’s shoulders with the gentlest of touch. Confusion dripped over Frodo like the piquant nectar that so frequently dripped from Merry’s iron protuberance. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Did you see that wondrous light? It must have been the work of magic!” cried Sam. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">In all of the excitement that sudden freedom brings, the group had forgotten about the shadowy figure cloaked in the darkness. But the slow-minded Pippin remembered and pointed outwards, dancing about. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“You! You who hides in the shadows and saved us from a certain death, reveal yourself!” called out Frodo.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Yes, kind stranger, we must repay you somehow!” added Samwise, brushing remnants of web out of his leg hair while clutching his goatskin canteen. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">With the slowest of pace, a robed figure in white emerged from the nightfall. Frodo’s eyes required a moment to adjust and see with clarity. A gasp arose from the hobbits as they realized who was before them. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Why, it is Gandalf the Grey!” cried Frodo in surprise. And indeed it was true, for standing before the hobbits was the mystical wizard himself. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Yes,” replied the wizard, “and I bring you news.” </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><em><strong>What is this news that the mystical Gandalf brings? Will Frodo express his love to Bilbo before it’s too late? With Samwise’s constant vomiting, is severe dehydration looming in his future? And is Merry’s knowledge of erotic knotting and nets enough to save the hobbits from the most terrifying adventure they’ve had to face yet—LOVE? </strong></em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong>STAY TUNED.</strong></div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-76891139979436633722011-11-03T19:04:00.000-07:002011-11-04T07:18:11.188-07:00Halloween 2011: Even Sexier Than 2010<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">As always, the house party was a success.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Mood: Melancholic</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
The first week of November is always tainted by the post-Halloween blues for me. The dismantling of decorative cobwebs, the discarding of rotted pumpkins and the dwindling supply of candy bars in our house are all a few of my least favorite things. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">But I shall remember Halloween 2011 as a time of laughter. A time of gelatin libations. A flurry of face paint, powdered wigs and bronzer five shades too dark. It's not too soon to reminisce, is it? <br />
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Velvet doesn't think so. <strong>HALLOWEEN MEGA BLOGPOST TIME! </strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We started the Halloween festivities on Friday with a party at my friend <a href="http://www.sammiekennedy.com/"><span style="color: magenta;">Sammie</span></a>'s house. Sammie runs her <a href="http://www.bootycampfitness.com/"><span style="color: magenta;">own fitness company</span></a>, so we knew this party was going to be full of sexy fitness instructors in sexy costumes. With us being more of sexy TV-watchers/cat owners, the pressure was on to look good. REAL good. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2KXuye7Ev_c/TrBcQACeiPI/AAAAAAAABnI/1_0D4YS4Rq4/s1600/friday+halloween.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2KXuye7Ev_c/TrBcQACeiPI/AAAAAAAABnI/1_0D4YS4Rq4/s320/friday+halloween.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">So we sexed it up! I'm talking skintight long johns, bare shoulders with nary a pashmina in sight and powdered wigs with only one coat of baby powder. We were like a small, well-mannered army of skanks.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Heather was a sexy zebra, Velvet was a sexy flapper and can you guess what I am? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">No? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">...Maybe THIS will help.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uabuAFkeFSM/TrBcBtCIgoI/AAAAAAAABnA/6munkYqFugM/s1600/sexy+gw.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-uabuAFkeFSM/TrBcBtCIgoI/AAAAAAAABnA/6munkYqFugM/s320/sexy+gw.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Sexy George Washington, duh!<strong></strong> Now it all makes sense. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">The party was a flurry of sexy dancing, sexy catered foods, sexy DJ's spinning house music and even a sexy pinata filled with candy. Needless to say, we partook in all of these activities. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L4shVwOeGHU/TrNCCt02IPI/AAAAAAAABrA/-yE_ksiEL5Q/s1600/DSCN7134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L4shVwOeGHU/TrNCCt02IPI/AAAAAAAABrA/-yE_ksiEL5Q/s200/DSCN7134.JPG" width="200" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PmPuvo4E-xA/TrNDYudYmuI/AAAAAAAABrQ/Osx6T0EfK7o/s1600/DSCN7118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PmPuvo4E-xA/TrNDYudYmuI/AAAAAAAABrQ/Osx6T0EfK7o/s200/DSCN7118.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gMvOqLJoogE/TrFp_x1NNsI/AAAAAAAABnw/mCiaYJ81bo8/s1600/hween.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" ida="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gMvOqLJoogE/TrFp_x1NNsI/AAAAAAAABnw/mCiaYJ81bo8/s200/hween.jpg" width="149" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-57rBheSQuv0/TrNC_zro67I/AAAAAAAABrI/bpgO6_qjC6A/s1600/DSCN7125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-57rBheSQuv0/TrNC_zro67I/AAAAAAAABrI/bpgO6_qjC6A/s200/DSCN7125.JPG" width="200" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">By which I mean we ate a lot of catered food and candy. A looooootttttt of candy. You have to eat like ten (10) fun-size candy bars to equal one (1) normal candy bar, so whatever. It wasn't weird. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pGtkXAR_yU8/TrKZb3cIivI/AAAAAAAABp4/lzIc0tUSJ70/s1600/candy+thief.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pGtkXAR_yU8/TrKZb3cIivI/AAAAAAAABp4/lzIc0tUSJ70/s320/candy+thief.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">If you want guests who hoard their own candy stashes, we're your gals!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">And in the most ironical highlight of the night, guess who won best female costume? </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-42JLB9QSW5s/TrF0NPQHjnI/AAAAAAAABn4/t5uYtIJbj-I/s1600/winner+washington.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-42JLB9QSW5s/TrF0NPQHjnI/AAAAAAAABn4/t5uYtIJbj-I/s320/winner+washington.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><strong>SEXY GEORGE WASHINGTON! </strong></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">I accepted my bottle of Moet & Chandon, the finest of all the effervescent ales, with a ten (10) minute inaugural address urging my fellow partygoers to improve our alliance with France and to explore the western lands. Eric won the Best Male Costume prize with his (<a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2010/11/its-my-favorite-time-of-year.html"><span style="color: yellow;">vintage</span></a>) Tigger costume. You can see him passed out on the couch here after doing too many push-ups (actually true. I told you it was a fitness party). Shortly after our wins, we said our farewells to prepare for Saturday.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Time for costume number two (2) and a festive gathering at our abode! </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ka3E1SkzEHQ/TrLvxByO0UI/AAAAAAAABq4/w0PDRNlecUs/s1600/bat+cave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ka3E1SkzEHQ/TrLvxByO0UI/AAAAAAAABq4/w0PDRNlecUs/s320/bat+cave.jpg" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Guaranteed the living room will still look exactly like this three (3) months from now. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Velvet and I were VERY excited for our costume this year. It was one that we've been thinking about doing for years, and what with Occupy Wall Street and the upcoming elections, we knew it was time. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">It required a lot of handiwork, of which Velvet did most and of which she did an amazing job.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vrW6u7AM0Os/TrII4bWDBHI/AAAAAAAABpo/lW1C04du2Oo/s1600/DSCN7117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vrW6u7AM0Os/TrII4bWDBHI/AAAAAAAABpo/lW1C04du2Oo/s320/DSCN7117.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Fun Fact: Our book was almost mistakenly titled "Goulish Games," which would have actually been okay, since spelling errors are pretty de rigueur in <em>Sweet Valley High</em>. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Ready for the final product?</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U4lTRwlCRLM/TrGGlUaGPPI/AAAAAAAABoA/FWFG_QsptWA/s1600/ghoulish+gals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U4lTRwlCRLM/TrGGlUaGPPI/AAAAAAAABoA/FWFG_QsptWA/s400/ghoulish+gals.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">We FINALLY got to live our dreams and be Jessica and Elizabeth freakin' Wakefield for a night! And it was everything we ever dreamed it would be! </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qBreDHueNYM/TrGRW0cV2dI/AAAAAAAABoY/EoojLXzyebI/s1600/twins+happy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" ida="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qBreDHueNYM/TrGRW0cV2dI/AAAAAAAABoY/EoojLXzyebI/s200/twins+happy.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-orMkg1wK1Bg/TrGRHjDfaaI/AAAAAAAABoQ/KwWr1esdMG0/s1600/double+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" ida="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-orMkg1wK1Bg/TrGRHjDfaaI/AAAAAAAABoQ/KwWr1esdMG0/s200/double+love.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Not too bad, huh? And yes, Velvet and I understand how good we look with platinum, sun-kissed blonde hair. No need to comment upon it. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OxAQHXJAqsI/TrLHXyQlo7I/AAAAAAAABqQ/Tp68UilnslM/s1600/twins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OxAQHXJAqsI/TrLHXyQlo7I/AAAAAAAABqQ/Tp68UilnslM/s320/twins.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">In my night as Jessica Wakefield, I made at least three (3) different grand entrances to the party, won twelve (12) contests, was asked out by every single male present and seductively purred one hundred and thirty-seven (137) times. I also cheated on several boyfriends, destroyed a few people's reputations and betrayed my own twin sister numerous times. Busy night!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">And of course, the best part of this costume was the multitude of photo opportunities. While Velvet and I definitely recreated some of the classic <em>Sweet Valley High</em> covers, our guests helped us invent a few new stories that Francine Pascal strangely forgot to write. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gbdWTLCzmCU/TrGQK3GGJ7I/AAAAAAAABoI/Qmv9IjQGHsY/s1600/jess+and+the+law.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gbdWTLCzmCU/TrGQK3GGJ7I/AAAAAAAABoI/Qmv9IjQGHsY/s400/jess+and+the+law.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Title: <em>Smuggler's Secret</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Tagline: After her brief stint as a drug mule goes awry, Jessica is forced to spend ten years in a Thai prison. Will she win the title Queen of Lard Yao's Ward Nine or will her newfound rival Anchali upstage her? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vUgbg0iZ1ao/TrLEWtXBBJI/AAAAAAAABqA/tP3GO8BKnRE/s1600/primate+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vUgbg0iZ1ao/TrLEWtXBBJI/AAAAAAAABqA/tP3GO8BKnRE/s400/primate+love.jpg" width="267" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Title: <em>Primate Love</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Tagline: Liz's summer internship at the Sweet Valley Zoo leads her to find love where she least expects it. Whose chocolate brown eyes will she choose--Todd's or Miko the Ape's?<br />
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Title: <em>Tool Time Terror</em> <br />
Tagline: When Al Borland and Wilson come to Sweet Valley to undertake a little home improvement on the Wakefield's split-level Spanish-style house, disaster strikes. Will Elizabeth be able to repair the structural damage done to her beautiful home, or will she be forever doomed to live in a poorly grouted and sunken house?<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OhSUsUa7dMc/TrGTX4-Gw4I/AAAAAAAABog/-2kyBOzKLks/s1600/jess+likes+a+ruffian.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OhSUsUa7dMc/TrGTX4-Gw4I/AAAAAAAABog/-2kyBOzKLks/s400/jess+likes+a+ruffian.jpg" width="266" /></a> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Title: <em>Distressed Denim</em></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Tagline: Jessica has fallen hard for Brick, a Hell's Angel with a passion for arson. She'll do anything to grab his attention...even if it means murder. After Jessica burns down Fowler Memorial Hospital, Elizabeth knows she must intervene. Will Elizabeth stand in the way of this fiery love match or will Jessica be caught in her own flames of hell?</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8qkIuAW1CDw/TrGZv_LUokI/AAAAAAAABo4/RxWg9Xm5H4E/s1600/wakefields.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" ida="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8qkIuAW1CDw/TrGZv_LUokI/AAAAAAAABo4/RxWg9Xm5H4E/s400/wakefields.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Title: <em>Brotherly Love</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Tagline: The twin's older brother, Steven, has flunked out of college and is back at Sweet Valley High with Jess and Liz. Will the holy trifecta of Wakefield's rule the school or will Steven's elicit affair with Mr. Collins be the scandal that finally tears them apart? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>All these titles and more coming soon to a bookstore dumpster near you!<br />
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After our guests had fulfilled their dreams of starring in their own<em> Sweet Valley High</em> novel, the party proceeded as most parties do.<br />
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(mostly just this guy.)<br />
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And people terrorized the cats. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pKxuKkKP82U/TrLlCgDBkYI/AAAAAAAABqo/8hMetAlKQp8/s1600/heather+vs+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" ida="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pKxuKkKP82U/TrLlCgDBkYI/AAAAAAAABqo/8hMetAlKQp8/s200/heather+vs+cat.jpg" width="200" /></a> <img border="0" height="200" ida="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WexeqDPTgH8/TrLlyQD8oUI/AAAAAAAABqw/_fGOJESmA1s/s200/freak+love.jpg" width="133" /> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The party ended around 4:30 a.m., with about five (5) people dancing in the living room to Sean Kingston's "Shawty Fire Burnin' on the Dance Floor" (which, coincidentally, is a favorite song of both Jessica and Elizabeth Wakefield's).</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Like any good Halloween, we finished with a night of costumed dodgeball.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">We may have lost both of our games, but boy, did we have spirit. I also learned the valuable Halloween lesson that wearing a woolen coat and powdered wig to dodgeball will NOT contribute to your catches, dodges, self-esteem or ease of breathing. You live and you learn. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">And now I sit in our bat-filled living room and patiently wait until the next occasion when I can don a costume. American Thanksgiving, I'm looking at you. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U4yh3OVDx6s/TrNGRqfwC0I/AAAAAAAABrY/Rjm9XQFfTw0/s1600/cat+thanksgiving.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-U4yh3OVDx6s/TrNGRqfwC0I/AAAAAAAABrY/Rjm9XQFfTw0/s320/cat+thanksgiving.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;">Mark my words, my cat will be wearing this costume, only sexier. </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(I hope you had a)</span><b> HAPPY HALLOWEEN, EVERYONE! </b></div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-72170996403374142312011-10-25T07:49:00.000-07:002011-10-25T19:29:41.650-07:00My Adventure with The Onion<div style="text-align: justify;">I'd like to interrupt your regular reading of <em>Hobbit Heartache</em> to tell you a tale. It is a tale of a journey I am currently taking, a journey that most likely will not have a happy ending. After embarking on this journey, well, I can certainly understand how the hobbits feel in their quest to Gondor or wherever the hell they're going. Or how Jessica and Elizabeth felt when they went to Malibu to be au pairs for the summer. Or how Bilbo felt when he went to the sexy Land of the Elves. Or how the twins felt when they went to Paradise Spa and there was a murderous spa director and she...<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">(You'll have to forgive me; my mind is kind of stuck in those two worlds as of late and will continue to be so probably until 2013.) </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://gifsoup.com/view/2023188/the-hobbits-party-in-isengard.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" src="http://gifsoup.com/imager.php?id=2023188&t=o" /></a><br />
<a href="http://gifsoup.com/" target="_blank" title="GIFSoup"></a></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
Seriously, this is what the inside of my head looks like these days, but with less hobbit beer and more cat puke (Money is sick). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">AHEM. Back to my journey. Well, it all began when I learned that the satirical newspaper <em>The Onion</em> was <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/toronto/story/2011/07/05/onion-toronto-star.html"><span style="color: magenta;">heading to Canada</span></a><span style="color: magenta;">.</span> Writing for a paper like <em>The Onion</em> comes pretty close to my dream job, which involves starting up cereal-based letter writing campaigns, wearing costumes in public and petting dogs (I feel like craigslist is my best bet there). I knew I couldn't waste this opportunity like I did with the Harry Potter job. Or like when I sent my audition tape for America's Next Top Model: All Stars Season to the wrong Tyra Banks. Or when Squash Ontario refused to sponsor me in the World's Largest Squash Casserole competition. No, I <strong>really</strong> had to nail this. <br />
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You thinking what I'm thinking?<br />
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<strong>Time for a barrage of letters displaying my multifaceted personality and unwavering-to-the-point-of-fear-provoking persistence!</strong><br />
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Note: It's a fine, fine line between "you're hired" and "our legal counsel has issued a cease and desist." </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Like any hopeful applicant, I began by doing a little research. I closely examined <em>The Onion</em>'s policy on receiving resumes. It is as follows: <em><strong>"Please do not send/e-mail resumes concerning listed positions unless specifically told to do so in the listing. Any unsolicited resumes will be immediately discarded."</strong></em></div></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Well. That seems open to interpretation. </div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">They did not discuss their policy for sending resumes for <em>un</em>listed positions. Nor did it discuss their policy on receiving acceptance letters.</div><br />
And thus, the adventure begins:<br />
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A month goes by. I hear nothing from <em>The Onion</em>, not even from Matt at the office. I start to fret a little bit, because, you know, I'd asked some important questions that needed answers. Time was of the essence, which is why I had marked the envelope as "<strong>URGENT</strong>" two (2) times. I wanted to shop for my new uniform clothes while the summer dickey sales were still going strong. I also wanted to print a few mock business cards to distribute before the official ones were made because you know I'm all about networking.<br />
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The zebra one is perfect for "Casual Friday," right? That's what I was thinking, too. Now, if only <em>The Onion</em> would write me back so I could figure out how many I'd need for my new job. I took a guess and bought six (6). </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I kept my head up and continued to maintain my extensive exercise regime. In the midst of a squat series which involved the use of both wooden planks and steel buckets of boiling water, the answer hit me: of COURSE they hadn't replied! I forgot to send them my references! A rookie mistake, one that <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2010/11/cut-it-out-harry-potter-my-career.html"><span style="color: magenta;">I really should have known better</span></a>. But one that can be easily fixed. </div><br />
The adventure continues. And since all of my previous references have politely asked me not to contact them again, I had to go a different route. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5IWf85ojRKA/Tp83SKsAtLI/AAAAAAAABkg/3JBspnlrwqI/s1600/_Onion2-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5IWf85ojRKA/Tp83SKsAtLI/AAAAAAAABkg/3JBspnlrwqI/s320/_Onion2-1.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7RECngB6QuA/Tp83dXPsdtI/AAAAAAAABko/IRttB4BWJJk/s1600/_Onion2-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7RECngB6QuA/Tp83dXPsdtI/AAAAAAAABko/IRttB4BWJJk/s320/_Onion2-2.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I also remembered to include my resume and "Books Read in 2009" list this time. I wanted to make sure that they knew I could write articles about all kinds of things, like senior cats and kids that live in boxcars and also monsters (both in mythology and real life). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fani_JRngck/TqBrThjy27I/AAAAAAAABlA/C0ozvK1_2pY/s1600/Books_Read_pg1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fani_JRngck/TqBrThjy27I/AAAAAAAABlA/C0ozvK1_2pY/s320/Books_Read_pg1.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ksnbccGeL5A/TqBrctkgtwI/AAAAAAAABlI/VDTa_elXkAE/s1600/Books_Read_pg2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rda="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ksnbccGeL5A/TqBrctkgtwI/AAAAAAAABlI/VDTa_elXkAE/s320/Books_Read_pg2.jpg" width="246" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">I also of course included my headshot. It's a bit outdated but I think it still accurately conveys my intensity for <em>The Onion</em>.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
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(I have new headshots that feature both my roommates and my cat Money but getting rid of the red eye has taken longer than expected. Fingers crossed for January 2012!)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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Possibly 2013.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I sit and I wait for another month, checking my mailbox daily with growing frustration. I try to stay positive but I can't deny that my exercise regime is slipping. I'm down to lifting five (5) gallon buckets of water instead of ten (10). My dickeys are gathering dust in my closet, my fanfiction work is taking a turn for the morbid, and yeah, my hygiene is suffering as well. I've been down this road before with previous letter writing campaigns (<a href="http://winstonegbert.wordpress.com/2011/09/10/margo-lives/"><span style="color: magenta;">Francine Pascal, I'm looking at you right now</span></a>), and it's neither healthy nor good for me. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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My deepening depression luckily did not affect our evening spinning classes. 3x a week will do wonders!<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">To make matters even worse, <i>The Onion</i> prints their first Toronto edition, and sure enough, my articles have not made the front page. In fact, they're not printed at all. I am filled with shame.</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://photobucket.com/images/shame%20gifs" target="_blank"><img alt="shame [mitchell] Pictures, Images and Photos" border="0" src="http://i806.photobucket.com/albums/yy346/underthelamppost/gifs/shame_mitchell.gif" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Is two (2) gifs per post pushing the limits? I'm still testing the waters here.)</span><br />
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I reach out my vulnerable and increasingly untoned arms once again.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">... And still, nothing. NOTHING. Not even from Joan after I included the first six (6) chapters of <em>Hobbit Heartache</em>, the <em>Sweet Valley High/Lord of the Rings</em> erotic crossover fanfiction especially for her. I'd like to blame it on the postal system, but as I just received a new SVH shipment from Amazon, (<em>Wakefield Legacy: The Untold Story</em>, I warmly welcome you into my life), I know it just can't be. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">For when you're in the mood for an epic.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But those who know me know that I do not relent easily. I'm in the midst of a 5,600 word article debating the merits of gray cats over orange ones so I can prove to <em>The Onion</em> that I can be topical as well as informative. And after that, I'm mailing them a collage comprised of both dried and moist onion skins (mostly red, but also yellow and white onion skins for accent) to show my versatility. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
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It will be five (5) feet tall and bring tears to the eyes of all who gaze upon it. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">(If you have any extra onion skins you'd like to contribute, feel free to drop them off at my house anytime, night or day (preferably dawn). My roommate Heather is in charge of the collection, so you can just slide them right under her door or throw them at her window. I will need at least 300.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">Are my letters/handmade projects/half-finished novels most likely being thrown immediately into the garbage, you ask? Oh, almost certainly. Is that going to stop me? Well, probably, yeah. Eventually. I got erotic fanfictions to write! But there is a part of me that really hopes something comes of this, even if it's just a standard rejection letter from a truly awesome newspaper. I really don't want to have to toss my five hundred (500) new <em>Onion</em> business cards. I'm still getting through my <em><strong>Samantha Clark: ANTM All Star</strong></em> ones. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e-EQqozpgjY/TqbEQvX-f0I/AAAAAAAABl4/nJZ-DjI4LSQ/s1600/tyra+pretty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" ida="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-e-EQqozpgjY/TqbEQvX-f0I/AAAAAAAABl4/nJZ-DjI4LSQ/s200/tyra+pretty.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">It's sad because I was fairly certain we would hit it off. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;">You can bet your bippy I'll be keeping you updated of any progress with this adventure, and I gladly welcome any advice or encouragement. But for now, it's back to Middle-earth with me, where I shall emerge only briefly to create my Halloween costumes. Does anyone have thirty (30) cats I can borrow? (Feral preferred.)</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: justify;"></div>Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5161647548483453558.post-64942814770851926082011-10-13T07:39:00.000-07:002011-11-04T06:52:27.742-07:00Hobbit Heartache: Chapter 3<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zhJfVJ_6bSU/TpW6krn0ByI/AAAAAAAABjg/A_yRC3Tr_Mo/s1600/Chapter3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" oda="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zhJfVJ_6bSU/TpW6krn0ByI/AAAAAAAABjg/A_yRC3Tr_Mo/s400/Chapter3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">(Guess who's learning Photoshop?!)</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Imma stop you before you dive right into Chapter Three (3) of <em>Hobbit Heartache</em>, the <em>Sweet Valley High/Lord of the Rings</em> erotic crossover fanfiction. And I'm going to warn you: this chapter gets real. </div><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">You're right to feel like this. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Yeah, I know that in <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/chapter-one.html"><span style="color: magenta;">Chapter One</span></a>, things were all fine and dandy and the Sweet Valley gang was flying to Middle-earth, and maybe even some people were getting a little frisky in the plane bathroom and Winston was all gangly and awkward because he has big feet and the twins had a shared dream and those are always fun and we were all excited to start Sweet Valley High's 427th's Spring Break. </div><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">These two had fun in Chapter One. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
And I also know that in <a href="http://ofsamanthaclark.blogspot.com/2011/09/hobbit-heartache-chapter-two-mr-bilbo.html"><span style="color: magenta;">Chapter Two</span></a>, the hobbits were all feasting and dancing in the Shire and sure, maybe Frodo was a little sad but then Bilbo came home and he had crazy news and they're about to go on a huge adventure and also sure, maybe Samwise drank a bit too much brandywine and passed out, but who hasn't been there? </div><br />
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Frodo had a bit of fun in Chapter Two.<br />
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Here's the thing: <strong>NO ONE HAS FUN IN CHAPTER THREE</strong>. And that's because things take a turn for the terrifying. If I've learned anything from my years of reading SVH, it's that when you leave Sweet Valley, <a href="http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1174517651l/412129.jpg"><span style="color: magenta;">bad things happen</span></a>. <a href="http://covers.openlibrary.org/w/id/372072-L.jpg"><span style="color: yellow;">Very bad things.</span></a> And also that I should just give up on life because my hair is not a sun-streaked gilded blonde, but alas, a mousy brunette. But persist I shall, if only to bring you the third chapter of <em>Hobbit Heartache</em>. So I really hope you enjoy it. <br />
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Enough talk; let's land this plane in Middle-earth!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G5fgGjBZUII/TrPtm7vi2VI/AAAAAAAABrg/BID4Bkjt3dc/s1600/3-busexposion-colour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="290" ida="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G5fgGjBZUII/TrPtm7vi2VI/AAAAAAAABrg/BID4Bkjt3dc/s400/3-busexposion-colour.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Artwork by the explosive Zak Tatham<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><b>Chapter Three</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth gazed out the bus window, taking in Middle-earth’s lush green scenery. <i>How beautiful,</i> she thought, <i>almost like Sweet Valley’s country club.</i> The club was the most breathtaking place she knew, and the site of many Wakefield family celebrations. Elizabeth sighed, feeling the first pangs of homesickness for her family back home and their elegantly decorated split-level Spanish-style house. The group had only been in Middle-earth for a few hours, but already it had been a rough trip.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Upon landing in the JFK Middle-earth Airport, the students had been led by Mr. Jaworski to the luggage area to collect their bags. But instead of seeing a colorful merry-go-round of luggage, they had been greeted by an empty terminal, with cobwebs and dust covering the luggage carousel. When they tried to find an airport employee to help them, the students only found a short child sitting behind the customer service counter. When the worker caught sight of the group, he scurried off as fast as he could without saying so much as a word. And Winston swore up and down that the worker wasn’t even wearing shoes! </div><a name='more'></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">After waiting for over an hour, the students had to board the charter bus Mr. Jaworski rented without their luggage. Mr. Jaworski had climbed into the driver’s seat of the bus, looking frazzled and uneager to attempt driving on the Middle-earth primitive roads. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth thought back to that airport worker and how strange he had been. <em>He couldn’t have been more than a ten year old, based on his height, </em>she mused. <em>And he seemed to have an unusual amount of body hair.</em> <em>He must have some sort of hormonal disorder, that poor kid. I wish there was some way I could help him. Maybe I could hold a fundraiser or some sort of charity ball when we get back home and mail the proceeds to Middle-earth.</em></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth was jolted out of her generous thoughts by a huge bump on the bus. Her flawlessly shaped head banged into the glass of the window, and she groaned in pain. The bump woke up Jessica and the rest of the students who had been napping off the jet lag. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“What? What time is it?” mumbled Jessica, rubbing her sleep-filled aquamarine eyes. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“It’s okay, Jess; we just hit a bump on the road. I’m sure we’ll be moving again in no time,” responded Elizabeth soothingly. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Maybe if they’d pave the stupid roads, we wouldn’t hit so many bumps,” said Lila crankily, stretching her arms over her head. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Come on, Lila, we have to respect Middle-earth’s traditions and ways. Experiencing different cultures is the most exciting part of traveling! It can’t all be like Sweet Valley, where the roads are as smooth as Jessica’s and my skin and no one ever litters,” replied Elizabeth, to which Lila merely rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat to resume her nap.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Hey, what’s going on, Mr. J? Why aren’t we moving?” yelled Bruce from the back of the bus, where he had cozily settled in with Annie “Easy Annie” Whitman. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mr. Jaworski turned the bus engine off and climbed down the bus steps to investigate the problem. After a few minutes, he returned and stood at the front of the bus, looking at the tired students with a grim face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Well, guys, I’m afraid I have some bad news. We hit a major pothole back there and it looks like the entire front wheel and axle are out of commission,” he announced.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“What does that mean, exactly?” asked Elizabeth, her voice full of concern.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Are we going to die??” shrieked Jessica, a look of sophisticated panic painted onto her dazzling features.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I will not be dying in Middle-earth on a bus wearing a two day old outfit,” stated Lila frostily. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mr. Jaworski sighed. “Please, everyone, calm down; no one is going to die. I’m just going to have to try to make it back to the airport to get some help and call a mechanic. We were only a few hours away; I can make it there by sunset if I start walking now. We’ll have this bus up and running by this evening. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">While I’m gone, everyone must remain on this bus at all times. Does everyone understand? I don’t want to hear that any one of you took a single step off of this bus. Not a single step. Elizabeth will be in charge until I get back. I know that you’ll all cooperate and treat her with respect, isn’t that right?” Mr. Jaworski looked pointedly at all of the students. “Now sit tight; I’ll be back as soon as I can!” he called, already heading out of the bus door and into the lush forest, a backpack slung over his shoulder.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth’s luminescent eyes widened and she sat up straight in her seat. She felt honored that Mr. Jaworski would trust her with such a responsibility. She vowed right then and there that she would do her best to keep her friends safe and out of harm’s way. She stood up and strode to the front of the bus where Mr. Jaworski had stood seconds before.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Okay guys, you heard Mr. Jaworski. We just have to stay calm and stay in the bus and we’ll be fine,” said Elizabeth.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“But Liz….what if I have to…you know…” called out Winston, a pained look on his gangly face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Very funny, Win. You’re just going to have to hold it,” said Liz, a blush coloring her cherubic cheeks. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Uh, Liz, I kind of have to go, too,” said Ken bashfully, his sandy blond hair falling into his face. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Guys! Didn’t you listen at all? We have to stay on the bus! We’re in the middle of the woods—it’s not safe out there. Plus, it’s going to be dark soon,” said Liz in an exasperated voice. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Bruce stood up, a defiant look on his face. “You know what, Wakefield, I’m sick of this bus and I’m already sick of listening to you get off on being in charge. I’m going outside to smoke this Cuban cigar I snuck on the plane. Any ladies who want to join me can come along,” he said, stepping over Easy Annie and into the aisle. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth watched in dismay as Bruce strode down the bus steps. One by one, he was followed by almost all of the students on board, most casting guilty looks at Elizabeth as they stepped off the bus and into the fresh air. Soon just the twins were left on the bus. Jessica gave her sister a pleading look with her shiny eyes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Please Lizzie…a few minutes outside won’t kill us. We all need to stretch our legs or else we’ll go crazy!” she said, her voice dripping with honey. “Just a few minutes is all.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth sighed. Jessica was very hard to resist whenever she wanted something, a fact that Jessica herself was well aware of. Before Elizabeth even said a word, Jessica saw her relenting eyes and squealed in happiness. “Let’s go, Lizzie; you won’t regret this!” she cried over her shoulder as she bounded towards the bus exit. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The visually appealing girls left the bus and surveyed the outside. The students had divided into little groups in the forest. Olivia, wearing a long skirt made of hemp and peat moss, was sitting on the grass strumming her guitar. Winston was performing an Irish jig to Olivia’s music, continuously stumbling on his lanky legs. Lila was examining her makeup with a mirror and scowling in the general direction of the music. Easy Annie was chatting with Ken, slowly moving her arm down his muscular chest and into the waistband of his jeans. Leaning against the bus was Bruce, smoking his Cuban cigar with an air of nonchalance. Jessica made a beeline for the handsome Bruce and Elizabeth followed reluctantly behind. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Well, well, if it isn’t our fearless leader,” said Bruce, sneering at Liz. She frowned in return, the frown somehow still not tainting her dainty features.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Hey Bruce, got one of those for me?” purred Jessica, leaning against Bruce so their toned bodies touched. Having no physical contact with males for the past day had proved very difficult for the flirtatious Jessica. While she usually had a more-than-frosty attitude towards Bruce after their short but disastrous relationship, there was a definite shortage of eligible males on the trip. And, Jessica reasoned, while Bruce might be irreparably damaging to the self-esteem, he sure was easy on the eyes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I’m not sure you can handle this, sweetheart,” teased Bruce in a husky voice. “My father got it at a famous cigar store in San Francisco during his trip last week.” </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“That’s odd, our mother just came back from San Francisco, too,” remarked Elizabeth, looking puzzled. “She said there was a wallpaper conference…” Elizabeth trailed off and realized that her mother hadn’t provided any more details of her trip. <i>I must not have been paying attention,</i> she mused. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica cleared her mucus-free throat, annoyed that Bruce’s attention had strayed from her. “Oh, I think I handled it just fine when we were at the lake house,” she said seductively.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Hey, I’m part Cuban! Lemme have a puff of that!” called out Winston, running over and grabbing the lit cigar out of Bruce’s hand.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Egbert, I swear on my father’s fortune that if you do not give me that cigar back in three seconds, I will snap your scrawny, four-eyed body in half,” said Bruce, lunging at Winston, who danced out of his grasp and waved the cigar wildly in the air. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Jessica and Elizabeth giggled while the two boys did a sort of fencing routine, with Bruce trying to swipe at Winston, who kept stumbling out of the way. The other students noticed the scuffle and began cheering for the different boys, pretending it was one of Sweet Valley High’s popular wrestling matches. Then suddenly the playful expression on Winston’s face changed as he tripped over his size eleven feet and fell to the ground, the cigar flying in the air and landing directly under the bus’ gas tank, which had leaked a small puddle of gasoline during their earlier troubles.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth instantly knew that they were headed for trouble. She hollered in her loudest voice “Everybody move!” Get away from the bus!” and ran towards the forest, pulling a confused yet beautiful Jessica behind her. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Sparks began to fly and a horrible smell filled the air as the students fled towards the woods. A series of crackling sounds came from the bus, each one louder than the next. It sounded as if the bus were breaking from the inside out, with horrible creaking sounds that made Elizabeth shudder with fear. Suddenly, a huge explosion tore the bus apart, throwing Jessica and Elizabeth to their striking knees. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Flames burst high into the air, the orangey-red hues mixing with the black smoke to color the sky an ominous shade. Winston and Bruce staggered forward, each coughing furiously as the thick smoke entered their subpar lungs. Jessica caught sight of Lila running ahead, her porcelain skin covered in soot and dirt. The twins pulled themselves upright and used their natural athletic builds to run as fast as they could until they could see the bus and the horrible flames no more. They collapsed on the ground and gasped for air, their proportionate chests burning with exertion.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When the girls’ racing yet resilient heartbeats had finally slowed down, they looked around. Winston and Bruce were a few feet behind them, both sitting on the ground in a daze. Lila leaned against a tree looking stunned. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth was the first to speak. “Is everyone all right?” she asked in a choked voice. “Jess, you okay?” Jessica hugged her flawless sister, unable to respond.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Winston slowly nodded, while Lila and Bruce both mumbled replies.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Where are the rest of us? Where’s Olivia? And Ken? And that girl who tried to kill herself that one time because I didn’t let her on the cheerleading squad?” asked Jessica urgently.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lila let out a strangled cry. “Olivia…I saw…she didn’t…” she tried to choke out before dissolving into sobs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Lila, take a deep breath. What about Olivia? Is she hurt?” asked Liz urgently.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Lila took a moment gain her composure. “When…when the bus exploded, I saw Olivia. The flames just swept over her; it was like they swallowed her whole. There was nothing I could do so I just ran away. I couldn’t help her! It just happened so fast…I don’t think she made it. And I think her guitar made her burn faster,” finished Lila, tears running down her face.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Oh God,” moaned Jessica, on the brink of good-looking hysteria.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“And Ken? Annie? Did anyone see them after the explosion?” asked Elizabeth.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Yeah, they had been sneaking off together before…before it happened. I saw them running the opposite way when the bus blew up, towards those big shaded trees,” Winston spoke up.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“Okay, so first things first, we try and find them and everyone else. Then we wait for Mr. Jaworski to come back with help,” said Elizabeth, trying desperately to keep her harmonious voice from shaking.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The group slowly trekked back to the scene of the explosion. Waves of smoke blew off of the scorched bus and a small fire still burned. Upon discovering Olivia’s charred remains, Lila and Bruce both gagged while Winston vomited. The twins, incapable of such unappealing actions, instead wept slow, graceful tears which streamed down their saddened yet exquisite faces.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“At least she’s in the earth now,” eulogized Elizabeth elegantly. “She always did love dirt.”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">The newly formed gang spent the next six hours searching the woods and calling out Ken, Annie and the other student’s names in vain. They wandered far into the thick forest until all sense of direction was gone. As dusk slowly turned into the darkness of night, the exhausted students sank down to the ground to rest.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I can’t even see in front of me,” said Bruce, picking dirt off of his cashmere sweater in annoyance.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I know; I keep tripping over roots and hitting my head,” added Winston, rubbing his head and wincing.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“That’s not because it’s dark, it’s because you have huge feet, Win,” joked Jessica, demonstrating her knack for comedic timing. The group laughed, relieved to finally have a light moment.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“You’re right, guys. There’s no point in looking any more tonight. Let’s just set up a camp and we can figure things out in the morning. A full night’s sleep will do all of us some good,” stated Liz. Too worn down to do anything but obey, the group dispersed in all directions to find supplies. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth started off into the woods by herself, leaning down to gather pine brushes and sticks for firewood. She hummed a tuneless song to distract herself from the day’s hardships and wished that she was home with Todd, curled up on the couch watching a documentary about the Industrial Revolution. During the commercials, she would fall into Todd’s strong, chiseled arms and look deeply into his chocolate brown eyes. She longed for his soft, salty kiss and the warmth of his lean body. She imagined herself pressed against him, rubbing her tanned limbs against his tanned limbs, massaging his muscular shoulders and feeling his hot breath on her swanlike neck. She longed for the day that they would finally progress past kissing, the day that Todd would touch her taut—</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Elizabeth’s daydreaming was interrupted by sudden movement out of the corner of her aquamarine eye. She wheeled around and saw a ghostly figure in white in the distance, seemingly floating across the ground. Elizabeth squinted her glistening eyes and peered closer. The figure looked masculine but with long, flowing white hair that caught in the breeze. He was wearing a plain white robe which was both simple and elegant at the same time and skimmed over his tall, thin frame. He seemed to be carrying a staff of sort, perhaps to help him walking? Elizabeth wasn’t sure, but suddenly longed to hold that staff in her feminine hands. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Staring at him sent electric shocks down her resilient spine for some reason, and Elizabeth felt captivated by this mysterious man, as if he held some kind of strange power over her. She quickly forgot all about Todd’s salty kiss and wondered what the man in white could do to her with his staff, and if he liked foreign movies with subtitles, too.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">As he moved out of her keen eyesight, Elizabeth broke out of her unexpected trance. She looked down at the sticks in her soft hand and the heartbreak of the day came rushing back to her. But suddenly the bus explosion and the charred remains of her dead friend didn’t seem quite so bad anymore. Elizabeth was destined to meet this mysterious man in white; she was sure of it! She just knew that he would somehow change her life and teach her wonderful things.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">“I’m going to find that man,” she swore out loud, “and nothing is going to stop me!”</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><em>Will Elizabeth ever find her mystical man in white? Have we seen the last of Mr. Jaworski & co? Will Winston stand for manslaughter trial for the death of Olivia, or was foul play at hand? And who will be invited to Elizabeth’s “Dance–the-Hair-Away” charity fundraiser for Middle-earth children with hormonal disorders? Only time will tell.</em></strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><br />
<em></em></strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><em>STAY TUNED.</em></strong></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><strong><em><br />
</em></strong></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ahGip6kEr30/TpY_t4FOCBI/AAAAAAAABkA/ACajzFPJpag/s1600/hobbit+child+feet.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ahGip6kEr30/TpY_t4FOCBI/AAAAAAAABkA/ACajzFPJpag/s200/hobbit+child+feet.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
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Won't someone think of the hobbit children? <b>Elizabeth Wakefield will. </b><br />
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PS--Again, I must thank <a href="http://vimeo.com/zaktatham"><span style="color: magenta;">Zak</span></a>, my amusingly amorous artist, for his contribution. Chapter Three (3) pic is a beaut!<br />
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PPS--I must also raise my voice in appreciation to my dear roommate Heather, who is currently giving me Photoshop lessons. She can't read, but she sure can graphic design. Clone stamp tool, am I right?!Samantha Clarkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12829821866274789260noreply@blogger.com6