<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661</id><updated>2011-07-08T06:22:38.491-07:00</updated><category term='Me and Shauna'/><category term='Angel&apos;s Landing'/><category term='Kait'/><title type='text'>Beautiful Day!</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>26</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-7236664747123368552</id><published>2010-01-05T10:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-05T11:16:01.769-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Blog Link!!!</title><content type='html'>Please go to : &lt;a href="http://www.bainbridgebubble.com/"&gt;www.bainbridgebubble.com&lt;/a&gt; for the continuaton of our blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-7236664747123368552?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/7236664747123368552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=7236664747123368552' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/7236664747123368552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/7236664747123368552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2010/01/new-blog-link.html' title='New Blog Link!!!'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-7846933527661262639</id><published>2009-06-24T12:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T12:55:55.991-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Amy's Gallery of Fine Art</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SkKA7Q1PmwI/AAAAAAAAALw/p6hupJsSTo0/s1600-h/Horse+Mural+1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350981062888495874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SkKA7Q1PmwI/AAAAAAAAALw/p6hupJsSTo0/s200/Horse+Mural+1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love art! I have pretty much loved art my whole life. I attribute a lot of that love to my 5th grade teacher, Mr. Busco, who had a passion for it and encouraged her students to get creative. I studied art all through high school, both doing it and learning about it. My goal was to get into the art program at BYU. When I didn't make it into the program, I was devastated but I decided that I still loved art and I continued to take art classes as electives, while I studied English Literature. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;With the art classes I took during my English studies, I learned that I love the fluidity and freedom of water color, that oil painting is really hard (Go Myra!!!), and that calligraphy is an amazing form of art. Although I might not have majored in the visual arts, I learned a lot about my personal style and I sharpened my skills in something I really enjoy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;You may view my current works on my sister's kitchen wall, in mother's hallway, in the box under my bed, and one other work, which I have recently added to my gallery....Rainbow Bright's horse! I sure hope you remember who Rainbow Bright is!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When my friend asked me to paint a mural on her daughter's bedroom wall, I was very hesitant,...but up for the challenge!!! Ok, so it wasn't anything really complicated, but her daughter had been having nightmares and didn't want to sleep in her own room, so my friend thought if she spiced up the bedroom a bit, her daughter would want to be in there. Amy to the rescue!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I painted Rainbow Bright's horse on the wall.... it was a long grueling process, but thank heaven I didn't have to lie on my back for months while I painted the Sistine Chapel ceiling or anything.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm happy with how the whole thing turned out... I mean, it's not Michelangelo, but I think little Kylee liked it anyway. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-7846933527661262639?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/7846933527661262639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=7846933527661262639' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/7846933527661262639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/7846933527661262639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2009/06/amys-gallery-of-fine-art.html' title='Amy&apos;s Gallery of Fine Art'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SkKA7Q1PmwI/AAAAAAAAALw/p6hupJsSTo0/s72-c/Horse+Mural+1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-1407137655425500816</id><published>2009-05-28T12:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-24T11:41:59.176-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Adventures of the Not so Newly Weds</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SkJzQD6AYEI/AAAAAAAAALo/QhISoLILflY/s1600-h/Grand+Canyon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5350966027033272386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SkJzQD6AYEI/AAAAAAAAALo/QhISoLILflY/s200/Grand+Canyon.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So you would think that life would slow down a bit as you get older (because I'm so old!! ha ha) but I have discovered how wrong that is! People have asked me what Joe and I are up to these days and I have to stop and think of what to tell them first!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Joe is doing really well at work. He works for an accounting firm here in Vegas and he is the "Assistant &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;MIS&lt;/span&gt; Director" (computers). He has been working toward getting his computer certifications and recently completed his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;MCSA&lt;/span&gt;. With his new found skills, he also recently finished putting together a computer system for his brother's accounting firm. Smarty Pants!!! He really knows a lot about computers, which blows me away because I do email...and blogs. I have decided that computers don't really like me much but all Joe has to do is look at them and they will do exactly what he wants them to do. It's a gift.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have been enjoying my job as well. I am the administrative assistant at an investment firm here in Vegas. My job includes everything from assisting with trades to installing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Quickbooks&lt;/span&gt;, to taking care of the bosses dog while she is out of town. Anyone who knows me will know that this is the perfect thing for me because I like doing diverse things. ADD perhaps??&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Joe and I recently made a trip to the Grand Canyon. It was Joe's first time there and it was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;sooo&lt;/span&gt; beautiful!!! We decided to make it a day trip so we got up early and drove the 4 hours out to the south rim and hiked for a while. The Grand Canyon amazes me &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;every time&lt;/span&gt; I see it because it doesn't look real. It's so amazing!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Joe is still &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;discovering&lt;/span&gt; the beauties of the West. I guess Florida is pretty flat and doesn't have much elevation change...so the mountains really amaze him. We are planning on going to Florida in August so he can show me the beauties of the BEACH!!! I'm quite sure I will be miserable...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Our most recent excitement is the purchase of our very own house!!! We have been spending the last few days scrubbing baseboards, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;stretching&lt;/span&gt; carpet, mopping, etc. I don't think we ever thought we'd be able to afford a house here in Vegas because they were so expensive, but the recession worked out for us because it gave us this opportunity. We feel so blessed!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-1407137655425500816?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/1407137655425500816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=1407137655425500816' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/1407137655425500816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/1407137655425500816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2009/05/adventures-of-not-so-newly-weds.html' title='Adventures of the Not so Newly Weds'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SkJzQD6AYEI/AAAAAAAAALo/QhISoLILflY/s72-c/Grand+Canyon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-1038331095631720635</id><published>2008-09-26T13:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-19T23:05:06.077-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Beginning at the End</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwfecWXVhI/AAAAAAAAAB8/39Mx_vugtck/s1600-h/092.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259113072728430098" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwfecWXVhI/AAAAAAAAAB8/39Mx_vugtck/s200/092.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ok, I really don't know where to start so we'll just start at the beginning of the end...Once upon a time, there was a girl with long red hair who lived in a land called Happy Valley. She was a very happy girl, I mean, who wouldn't be happy in a place called happy valley. For the most part this girl loved her home, but she kept having a feelig that she needed to go explore the world outside of her little bubble. So one day, she packed up her belongings, said good bye to her family and her cat Lucy and traveled to a land far far away. After traveling for a long time, she stumbled upon a city which was very opposite from Happy Valley. Infact, some people have been known to call this land Sin City or The Muddy (refering to its complete lack of vegetation, of coarse). This girl felt very out of place in Sin City, but she decided to stay so she could experience different things and so she could learn more about the corporate world. Well, sadly, the girl found that the corporate world was a harsh one. People didn't care about eachother like they did in Happy Valley. It was very hard for her to stay in The Muddy and she missed her family and her cat Lucy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;As time passed, the girl lost her job, found another one, got laid off from that job, and ended up finding another one that was even better than the first. She traded her long beautiful red locks for a more stylish look (short and dark). She bought her first car, then was in her first car accident ever, she broke her foot, and she learned to deal with living in a city of scortching conditions and without plants. Life was tricky, but the girl learned to make the best of it because she had great friends who had also traveled with her to Sin City.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Meanwhile, there was a boy who lived in the beautiful city of Orlando Florida. To this day it will never quite be understood why he wanted to leave this oasis of a place, except that he had a feeling, like the girl, that he needed to abandon his comfort zone, and start a new life. He traveled and he traveled and he traveled and finally he ended up in The Muddy. It was very different from Florida, with its dry heat and its lack of water, but the boy liked it. It was a change of scenery. He too found a job and began an exciting new life in the muddy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;One day the boy and his sister, who had traveled with him, went to explore more of the city, when they came upon a group of young people, like themselves, who were having a picnick and playing in the sun. "Come join us!" the group shouted to the boy and his sister.... and so they did.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that was when the girl met the boy. It was his dark hair and his dark eyes that caught her attention first. But he had a great smile too. She was giddy and out going and he liked frizbee and so they got to know eachother a little better that day... and have been friends ever since. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The boy and the girl had many adventures. They went through a lot together as they battled life in a city like "The Muddy", but they were there for eachother through the thick and the thin and they became very close. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The girl started to realize the reason she needed to leave her home in happy valley. She needed to go through the experiences she did, and she needed the boy in her life. He realized the same and they decided that life wouldn't be very meaningful if they couldn't help eachother through it....so they decided to make it permanent. The beginning of a whole new adventure together and the end of a chapter of their lives that had only been the precurser to the rest of eternity.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;THE END.... OR THE BEGINNING&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-1038331095631720635?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/1038331095631720635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=1038331095631720635' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/1038331095631720635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/1038331095631720635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2008/09/beginning-at-end.html' title='Beginning at the End'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwfecWXVhI/AAAAAAAAAB8/39Mx_vugtck/s72-c/092.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-3751374630486255575</id><published>2008-09-24T21:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-24T21:30:35.001-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's About Time,... it's all about time</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;Okay, so I had to take a year sabatical,....it all started when I lost my job... but I'll save you all the gory details....my life has changed quite a bit since then....this is my official entry to announce to the world that Amy is back with a vengence!!!! and this time she is the new and improved, Amy Bainbridge....Stevens is my middle middle name now.  So I'll have to tell you all about it.  Stay tuned for the next exciting episode of "Life With Amy...What Happened Inbetween???"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cc33cc;"&gt;*Sorry too many dot dot dots!  I'm done&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-3751374630486255575?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/3751374630486255575/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=3751374630486255575' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/3751374630486255575'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/3751374630486255575'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2008/09/its-about-time-its-all-about-time.html' title='It&apos;s About Time,... it&apos;s all about time'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-32457677436761990</id><published>2007-09-11T15:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-11T16:29:28.220-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Useless Trivia About Me</title><content type='html'>Jobs I've Had:&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;BYU&lt;/span&gt; Catering&lt;br /&gt;2. Law School Library&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Convergys&lt;/span&gt; (American Express customer service) yuck!!&lt;br /&gt;4. Mega Diamond - &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Wahooo&lt;/span&gt;!! After all a diamond is a girls best friend, especially when it's in your nose.... huh Megan???&lt;br /&gt;5. Law Firm secretary&lt;br /&gt;6. Bank secretary&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Movies I could watch over and over:&lt;br /&gt;1. My Big Fat Greek Wedding&lt;br /&gt;2. Pride and Prejudice (Most chick flicks)&lt;br /&gt;3. Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants (Oh, that was a hard one to admit)&lt;br /&gt;4. oh, I don't know, there are a bunch i wouldn't mind seeing again - Bat Man Begins, The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Bourne&lt;/span&gt; series, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Places I've been:&lt;br /&gt;1. Canada&lt;br /&gt;2. Italy&lt;br /&gt;3. Chicago&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Switzerland&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. England&lt;br /&gt;6. France&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Places I've lived&lt;br /&gt;1. Canada&lt;br /&gt;2. Provo, Utah&lt;br /&gt;3. Florence, Italy&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Las&lt;/span&gt; Vegas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shows I enjoy:&lt;br /&gt;1. 24&lt;br /&gt;2. The Office&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Myth busters&lt;/span&gt; (ha ha ha yeah, Geek!!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Favorite Foods:&lt;br /&gt;1. Chocolate Cake!!!&lt;br /&gt;2. Sweet and Sour Ribs&lt;br /&gt;3. California Rolls&lt;br /&gt;4. crackers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Websites I visit &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;regularly&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;1. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;lds&lt;/span&gt;.org&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;yahoomusic&lt;/span&gt;.com&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;hotmail&lt;/span&gt;.com&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;facebook&lt;/span&gt;.com&lt;br /&gt;5. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;bankofamerica&lt;/span&gt;.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Body parts I've injured:&lt;br /&gt;1. I broke my Finger&lt;br /&gt;2. I broke my foot&lt;br /&gt;3. ...I think I broke my brain...but it's better now, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; worry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nicknames:&lt;br /&gt;1. Amy Pie&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Ames&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Aim&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Sorella&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-32457677436761990?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/32457677436761990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=32457677436761990' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/32457677436761990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/32457677436761990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/09/useless-trivia-about-me.html' title='Useless Trivia About Me'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-6119749269021590070</id><published>2007-07-11T11:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-12T13:37:46.443-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rite Aid or Wrong Aid</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RpaQ4tBS1xI/AAAAAAAAAB0/99MvWn3SCoA/s1600-h/ra_logo.png"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5086412132993652498" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RpaQ4tBS1xI/AAAAAAAAAB0/99MvWn3SCoA/s200/ra_logo.png" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I work close to Rite Aid. It's pretty handy to have a Rite Aid right there, just in case I need any last minute &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;prescriptions&lt;/span&gt; filled for my chronic chocolate needs, you know. Rite Aid, however, has been the source of much confusion/amusement as of late. Myra (my partner in crime who works down the hall from me, and who is also my room mate) and I make frequent trips to Rite Aid on hot &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Las&lt;/span&gt; Vegas days, to refresh ourselves with any of their cool beverages, or just to get a sugar high before having to return to the old grind. Communication at Rite Aid has been difficult the past few trips. In fact, just yesterday we were standing in line and this woman walks in with her cart, goes up to the cashier and asks "Where is your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Breet&lt;/span&gt;?" The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;cashier's&lt;/span&gt; brow furrows "What?" "Your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Breet&lt;/span&gt;." The woman persists. "Um, I'm not sure...oh Brita? As in water?" The woman stiffened in her haughtiness "Yes, your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Breet&lt;/span&gt;." Okay, maybe you had to be there, but I just wanted to laugh out loud! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Breet&lt;/span&gt;? I had no clue what she was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;referring&lt;/span&gt; to and I had thought she was saying &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Freet&lt;/span&gt;! The whole time I was thinking "What the crap is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Freet&lt;/span&gt;?" Well, this isn't the first time we have had &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;miscommunication&lt;/span&gt; issues at Rite Aid. A while back Myra was trying to use her debit card and asked the cashier about the transaction. Well, the cashier thought Myra was talking about a coupon, for some reason, and she kept trying to tell Myra how the coupon would only take a certain amount off of her purchase. Once again, communication was confused and we walked out of the store wondering what the deal was with people at Rite Aid. The last time I went in there, one cashier was telling the other "I just hung up on Dan, and then I hung up on Cindy. I don't know what's wrong with this phone!" and right at that moment, she dropped it. "I'll tell you what's wrong with your phone lady." I thought. Oh the strange things that happen and the strange people that you'll find at Rite Aid! Good thing I stopped working there a long time ago! I should have known Rite Aid was doomed when I walked into work in the pharmacy department one day and there were &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;police&lt;/span&gt; all over the place. Come to find out, one of the pharmacists was pocketing drugs!! Shauna (my other partner in crime and my sister) can attest to the Rite Aid/Wrong Aid conspiracy too. There are just too many witnesses...sorry Rite Aid. It looks like there is not much hope for you.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-6119749269021590070?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/6119749269021590070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=6119749269021590070' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/6119749269021590070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/6119749269021590070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/07/rite-aid-or-wrong-aid.html' title='Rite Aid or Wrong Aid'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RpaQ4tBS1xI/AAAAAAAAAB0/99MvWn3SCoA/s72-c/ra_logo.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-239200491507750591</id><published>2007-07-03T10:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-03T11:06:18.914-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pet Peves:</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;#1. Manipulation. Don't try to be sly about it, just come out and say it!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;#2. Degrading comments. Even if you think you are better than everyone else, no one wants &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;to hear about it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;#3. A combination of the two. Manipulating degredation I call it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;Just don't do it. People will like you a lot better if you are just a nice person.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-239200491507750591?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/239200491507750591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=239200491507750591' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/239200491507750591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/239200491507750591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/07/pet-peves.html' title='Pet Peves:'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-4720142629151765467</id><published>2007-06-28T11:10:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-28T14:02:10.798-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Had a Bad Day?</title><content type='html'>I had a bad day yesterday when I found out the bank I am working for, might be closing our office.  Needless to say, watching this clip totally made my day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4HrfXmJ7-I"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4HrfXmJ7-I&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe you have to know Daniel to really appreciate this, but Myra and I used to hang out with Daniel and Ammon when we lived in Southridge appartments.  We pretty much laughed the whole year we lived there.  Good memories!  You know, it's the good memories (ElCamino and Christmas tree burning, Punked, Praying over Daniel's birthday breakfast, Jimmy Eat World, staying up until 5:00 am, stadium seating, "All's fair in love and war") that make the hard times seem like "stupid post apocolypse" affairs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-4720142629151765467?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/4720142629151765467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=4720142629151765467' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4720142629151765467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4720142629151765467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/06/had-bad-day.html' title='Had a Bad Day?'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-207515035497222228</id><published>2007-06-27T15:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-27T16:06:08.677-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Flummox</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;Life is hard when you're a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;klutz&lt;/span&gt;.  Fortunately for me, I haven't broken any bones.  This is surprising, however, when you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;consider&lt;/span&gt; how many times my fingers have been smashed by the old window in Great Aunt Jane's cabin, how many times I have tripped over my own feet, been &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;electrocuted&lt;/span&gt; by the horse fence, been stabbed by unnaturally low tree limbs, smacked my head on the doorway down to our basement, crashed on my bike, etc. etc. on and on.  Spilling is my favorite past time however.  I have reached records of the most accidental spills in one day.  One of my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;reoccurring&lt;/span&gt; childhood memories is mopping up the floor because I have spilled water all over the place, trying to fill the glasses for dinner.  If ever I was lucky enough not to just drop the water jug at the beginning of the whole ordeal, everyone could always tell who filled the water glasses when they sat down to dinner and their dinner plate held more water than their glass.  At one point, my mom just stopped asking me to help.  I guess it was one way to get out of things.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;Even worse than the physical &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;klutziness&lt;/span&gt; I experience every day is my uncanny &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;ability&lt;/span&gt; to stick my foot in my mouth or simply to say something without really thinking about it first, only to realize after a second or two that the situation has suddenly become very awkward.  I could go on for several pages, but I will briefly highlight some key moments or generalizations.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;  &lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;1.  Making racist comments that I don't even know are racist.  (Sorry &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Rebbecca&lt;/span&gt;, and Ricky)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;  2.  Horny toad story.  In grade school my friend was telling me that the mascot of her mother's elementary school was a horny toad.  Well, being the innocent Provo elementary &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;schooler&lt;/span&gt; that I was, I attempted to make one of my slapstick (corny) jokes that I am so well known for, and blurted out "Well, that darn toad must have been very horny!"  As soon as people began to laugh, I realized they weren't laughing at my joke the way I had meant it.  "Go ask your mom what that means!" people began taunting me.  Oh, poor little Amy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;  3.  Most recent.  I had just met some people at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;FHE&lt;/span&gt; and was busy chatting about nothing when, for some reason the topic of the PBS program on Mormons came to my mind and I was attempting to say how my boss had watched it and ended up thinking Mormons still lived like pioneers.  Well, the words flowed smoothly through my mind but some how the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;acronym&lt;/span&gt; PBS got mixed up and came out as PMS.  "So my boss saw that show on PMS about Mormons...."  All of the sudden I realized what had just come out of my mouth.  "Did I really just say that?"  I thought.  I'm sure my face turned beet red, I had to hide it somehow but all I could do was laugh.  Later I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;received&lt;/span&gt; a text message that began "Hey PBS..." I have been tagged. No more first impressions. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;In all my years of blunders I have learned that if you don't laugh at yourself, you'll just cry, so I laugh a lot.  In fact I laugh so much sometimes that I can't control it and people end up laughing at me even harder because I am laughing really hard about something that is not that funny.  If you ever want to experience this phenomenon, just ask me to tell you about the pigeon that flew into the window in the train station, or the bird that kept pecking at my dad's head.  Ha ha ha, okay, even now I am laughing.  I'll stop right now or I'll get myself into trouble.  So that is the story of my life as a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;flummox&lt;/span&gt;.  It's a pretty entertaining life I'll say.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-207515035497222228?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/207515035497222228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=207515035497222228' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/207515035497222228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/207515035497222228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/06/flummox.html' title='Flummox'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-5287283547142632271</id><published>2007-06-25T11:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-25T13:03:31.654-07:00</updated><title type='text'>CRAZY!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#9999ff;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;My friends call me crazy, and you’re welcome to do the same, but the source of my craziness is actually an addiction I just can’t shake. Running, that is my addiction, and the reason my friends call me crazy.&lt;br /&gt;With no particular destination in mind I find great personal satisfaction in lacing up my dirt-covered, tread-worn Asics and hitting the streets. Maybe this, in and of itself, isn’t that crazy, but the fact that I get up at 5:00 in the morning to do it doesn’t earn me many sanity points.&lt;br /&gt;To enhance the craziness I have visions of running a marathon. Such a task is not merely a casual morning’s jog. Every yard of the 26.2 miles of pavement, requires serious focus and determination. Yes, insanity. It even sounds insane to me and yet I can’t shake the incredible desire to conquer the carnal woman inside of me by accomplishing that which seems unattainable. I’ve heard it said that the first man to ever undertake such a feat died shortly thereafter.&lt;br /&gt;Fortunately for me, I know several people who have battled the distance and come out victorious. Some of them have even spoken great things of their experience. “Is it Human?” I ask. “No” They reply with tight lips, “God did not create man for this purpose, but He did give him determination, which is the drive behind it all.”&lt;br /&gt;Though running a marathon is probably not the first item on many new-years resolutions lists, this year I have added it to mine. The simple fact is, I want to be inhuman. There is something about running that gives me a complete sense of power and excitement. A runner’s high, is what they call it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;So, in order to test my abilities I decided to enter the Provo River 10 mile trail run this last weekend. Sure, I was pretty nervous. After all, if I died on this attempt, my plans to run a marathon would be seriously thwarted, but on the other hand, if I did well, maybe I'd be inspired to push the marathon idea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;The morning of the race came. I was fighting that early morning nausea (due to extreme lack of sleep) combined with an anxious adrenaline that only the crazy can understand. As the bus took us up Provo Canyon, it passed all of the familiar bends and turns that I have memorized through the years of my childhood. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;My heart skipped a beat, however, when the bus whizzed past the spot that I had envisioned to be the starting point of the run. Up up up, the bus continued past one familiar park, on to the next and then even past that! The bends didn't look so familiar all of the sudden, as the hole in my stomach deepened. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;"I am going to die" I thought as the bus finally eased around the last corner. We all filed out of the crayon yellow box of a bus into the chilly mountainous air. "Yep, this will be the last day of my pathetic life, but I am not going to go without a fight!" The gun fired and I set off toward the finish line 10 miles away.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;I was surprised how fast the first 5 miles went. Besides the fact that they were all down hill, they were in the shade too. My stomach finally relaxed as the territory became more familiar and I knew I would be okay. "Just keep on putting' one foot in front of the other" I kept in time to the music blaring on my MP3 player.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;The sun came up over the mountain peak and I began to slow down a bit. Heat is what really kills me but I figured that if I could run in the heat of Vegas, this should be nothing right? I kept on, constant and steady. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;The trick to distance running is keeping a pace you can stick to the whole time, not letting up when things get too hot or when the path starts ascending or when you accidentally inhale a bug. I rounded the last corner of the canyon and started down toward the River Woods shops. By this time it was really getting hot and my umph was starting to let up, but the finish line was so close!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;I stopped to stretch for a second, just to get my wind back for the last bit of the race. I had been going strong and could afford a 30 second pit stop. I didn't want to walk at all. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;Back on track I strained the last mile and crossed triumphant in my own glory, pausing under the sprinkler to celebrate. I had made it! I had conquered my inner woman and in better time then I had predicted! I was content.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:78%;"&gt;Next stop, 1/2 marathon, and then well........ to infinity and beyond!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-5287283547142632271?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/5287283547142632271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=5287283547142632271' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/5287283547142632271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/5287283547142632271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/06/crazy.html' title='CRAZY!'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-8038062991710778648</id><published>2007-06-13T13:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-13T15:22:43.042-07:00</updated><title type='text'>BFF's</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;It's that laugh you force when you are trying to pretend you are amused by something that's really not funny.  It's the nod that appears to say "I understand" or "Yes, we are on the same page" or "I agree" when, in all reality, you could care less.  It's the affirmative grunts or noises you make on the phone such as : "Hmmmm" or "yeah" when you haven't really even been listening to what the person on the other end is saying.  It's the "Hi, how are you doing?" as you pass by some acquaintance you've only met a few times and you can't even remember their name.  It's pretending you are completely fine when, in actuality, everything inside of you is telling you to cry or yell or run away or just plain nail the sucker right in the chin.  The other person will never know these intense feelings you are experiencing, however, because you are so good at faking it.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;            We all do it, this fake thing.  I have done it so many times it's sickening.  I think it's caused by a fear that if you actually say or do what you are thinking, you might never be able to repair the damage.  So you just sit there and smile and nod every once in a while, and continue to be fake.  You are happy and comfortable in your little world of secrets, behind your fake mask.  How different would this world be if everyone spoke their mind instead of only saying things they think others want to hear?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#6600cc;"&gt;            And then you have those people who know you so well, you just can't fake it around them.  You can try as hard as you wish, but they can see right through you.  "How are you?" they ask.  "Good" you reply.  "What's wrong?" they immediately catch on.  "Nothing" you try to fake it.  "Come on, spit it out."  They stand there staring into your soul and you feel naked.  &lt;em&gt;"Dang!"&lt;/em&gt; you say to yourself, because nothing ever gets past them.  Then you spill your guts, cry a little, and feel better.  I wish the world was filled with more people like that.  Best Friends. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-8038062991710778648?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/8038062991710778648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=8038062991710778648' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8038062991710778648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8038062991710778648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/06/bffs.html' title='BFF&apos;s'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-2557945961463870077</id><published>2007-06-07T08:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-07T08:43:54.886-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Celebrity Sightings</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RmgjRwud7mI/AAAAAAAAABs/zmaJnuq6lm4/s1600-h/Ocean"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5073343768277413474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RmgjRwud7mI/AAAAAAAAABs/zmaJnuq6lm4/s200/Ocean%27s+13.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ffff;"&gt;Being tall &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; has its advantages when it comes to celebrity sightings.  Yesterday (6/6/07) was the premier of Oceans 13 on the strip at The Palms Casino.  As soon as we got wind that the cast was going to arrive for their opening &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;debut&lt;/span&gt;, Liz, Myra and I joined the throng of fans who anxiously awaited their arrival.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33ffff;"&gt;  One woman in the crowd, was from England.  She was already a little giddy (drunk) and she continued to get louder and louder as her friend brought her another drink.  "Brad!!"  She yelled at the first sighting of Brad Pitt, in her British accent.  "You smart little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;cracka&lt;/span&gt;!" Then she &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;proceeded&lt;/span&gt; to force her husband to bend down so she could get up on his shoulders to have a better view.  "My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;nicka's&lt;/span&gt; aren't showing are they?" She asked as her poor husband tottered under her weight.  All I could think of was "This woman is so drunk!  She better not puke on me."  She continued to scream a slue of excited profanities as she spotted the stars of the new movie.  I couldn't help laughing at her.  It was almost more entertaining to watch her and her servant of a husband, then to see the celebrities, but really, nothing can top Brad Pitt, George &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Clooney&lt;/span&gt;, and Matt Damon.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-2557945961463870077?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/2557945961463870077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=2557945961463870077' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/2557945961463870077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/2557945961463870077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/06/celebrity-sightings.html' title='Celebrity Sightings'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RmgjRwud7mI/AAAAAAAAABs/zmaJnuq6lm4/s72-c/Ocean%27s+13.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-4069473874744203077</id><published>2007-05-29T15:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-29T16:05:57.338-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"How Aims Became Bald"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;Long ago and far away in the land of "The Muddy" there lived a girl, let's call her Aims.  Well, Aims was bored (not board mind you) and she really wanted something to do.  It's not that she didn't have many lovely friends to do things with, she just needed something to occupy her mind so she wouldn't think too much about other things (I think they call it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;suppression&lt;/span&gt;).  She looked all around her for something to do and she complained a lot about not having anything to do.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;   Finally Aims decided to call upon The God of the Sky to give her something to do so she wouldn't be bored anymore.  She called and she called but there was no answer from The God in the sky.  Aims became frustrated and decided to take matters into her own hands.  So Aims began to play the guitar, she began to create art, and she even began to read a lot, even so much that her head was always stuck in a book.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;   Her friends would stand at her window and call out "Aims, we are going to get ice cream.  Come with us!"  and Aims would reply with a flick of her wrist and say "Pooh pooh, I am staying here with my book."  They were very disappointed.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;   Then finally The God of the sky decided to grant Aims her request.  You see the God of the Sky knows best and He knew that the time had not yet been ripe for Aims to learn her lesson, but that day did come.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;  Suddenly Aims was very busy with many things to do.  She had things to do almost every night, and they were fun things too.  But Aims found that she missed the old days of reading and lounging around, "Waiting for the money" so to speak, and she began to complain about not having &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;enough&lt;/span&gt; time.  She complained that she was going out with all the wrong guys, she complained about her job, she complained about The Muddy, and she especially complained about her banking class she had wanted to take, but suddenly didn't want to take anymore.   &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;   The God of the Sky was angry with Aims.  "You are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ungrateful&lt;/span&gt;, just like The Children of the Desert who complained about the food I provided for them and when I finally gave them something else, they complained about that too.  Because you are so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ungrateful&lt;/span&gt;, I will not make you wonder in The Muddy for 30 years, but I will make a more permanent mark upon you so that every day, you will wake up and remember that you need to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;grateful&lt;/span&gt;."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;  And with that, Aims found that she no longer had any hair!  She was bald, completely!!!  Aims cried and cried, but there was nothing she could do.  Her sentence had been determined.  She would never complain again.  (Until it really hit her that she had no hair)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#33cc00;"&gt;*Moral of the story:  Don't complain, it might come back to bit you in the... well you fill in the blank.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-4069473874744203077?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/4069473874744203077/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=4069473874744203077' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4069473874744203077'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4069473874744203077'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/05/how-aims-became-bald.html' title='&quot;How Aims Became Bald&quot;'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-8356724309204413618</id><published>2007-05-29T12:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-06T16:54:52.279-07:00</updated><title type='text'>California Here We Come</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;Body Boarding rules!!! I am determined to learn how to surf now that I've caught the sickness. Okay, so I'm really not that good, but it was so fun!! We spent this last long weekend in San Diego (So Cal. Ha ha ha, I am such a wanna be!) I learned how to body board and now I am hooked. We spent all day at the beach body boarding and then we spent the next day observing the guys who really know how to do it on the bigger waves. Okay so maybe I wasn't so mezmarized by their skill as I was other things...but we won't go there (Mom are you reading this?) Anyway, I read up on how to surf and I think all I need now is a board and I am on my way to Hawaii! (I wish!) I find such a thrill in these things. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;While we were out in the ocean waiting to catch the next good wave, I looked up to see something big, jumping through the waves. Panick ran through me as I remembered the, ever so looming, fear of sharks I'd had when I was younger. That fear was quickly replaced by amazement, however, when I realized the sharks were really dolphins. Sharks dont jump like that. Silly Amy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;Anyway, so I have decided to quit my job, trade my car in for a surf board, and live on Lagoona Beach. It is so beautiful. No wonder everyone wants to live there. Actually it's a good thing I don't live there, I'd really become irresponsable. It would be a bad thing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffff66;"&gt;Last week I went to Seattle on a business trip. Seattle is really green too and it's by the ocean. Maybe I'll move to Seattle, then I can work durring the week and freeze in the ocean on the weekends, as I struggle to teach myself how to surf. Wow, there are so many places to go, so many things to see, and so little time and money to do it with.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-8356724309204413618?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/8356724309204413618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=8356724309204413618' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8356724309204413618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8356724309204413618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/05/california-here-we-come.html' title='California Here We Come'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-3012057456215414810</id><published>2007-05-15T09:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-15T10:04:08.648-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;RUNNING&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I run everywhere&lt;br /&gt;But mostly away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Muscles charged,&lt;br /&gt;Blood pumping,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am strong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And through my weakness,&lt;br /&gt;I determine to conquer,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To overcome,&lt;br /&gt;What’s inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I run to stay alive.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-3012057456215414810?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/3012057456215414810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=3012057456215414810' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/3012057456215414810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/3012057456215414810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/05/running.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-8703128535282973446</id><published>2007-05-09T16:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-10T11:11:40.741-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a Beautiful Day!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RkJUd9qsFlI/AAAAAAAAABc/-DMMtsl96x4/s1600-h/Fire+Rainbow.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5062701804864411218" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RkJUd9qsFlI/AAAAAAAAABc/-DMMtsl96x4/s200/Fire+Rainbow.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; So I just wanted to explain the title of my blog a bit. "Beautiful Day" by U2 inspired me to see the better side of life. It helped me come out on top of some tough times and I think I could say that it really changed me. I had this brilliant idea that I was going to write to Bono and tell him how his song has influenced me, but then I decided that he probably gets millions of the same sort of letters from obsessed fans.  I didnt want my sentimental scribble to get lost in the abyss of crazed fan letters so, one day, when I am famous (for something really great, though I don't know what that is at this moment or I'd already be famous) Bono will look on my blog and be flattered. (ha ha ha) &lt;p&gt;So here is the sound track of my life:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;1. "Bohemian Rapsody" by: Queen - My cousin and I used to love this song when we were little.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;2. "The Sign" by: Ace of Base - I thought this was the coolest song in Jr. High. (I was sooo cool!)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;3. "It's a Beautiful Day" by: U2 - My senior year of High School my best friend Myra and I went to their concert. It was amazing!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;4. "Spiderweb" by: No Doubt - High School, want to be bitter, girl song. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;5. "Take It or Leave It" by: The Strokes - Singing at the top of our lungs while driving down Canyon Road on our regular date of dinner and a movie with Helene West.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;6. "Yellow" by: Cold Play - First experience moving away from home after High School.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;7. "Amber" by: 311 - My "I want to lie in a hammock on a deserted island and just chill" song.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;8. "Bubbly Toes" by: Jack Johnson - To Shauna, because she has bubbly toes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;8. "We are going to be Friends" by: White Stripes - Backpacking Europe trip.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;9. "Starlight" by: The Muse - To Stella, my speedy partner in crime!!!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;10. "Stolen" by: Dashboard Confessional - Because it's just a really good song.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;11. "Read My Mind" by: The Killers - Because I am so easy to read, dispite the fact that I don't want people to know what I'm thinking.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;12. "Annie Are You Okay?" by: Alien Ant Farm - Because Myra, you are OK!!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;13. "Glycerine" by: Bush - Cuz I love the title and the song too.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;14.  "The Sweater Song" by: Weezer - because it reminds me of Daniel and Ammon and makes me laugh.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;15.  "Single" by: Nitosha Beddingfield - To the "Fabulous Five"&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;*I dedicate this entry to my poor stolen CD collection.  May Mr. 5 finger discount enjoy them as much as I have.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-8703128535282973446?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/8703128535282973446/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=8703128535282973446' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8703128535282973446'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8703128535282973446'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/05/its-beautiful-day.html' title='It&apos;s a Beautiful Day!'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RkJUd9qsFlI/AAAAAAAAABc/-DMMtsl96x4/s72-c/Fire+Rainbow.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-8890749966224683366</id><published>2007-05-02T09:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-05-02T12:31:25.123-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Angel&apos;s Landing'/><title type='text'>On Top of the World</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/Rjjj2NqsFkI/AAAAAAAAABU/j3h3LW_WUuM/s1600-h/zioncyn1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5060044701871904322" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/Rjjj2NqsFkI/AAAAAAAAABU/j3h3LW_WUuM/s320/zioncyn1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have traveled to a lot of different places in the world and every time I come home, someone asks, "Where is the most beautiful place you have been?" I have to hesitate. Each destination has it's highlights whether it's the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Coliseum&lt;/span&gt; in Rome, the beach in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Chinque&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Terre&lt;/span&gt;, or the flashy lights of Vegas. It all comes down to one point in the end, however, there's is no place like home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am a mountain girl through and through. I love the mountains and having grown up in Provo, they are kind of a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;symbol&lt;/span&gt; of home to me. There is something secure about them, almost like a blockade, they are protection. They &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;symbolize&lt;/span&gt; both power and serenity. Power because of their magnificence, and serenity because of the feeling you get when you have just reached the top. It's liberating to stand there and look down on the world, and realize that your problems really aren't as big as you make them out to be. You can conquer them, just like you conquered that mountain, one step at a time. It is, in fact, a spiritual experience.&lt;br /&gt;   Now I know you're thinking, "This is an interesting entry. Next I'll bet she is going to quote some cheesy poem, start singing some sentimental ballad or, heaven forbid, cry! Well reader, put your mind at ease &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;because&lt;/span&gt; I am not going to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;quote&lt;/span&gt; a poem (although Emily &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Dickinson&lt;/span&gt; would be appropriate), or sing a sentimental ballad (although Dashboard Confessional has come out with an excellent new CD) and, no, you will not have the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;privilege&lt;/span&gt;, or satisfaction (which ever you would like) of seeing me cry (especially because, even if I were to cry, you wouldn't see it now would you?).&lt;br /&gt;   So last weekend my room mate, Erika, and I, met some friends in Zion National Park. We decided that we wanted a challenge and so we headed up one of the most awe inspiring peaks in Zion called Angel's Landing. Now if you haven't hiked this one yet, I would highly recommend it but if you are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;afraid&lt;/span&gt; of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;heights&lt;/span&gt;, you'd probably be better off going up The Narrows.&lt;br /&gt;  At one point of the hike, you are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;scaling&lt;/span&gt; a narrow ledge that connects two parts of the mountain. The ledge is about 5 feet &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;across&lt;/span&gt; and on either side there is about a 1500 ft &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;drop off&lt;/span&gt;. My advice: "just concentrate on your next move and don't look down!"&lt;br /&gt;   So there I was in the thrill of the hike, stuck behind this lady who was shaking so bad I spent my time worrying she'd lose her balance and fall off the edge. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;Despite&lt;/span&gt; that minor detail, she had to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;at least&lt;/span&gt; 50 years old AND she was wearing a skirt, but not just any old lady skirt, it was a mini skirt! Who does that? Talk about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;varicose&lt;/span&gt; veins, I never want to be 50! I do have to hand it to her for her brave ambition however, especially because I believe the risk factor increases with age, due to lack of balance of coarse.&lt;br /&gt;  Anyway, the top was so triumphant! You look over an amazing display of green and red under an untainted sky of blue and it just takes your breath away! All the sweat and anxiety of getting there is worth while when you reach the top of the world, and hey, if Grandma can do it, so can you!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-8890749966224683366?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/8890749966224683366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=8890749966224683366' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8890749966224683366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8890749966224683366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/05/on-top-of-world.html' title='On Top of the World'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/Rjjj2NqsFkI/AAAAAAAAABU/j3h3LW_WUuM/s72-c/zioncyn1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-4679844869975841472</id><published>2007-04-19T19:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-20T11:09:24.936-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Fab Five</title><content type='html'>Everyone in our apartment was having a hard week. Things can get tough when you live in a place like "The Muddy". We definately aren't in Provo anymore! So one weekend we decided to &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RiggOKrRVxI/AAAAAAAAABM/4nPE_3Yrwds/s1600-h/IMGP3110.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5055326009479485202" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RiggOKrRVxI/AAAAAAAAABM/4nPE_3Yrwds/s320/IMGP3110.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; take off and go to California. The great thing about living in Vegas is that everyone from California comes to gamble on the weekends and we get to go there. It's kind of a swap. Anyway so we got a hotel room for two nights and spent Saturday on the beach. It was an awesome and much needed break.&lt;br /&gt;These are my room mates. Myra is on the far right. Myra is so great! We have been best friends since we were in Junior High and we have had a so many incredible adventures together. We are the amazing traveling partners. Liz is just right of Myra. She is a PE teacher at one of the high schools here in Vegas. I love her because she has a great sense of humor and laughs a lot. She is athletic, like me, and we have visions of doing a triathlon together.&lt;br /&gt;Erica is next. I just love Erica! She has this cleaver personality that I envy. I met her about 2 years ago because she was in Myra's ward. Well, everyone called her "Beppa" and for the longest time I didn't know her real name. She is still in my phone as "Beppa".&lt;br /&gt;Then, there's me...Well, not much to report there, but we do have one other room mate that couldn't come on the trip with us, which would explain why she isn't in the picture. Her name is Nancy. Nancy is a high school Home Economics teacher. She is an extremely organized and keeps herself quite busy. She is a very charitable person and she is always cooking for some big function. We have all appreciated her cooking skills (especially her deserts!)&lt;br /&gt;So together we are the "Fab Five", at least that's what they call us, and to tell you the truth, I think they are right! We are pretty fabulous, even if I do say so myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-4679844869975841472?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/4679844869975841472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=4679844869975841472' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4679844869975841472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4679844869975841472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/04/fab-five.html' title='The Fab Five'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RiggOKrRVxI/AAAAAAAAABM/4nPE_3Yrwds/s72-c/IMGP3110.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-7833898502805849371</id><published>2007-04-19T16:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-20T11:57:09.691-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Tomarrow"</title><content type='html'>Okay, so don't you hate it when you have been doing something wrong for a long time, only to suddenly find out that you have been doing it wrong all along and no one has bothered to tell you? Well, I am ashamed to admit this, but I have been spelling the word "tomorrow" wrong for years!!! For some reason I thought it was spelled "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tomarrow&lt;/span&gt;". I really think it should be spelled that way because that's how it sounds. Dang this English language sometimes!&lt;br /&gt;My aunt had a similar experience with the phrase "chest of drawers". She thought it was "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;chester&lt;/span&gt; drawers" her whole life and then, to her mortification, her husband finally came out and told her it's "chest of drawers". Talk about feeling stupid.&lt;br /&gt;I have learned to appreciate those people who are genuinely honest. Not critical, mind you, but honest. They have your best interest in mind and they don't want you to walk around looking stupid, so they tell you straight out. "Hey, you have some black stuff smeared all across your face". Instead of you going home and feeling completely &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;embarrassed&lt;/span&gt; because you have been walking around all day with some horrid black smudge streaked all across your face.&lt;br /&gt;The thing that makes me feel most &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;ridiculous&lt;/span&gt; is that I have been spelling tomorrow wrong in all of my text messages. Well, I like to use the automatic words (or whatever they are officially called) because I think it's faster to write text messages and I have always thought it was so dumb that "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;tomarrow&lt;/span&gt;" was never in my phone dictionary. "Of all of the words that are in here, why would the word &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;tomarrow&lt;/span&gt; be left out?" Okay at this point you would think I'd get the hint that I was spelling it wrong, but it never really did.&lt;br /&gt;My question is: Why didn't anyone tell me? Of all of the people I text messaged using the word "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;tomarrow&lt;/span&gt;", why didn't anyone ever tell me? Or was everyone sitting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;comfortably&lt;/span&gt; in their own little worlds, laughing at my ignorance?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A special thanks to Cassidy for her excellent spell checking skills.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-7833898502805849371?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/7833898502805849371/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=7833898502805849371' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/7833898502805849371'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/7833898502805849371'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/04/tomarrow.html' title='&quot;Tomarrow&quot;'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-8163348684878340110</id><published>2007-04-04T22:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-11T19:42:51.805-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Mess With Me!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/Rh2ckiR-TsI/AAAAAAAAABE/Wj9ctbnI5Uc/s1600-h/3-07+010.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5052366508470980290" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/Rh2ckiR-TsI/AAAAAAAAABE/Wj9ctbnI5Uc/s320/3-07+010.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, with all of the drama that's going on in my life, I kind of took my frustrations out on Paul. Poor Paul, he really didn't know what was coming. Okay, so he asked me to give him a haircut and I can't help&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RhSP6lGbPrI/AAAAAAAAAA0/zmpLnusNBP0/s1600-h/3-07009[1].jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt; it, the razor slipped and... well... oops!&lt;br /&gt;See those dark circles under my eyes? Never ask anyone with circles under their eyes like that to give you a haircut. They obviously don't know what they are doing&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RhSPk1GbPqI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ohP3AwoNv6M/s1600-h/3-07001[1].jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5049818945081261730" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RhSPk1GbPqI/AAAAAAAAAAs/ohP3AwoNv6M/s320/3-07001%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; and, to tell you the truth, I have never cut anyone's hair before. The only experience I've had with cutting hair was when I took the scissors to my own head as a child. The result, well let's just say I was embarassed to be seen in public for a few weeks.&lt;br /&gt;I have often thought that hair was over rated and the less energy you had to put into it, the better, even though I did my share of worrying over it. I used to have really long hair, almost to my waist. It was easy, all I had to do was blow it dry and brush it. When I finally decided to cut it, to look more professional, I freaked out. I had just cut off 11 freakin' inches! I felt like I had just cut off half of my mortal existance. My only consolation was that my hair is probably sitting on the head of someone with cancer. I hope they enjoy it because I sure did. ...Maybe Paul could have used it...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-8163348684878340110?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/8163348684878340110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=8163348684878340110' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8163348684878340110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/8163348684878340110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/04/dont-mess-with-me.html' title='Don&apos;t Mess With Me!'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/Rh2ckiR-TsI/AAAAAAAAABE/Wj9ctbnI5Uc/s72-c/3-07+010.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-2638808913937165173</id><published>2007-04-02T16:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-04-03T11:39:25.331-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Country Music of My Life</title><content type='html'>I love music and I've often thought how every significant part of my life has a song attached to it. You know those songs that you hear and they bring an event, a trip, or a specific person to your mind? Well I'd like to write a sound track to my life. It would be a pretty dang good sound track, that is, if you (reader) had the same taste in music as me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like all types of music but there is one type of music that I have never really liked, and perhaps that's because it is associated with bad memories from the past, but I cant' stand country music. Now, I'm not talking folk music, I'm talking steel guitar, knee slappin', bandana wearin', twangy country. Well, I regret to say that the theme song of my life for the past two months has been a country song. I lost my job, I lost my car, my dog died, oh wait, I don't have a dog, nevermind. But if I did have a dog, I'm sure it would have died too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so on my 26th birthday I recall looking back on the previous year's events and thinking to myself, "Dang, this last year has been an adventure. I wonder what will unfold this next year of my life?" Well, little did I know but I had just cursed myself. Three days later, I was "let go" from the law firm I had been working for, because they wanted to expand their company and they needed to hire an accountant. So they decided to kill two birds with one stone, having the accountant take over my job too. So once again, I was left looking for a job, only this time, I had a car payment I was worried about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say I was frantic. I searched and searched and applied and applied and finally found a temp job at another law firm while I continued to interview for other jobs. Then, the inevitable happened. I was on my way to work one morning and had stopped at a red light. When the light changed and the traffic started going again I started going too (like any normal person who was trying to make it to work on the other side of Las Vegas in decent time, would do).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, all of the sudden the lady infront of me stopped. By the time I slammed on my breaks, it was too late. Little Stella had taken a nasty hit. Well, to make this long story shorter, my car has been in the shop for a month now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I console myself by telling myself that all of the bad events for the year are going to happen at the beginning of the year so the rest of the year should be amazing!! Maybe I'll be the 50th customer of the day at Piggley Wiggley and win a free pig or something. Talk about stress, I think I am developing a bald spot and the premature aging is really beginning to show!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, this story isn't completely a tradgedy, or a country song (sorry for all of you who like country music). I just started a new job on Monday and my car is supposed to be done on Friday, so things are looking up from here. Although, I did accidentally walk into the men's bathroom instead of the women's yesterday... is that a bad sign?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh by the way, if you want to hear a really good song, the song of the month is "Read My Mind" by The Killers. It's NOT country.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-2638808913937165173?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/2638808913937165173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=2638808913937165173' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/2638808913937165173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/2638808913937165173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/04/country-music-of-my-life.html' title='The Country Music of My Life'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-6493981644417669574</id><published>2007-03-28T11:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T21:35:34.429-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stellar Stella</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RgySLggOveI/AAAAAAAAAAk/-Bo9zgPi8D4/s1600-h/Amys+Crossfire+(1).JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047570008776818146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RgySLggOveI/AAAAAAAAAAk/-Bo9zgPi8D4/s200/Amys+Crossfire+(1).JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is my new car Stella. She is so much fun. I love to drive her. She is a 2004 Chrysler Crossfire. She actually saved me from abandonment when my old Buick gave up the ghost. Fortunately it didnt die until my dad had gotten it back to Provo, but I bought my car just in time. Okay, maybe it was a little irresponsable of me to get it, but I figured, "Hey, I'm single, I don't have to answer to anyone else, I am going to buy it by golly" and so I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-6493981644417669574?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/6493981644417669574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=6493981644417669574' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/6493981644417669574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/6493981644417669574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/03/stellar-stella.html' title='Stellar Stella'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RgySLggOveI/AAAAAAAAAAk/-Bo9zgPi8D4/s72-c/Amys+Crossfire+(1).JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-7689434852062983958</id><published>2007-03-27T13:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T21:36:24.314-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Me and Shauna'/><title type='text'>Sista's</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RgxCPQgOvdI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Zy5hMgrYQM4/s1600-h/CA3Q0R3D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5047482112271105490" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RgxCPQgOvdI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Zy5hMgrYQM4/s200/CA3Q0R3D.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; This is my sister and I. We don't look anything alike, but we pretty much have the same tastes. Our voices are so a like that even my mom can't tell us appart on the phone! It's good, however, because Kait likes me because my voice sounds like her mom's voice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-7689434852062983958?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/7689434852062983958/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=7689434852062983958' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/7689434852062983958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/7689434852062983958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/03/sistas.html' title='Sista&apos;s'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RgxCPQgOvdI/AAAAAAAAAAc/Zy5hMgrYQM4/s72-c/CA3Q0R3D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-4423707548921740686</id><published>2007-03-26T16:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-29T21:38:06.863-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kait'/><title type='text'>Isn't This Smile Contagious?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RghakDKgaaI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3xHhJTGNYWE/s1600-h/CAFM4JVD.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5046382957839804834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RghakDKgaaI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3xHhJTGNYWE/s320/CAFM4JVD.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Okay so isn't this smile contagious? How can you help looking at this cute little face and not smiling yourself? I tell you I can't!&lt;br /&gt;This is my niece Kaitlyn. She is such a funny girl. When she gets really excited, she flapps her arms and her legs really fast. Its almost as if her happiness was enough to allow her to take flight.  I won't be surprized when she actually does start flying one of these days. &lt;br /&gt;She is 7 months old now and her first two teeth just came in. It's hard to live so far away and not be able to babysit or anything. I am completely jealous every time my mom calls and tells me how Kait crawled for the first time, or that she now loves to imitate people, or even how cute she looks in her new swimming suit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-4423707548921740686?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/4423707548921740686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=4423707548921740686' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4423707548921740686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4423707548921740686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/03/isnt-this-smile-contagious.html' title='Isn&apos;t This Smile Contagious?'/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/RghakDKgaaI/AAAAAAAAAAM/3xHhJTGNYWE/s72-c/CAFM4JVD.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8048550803797101661.post-4216148070015507950</id><published>2007-03-23T14:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-03-23T16:17:28.403-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Hi, and welcome to my blog. I'm Amy, but then again, if you are reading this, you probably already know that. I was born in Canada, raised in Provo, Utah, and currently live in Las Vegas, or "The Muddy" as we, so affectionately, call it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is a little bit about me. I served an LDS mission in the Rome, Italy mission and I am passionate about anything having to do with Italy so if you were rooting for any other team durring the world cup, I hope you didn't cry too much when the Italians blew everyone out of the water. Ha ha, suckers&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love running, in fact, I am quite passionate about that too. My goal is to run a marathon some day. I completed a triathlon just before I left on my mission and barely lived to tell about it, so I am trying to prepare a little more for this next, Super Hero Amy, experience.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love jam in large quantities and, dare I say, I am kind of obessed with that as well. Wow, are you seeing a pattern here? I like to think that I live life passionately, it makes things more exciting!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am the oldest of two girls. My younger sister and her husband just had a baby in August of last year (2006) and, yup, you guessed it, I am passionate about being an aunt. In fact, I am a pretty darn good aunt, if I do say so myself. I love my little niece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have traveled all over the United States. My dad drives a semi truck and when I was young I used to go on trips with him. We counted once and figured I have been to over 35 of the 50 states. I love traveling. My most recent trip was a month long back packing trip to Europe with my best friend, Myra. I would highly recommend it to anyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love books and I love to read and write. I graduated in english from BYU and I am currently trying to figure out what in the world I was intending to do with that. Don't ask me. I had visions of writing books, and I have several in mind that I want to start. I just need to start them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, that's me in a nut shell. If you want to know more about me, read the rest of my blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8048550803797101661-4216148070015507950?l=amyrstevens.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/feeds/4216148070015507950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8048550803797101661&amp;postID=4216148070015507950' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4216148070015507950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8048550803797101661/posts/default/4216148070015507950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://amyrstevens.blogspot.com/2007/03/hi-and-welcome-to-my-blog.html' title=''/><author><name>Amy Bainbridge</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/11396873584540923721</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EwD0LNVfgWc/SPwj4dIsipI/AAAAAAAAACI/X3xb5HfGFmc/S220/092.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
