<?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-8485704</id><updated>2011-04-21T16:07:59.016-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shut Up Stud</title><subtitle type='html'>The thoughts and stories of a crazy young woman who does not take herself too seriously and loves to have fun!!!</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109721331449910709</id><published>2004-10-07T22:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-07T22:34:44.360-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Making a Baby, Part 2</title><content type='html'>So I have been peeing Ron a new stick each day for the past 8 days. When am I going to go from low fertility to high fertility???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is the day baby! I went from low to high on day 14. Game on!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called my husband and yelled into the phone, &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;I'm in high fertility BABY, YEAH BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;Ready set, let's make a baby!!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109721331449910709?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109721331449910709/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109721331449910709' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109721331449910709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109721331449910709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/10/making-baby-part-2.html' title='Making a Baby, Part 2'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109703670549512039</id><published>2004-10-05T21:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-06T21:01:46.636-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mammoth, Part 2</title><content type='html'>We had finished our day and agreed to go jucuzzing with some friends. So I change into my suit and try and get to the car. I slipped and cut my foot on the way. Then I freeze my ass off getting from our hotel to their hotel and then back to ours. "Why am I doing this?" Because my cousin would not let me take a nap before dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cousin says that she did not want to spend a lot on the room so we are staying at Motel 6. Motel 6 sucks!!! Their bath towels are as big as wash cloths. Basically they cover my boobies at that is it. I need about 10 of them to completely dry off, but they supply us with a total of 4.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we go out to dinner and are having a good time, but the place where we are eating at turns into dance club. Suddenly there are girls dancing around poles. "Wait, wasn't that girl our waitress!"  Where the hell am I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, my cousin wants to hang out and dance. I just want to go read a book and fall asleep. But I am a good sport and hang out. Now I am dealing with drunk guys asking me to dance or party with them. I tried to tell one guy that I was married, but he said that was okay because he just wanted to cuddle and talk. Oh please, what a bunch of bull!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually I tell my cousin that I am going back to wonderful Motel 6 and not to stop me. Well, there are no cabs in sight so I guess I am walking. I am once again freezing and miserable. I call my husband and ask him to look up directions for me because I have no idea where I am going. He is pissed with me and tells me that I am not going anywhere without him anymore. No problem by me just get me home. I fell on my ass three times, walked alone in the dark for 2 miles, and then eventually I had two drunk guys walking back with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made it back to good old Motel 6 in one piece.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lesson I learned from this experience is that I am so happy that I am married.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109703670549512039?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109703670549512039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109703670549512039' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109703670549512039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109703670549512039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/10/mammoth-part-2.html' title='Mammoth, Part 2'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109703670526348342</id><published>2004-10-05T21:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-06T20:27:24.676-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mammoth, Part 1</title><content type='html'>So my cousin convinces me to go snowboarding in Mammoth for the weekend. I think "okay, this could be fun."  She also suggests that we leave at 4 in the morning on Saturday.  She told me this is the best way to do it and that she can drive because she is used to it.  We drove for only 20 minutes before she pulled over and I had to drive the rest of the way.  Of course!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We finally arrive at Mammoth at 9 am and the place is already packed. I am exhausted. I have driven for 5 straight hours and have had about 2 hours of sleep. Now we have to find a parking space, buy tickets, and eventually board all day. Why did I agree to this?? I am a married woman now and the adventure side of me has found the good life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally we are ready to do our first run. I point my board down the mountain and it will not move. I am stuck!!! I squat down and try to push myself forward. I think I moved a centimeter, if that!!! What the hell is wrong?? Apparently, I had no wax on my board thus no movement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my cousin says that she will meet me at the bottom of the run.  I am alone to suffer the humiliation of walking over a mile down the mountain side carrying my board. I am sweating and swearing profusely. I got a bunch of little punks whizzing by me and yelling that I am suppose to ride not walk. No shit, Sherlock! I am a very unhappy girl. I am tired, thirsty, and pissed. Did I mention that I am not happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally made it to the next station. I got my board waxed, boots fixed, and downed a couple cocktails. I am feeling better and the rest of the day went reasonably smooth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I now realize that my sense of adventure entails staying at a five star luxury hotel, drinking cocktails by the pool, and getting massages in the afternoon. Now that is an adventure!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109703670526348342?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109703670526348342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109703670526348342' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109703670526348342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109703670526348342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/10/mammoth-part-1.html' title='Mammoth, Part 1'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109686529523350953</id><published>2004-10-03T21:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-04T22:01:06.073-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Riding With El Jefe</title><content type='html'>My boss is a riot. He is this short little man from the Bronx. He has been the best boss that I have ever had because I can laugh and learn from him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I had the pleasure of riding with my boss right after I got back from vacation. The first day I went to pick him up he was 45 minutes late. I thought that he had fallen in the shower--since he had been having back problems--so I sent someone up to his room to check on him. I could just hear him "I have fallen and I can't get up. "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next date I was the one that was late. I called him and left a message that I was running behind. On my way to pick up my boss, he calls me and asks if I have fallen in the shower. I told him that I had a small crisis in the bathroom and that I would it explain it to him in person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my boss hops into my car and asks if I am okay. I told him that I was having some problems with my stomach and it needed to be taken care at home. He starts laughing and says that his stomach fired up at 5 this morning. He looks at me and says what did we eat yesterday that was the same. I said the stupid eggplant that they gave us for free at PF Changs when they messed up our order. Then my boss says that he feels sorry for the maid. Okay, too much info.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for the rest of the day I am trying to find my boss a clean bathroom that he can use. We had to do a lunch with my counterpart and on the way I scoped out the bathroom. During our lunch my boss leans over and tells me that he needs to go back to the hotel. Apparently, he has a phobia of using public restrooms for his serious business. I told him that he was out of luck because now he had to go work with my counterpart. Then he said that his cheeks could not handle waiting any longer. That is when I told him that I had done some reconnaissance work on the bathrooms down the hall. As we were leaving the building he peeked his head in the restroom and told me that he could not use that bathroom. I asked him what the problem was. He said that the toilet was so high that his legs would fall asleep since they were too short to reach the ground. We both started laughing uncontrollably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Word of advice do not try something new while working with your boss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109686529523350953?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109686529523350953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109686529523350953' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109686529523350953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109686529523350953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/10/riding-with-el-jefe.html' title='Riding With El Jefe'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109669276232844706</id><published>2004-10-01T21:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-10-04T22:28:31.940-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mr Miyagi</title><content type='html'>Alright, Mr. Miyagi has been reincarnated into a yellow lab named Maddie. I know it is hard to believe, but my dog once upon a time was a small Japanese man who stared on Karate Kid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all know the famous seen where Mr. Miyagi uses chopsticks to catch a fly. My lab has her own rendition of the scene. Maddie stalks her prey with Maddie Jr.(look alike toy) in her mouth. When the fly least expects it Maddie drops her toy and snatches the fly out of the air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So if you ever need to kill a fly I suggest lab over a fly swatter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109669276232844706?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109669276232844706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109669276232844706' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109669276232844706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109669276232844706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/10/mr-miyagi.html' title='Mr Miyagi'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109660508070529731</id><published>2004-09-30T20:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-30T22:00:31.590-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Vegas Baby!!!</title><content type='html'>Back in the old days. Man, did I do some silly stuff. Thinking about what I did almost embarrasses me, NOT!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, a group of us girls went to Vegas. The attendance at this particular outing was comprised of 5 gals. Two of them are great friends of mine from our pharma days. I will call one of them Laosian Princess and the other Cute Girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Laosian Princess is a crazy gambler. She screams and shouts and has a lot of fun at the tables. I was losing big time and LP would toss chips at me so that I did not have to leave the table before she was ready.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cute Girl is "Sybil" at the tables. Yeah, that's right. Cute Girl has multiple personalities at the tables. Usually she is easy going, but when she is playing blackjack her ugly side comes out. If we bugged her at the tables she would yell at us to go away or she would get up and go to another table. Just Mean, mean, mean!!! Best to stay away, especially if she is losing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually the three of us were all out of money so we invented a game. It went like this: We would find a group of people at Hard Rock's Circle bar and give them our story. Our story was that we were out of gambling money so to pass the time we wanted them to give us dares. And we gave them the rules.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First Dare: Cute Girl, 5'4" has to carry me 5'9" on her back around the entire circle bar. She accomplished this, but my ass was hanging out because of my short skirt. The Laosian Princess parted the people like Moses divided the Red Sea and tried to cover my ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second Dare: Cute Girl has to do a cartwheel in stilettos and tight skirt at the circle bar. Mission accomplished like a pro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next Dare: I had to break dance at the Circle Bar. My best move was spinning on my back and then striking a pose. Applause People!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bad Dare: Some guy goes up to Cute Girl and tells her that I need to kiss his friend. Well, one of the rules was no kissing of strangers. But this guy convinced Cute Girl and me that if I went through with it he had our drinks for the rest of the night. They were yelling at me that I had to take one for the team and that they were sooooo thirsty. So I agreed to give him a kiss on the cheek. I walk up to this guy and he is just foul looking. He has zits all over his cheek and I have to kiss it. Yuck!!! Puke,puke!!! Well, I said I would do it so I walked over to him with my eyes down and when I went to give a peck, he was ready for me. He lunges at me and his tongue swipes my face. Oh my God, I was attacked by Lizard Man. Dare complete, over!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We drank for free for the rest of the night and then it was morning. I went up to pack, but I fall asleep in my suitcase. Before I know it Cute Girl is kicking and yelling at me that it was time to go. So I left for the airport without half of my clothes and purse. This was before the days when you needed a government issued id to get on a plane. I was able to get on the plane with an old student id that happened to be in my backpack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To the old days and fond funny memories......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109660508070529731?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109660508070529731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109660508070529731' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109660508070529731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109660508070529731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/vegas-baby.html' title='Vegas Baby!!!'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109652154785867359</id><published>2004-09-29T21:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-29T22:19:07.860-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Making a Baby</title><content type='html'>It's time! Time for what you may ask, to make a baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a husband now all I to do is learn when I ovulate. I have no idea if I ovulate and when I ovulate. Thus, I brought the Clear and Easy fertility monitor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today was the first day I was allowed to pee on a stick. Yes, I wrote allowed. This machine will not let you pee on a stick until it says you can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My husband has been pretty cute about the whole thing. One morning he asked me if I was taking my prenatal vitamins. Another day he told me that I should just pony up the $250 bucks and buy the monitor. He even read the book Everything You Need to Know About Pregnancy with me before bedtime. By the way, the book freaked me out. It told you everything bad that could happen to you getting pregnant and during your pregnancy. It even has a chapter positioned halfway through the book called "How To Stay Sane During Pregnancy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am excited, yet scared. I am not afraid to bring a baby into our lives because I know that we are both ready. I am afraid that I will not be able to get pregnant, stay pregnant, or have a healthy baby.  My mother had 7 miscarriages. Her history is the cause of my fear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, I am ready to take the bull by the horns and make a baby with my hubby. And I believe that everything will work out in the end because it always does. I BELIEVE!!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109652154785867359?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109652154785867359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109652154785867359' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109652154785867359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109652154785867359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/making-baby.html' title='Making a Baby'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109643464168201076</id><published>2004-09-28T22:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-29T20:58:11.060-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Married Matchmaker</title><content type='html'>I shouldn't toot my own horn, but I am pretty good at setting people up. I have facilitated two marriages -- my sister's and my best friend's -- which have each produced a baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also did an excellent job in finding myself an awesome husband.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, if a friend asks for some matchmaking help, I am more then willing to assist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my husband and I went to Phoenix for a charity event. I have a girlfriend who now lives out there who I used to run around with in my single days. I figured since she was new in the area the event would be a great way for her to meet people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, my friend -- who I am going to call Cute Girl (she is so tiny and petite) -- sometimes, actually all the time, will get caught up talking to some old dude. She is too nice to these old guys and they get the wrong idea. Lo and behold, she is in a deep conversation with some blue hair for over 30 minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stepped in and got her out of there. So now we were cruising the party looking for a cute guy for her to talk to. Found one, she sat down and talked to him while I kept his friends busy and my husband laughed at me. No go, 5 minutes into the conversation he is saying how he is a NBA coach and tooting his horn. Turn off big time!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Round two, we spy another one for her to talk to. I am very subtle. I ask her if she thinks the guy is cute, she says yes, and then I shove her towards him. Apparently he was a little too young for her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, round three. We are scanning the meat market for a fresh piece of meat. This one finds her. I leave her alone and go and join my husband. Couple minutes later I have one of my husband's friend asking about Cute Girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cute Girl asks what I think of the guy she was talking to. I thought that his mouth was too big. Actually, his mouth was gigantic, it could have swallowed Cute Girl's head. Also, I thought that husband's friend was better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I did not succeed in finding a cute guy for the Cute Girl, but we had a blast trying. At one point in the night we were chatting with an English guy. It was fun talking about women's "posteriors" with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We tore it up on the dance floor and drank lots of wine. Later in the night I was sitting on the ground and Cute Girl came charging at me. Before I knew it we were rolling around on the ground laughing our asses off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night ended and we did not find anyone for the Cute Girl, but we sure had fun trying. I think the coolest part was that Cute Girl had a ton of fun with me. She thought that I would be boring now that I am married. Never!!!! I will always be me because my husband loves me just the way I am, crazy and somewhat insane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109643464168201076?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109643464168201076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109643464168201076' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109643464168201076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109643464168201076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/married-matchmaker.html' title='The Married Matchmaker'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109641876977613162</id><published>2004-09-28T17:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-29T08:34:16.843-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Shits</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Tic, tic, tic, tic, tic.......&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One eye pops open and there is my lab's happy smiling face. Bright and shiny ready to chow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get out of bed and she hustles to the kitchen jumping and leaping the entire way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My God, how can she have this much energy? She eats the same damn dog food every morning, you would think that she would be sick of it by now. Fat chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feed the dog, open the back door, and crawl back to bed. As I snuggle up next to my husband, we lay very quietly, waiting to hear Maddie go tearing down the side of the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Ding, ding, ding, ding, ding.......&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She does her business and then comes charging back down the side yard. We can hear her collar rattling and her paws pounding and it never fails to bring a smile to our faces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She races through the kitchen and enters our bedroom like Kramer from the sitcom Seinfeld.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she leaps onto the bed and starts drive bombing us. Her body feels like a bowling ball dropping on our stomachs everytime she falls on us. What a moose!!! Then she sits up, looks down at us, and starts slurping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Slurp, slurp, belch!!!!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...How easy would life be if all we needed to do to have a great day was eat a good breakfast and take a shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109641876977613162?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109641876977613162/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109641876977613162' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109641876977613162'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109641876977613162'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/happy-shits.html' title='Happy Shits'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109634446574917921</id><published>2004-09-27T20:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-27T21:07:45.750-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Prozac Deal</title><content type='html'>Me: "So I need to borrow some Prozac. My supply has not arrived and I will be missing it for 9 days on vacation."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friend: "Okay, but I need to charge you a dollar a pill, so lets just call it 10 dollars even."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Are you kidding? That shit you have is generic. We can get 200 pills for 10 bucks!!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friend: "That is true, but you need it and I have it, so price goes up. The principles of supply and demand baby in action."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Fine!! But you are an ass."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10 days later I am back from vacation and my friend and I are at lunch...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friend: "So how are your supplies?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Great, I am loaded up for the next three months."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friend: "Hey, I am going to have to borrow some from you. My supply is not ready until later this afternoon."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, we are talking about our prescription drugs as though we were drug dealers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My shrink would have had a field day if he knew I was peddling my head pills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109634446574917921?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109634446574917921/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109634446574917921' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109634446574917921'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109634446574917921'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/prozac-deal.html' title='Prozac Deal'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109630357883410964</id><published>2004-09-27T09:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-27T09:46:18.836-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Computer Idiot</title><content type='html'>&lt;span &gt;Yes, I am the ultimate computer idiot. I have been trying for the past hour to get the statistic link to show up at the bottom of my website. I have a general idea of what I am suppose to do, but obviously I am doing something wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I even called a good friend this morning to find out how to do it. He was expecting my call. He went to my site and did not see the link so he knew that I would be calling. Now I am going to have to go to his house and have him do it for me. It is driving me crazy!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I even snapped at my husband for not knowing how to do it. He told me he took a computer programming class in college so I figured he could do it. He probably can do it. He just wanted to eat his dinner in peace and watch TV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, I will some how get that link on here even if it kills me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109630357883410964?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109630357883410964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109630357883410964' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109630357883410964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109630357883410964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/computer-idiot.html' title='Computer Idiot'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109625352542046613</id><published>2004-09-26T19:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-26T21:32:56.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting in Shape</title><content type='html'>Being married has been fantastic.  However there is one thing that has not been so great.  Both my husband and I gained about 10 pounds after we got married.  Even our dog gained 7 pounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With some serious effort and watching our carb intake we managed to get the weight off.  But I needed to do something different.  So I got a trainer.  It has been pretty great so far, other than sore muscles and the fact that he makes me do push ups.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I lost 1.1% body fat in 2 weeks of working out with my trainer.  Then I went on vacation.  Guess what, all hell broke loose.  Of course, my trainer had to take my body fat before I went on vacation.  He told me that I should only gain a half a percent back on vacation.  I thought if I worked out that I would be okay.  Well, I did work out 6 days out of 10.  The problem was that I was eating tortillas and guacamole everyday, plus drinking like a banshee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I lost 1.1% and then gained back not only the 1.1% back, but also another 0.4%.  Boy, did I get punished by my trainer the Monday I got back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, I had a blast on vacation and I would do it all over again!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109625352542046613?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109625352542046613/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109625352542046613' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109625352542046613'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109625352542046613'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/getting-in-shape.html' title='Getting in Shape'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109624078216517715</id><published>2004-09-26T15:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-26T16:19:42.166-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreaming About My Louis</title><content type='html'>Yes, I am insane. Not only did I want to go and track down those hoodlums, I also had a very vivid dream that I was in hot pursuit of the guy on the orange bike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is how my dream goes....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was walking down the street when the guy with the orange bike goes rolling by. That bastard had my Louis dangling from his handle bar. Now I am chasing this orange bike guy down in my SUV. I serve my car into him and down he goes down. I jump out my car and snatch my beloved Louis back. I run down an alley so that I can check for my wallet and coin purse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I know it, I am in an all out brawl with this guy. Well, I beat the living shit out of him. I put him in the hospital.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I jump back into my SUV and head home to proudly tell my husband that I had my purse back. However, that rat managed to get my coin purse back into his possession.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not going to happen. I wanted everything back. So I went to the hospital and found him in the ICU. I ripped off his nightgown and found my coin purse taped to his chest as though he was a terrorist. In my mind, he was a terrorist of the worst kind. Taking a girl's Louis purse is unspeakable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I woke up. I was pissed. My husband felt sorry for me. So guess what I got for my birthday? A new Louis Vuitton purse!!! Yeah, for me. I still do not have a matching wallet and coin purse, but that is okay. There are always more birthdays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109624078216517715?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109624078216517715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109624078216517715' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109624078216517715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109624078216517715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/dreaming-about-my-louis.html' title='Dreaming About My Louis'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109623880029459164</id><published>2004-09-26T15:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-26T15:46:40.296-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh My God My Louis Has Been Stolen!!!!!!</title><content type='html'>Women you can appreciate this story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon leaving the gym, my husband and I found out that his car had been broken into. That sucks, but the part that really sucks is that my Louis Vuitton purse, matching wallet, and coin purse were gone. I was irate. They can have the money just leave my purse!!! Please!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I was a complete idiot for leaving my purse in the car, but it was an underground parking lot with a toll booth and security guard. Well I learned my lesson.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we were canceling our credit cards we found out that my husband's credit card had already been used twice. We found out the name of the last place that the card had been used at and decided to go investigate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that I have watched to many episodes of CSI and Law and Order. I wanted justice, I wanted my Louis Back!!!! So we found the place that those hoodlums had last used the credit card at and low and behold it was a head shop. They bought all kinds of pot smoking paraphenalia and probably used my Louis carry it in. What a waste!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found out that it was two guys on bikes that had stolen my purse. One guy had an orange bike with a naked girl sticker on the front. Well, that is all I needed to know. I was ready to canvass the streets and get my purse back. I started walking down the street, but my husband pulled me back and told me that there was no way in hell I was going on this man hunt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He always is the voice of reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109623880029459164?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109623880029459164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109623880029459164' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109623880029459164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109623880029459164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/oh-my-god-my-louis-has-been-stolen.html' title='Oh My God My Louis Has Been Stolen!!!!!!'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8485704.post-109623620720569368</id><published>2004-09-26T14:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2004-09-27T09:48:18.636-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Origin of Shut up Stud</title><content type='html'>&lt;span &gt;Well, I figured my first entry should be on how I came up with the name for my site. This will give you a little insight into my personality. I am told that most children have first words such as dada or mama. My first words were "Dudup(shut up) Stud." You may ask how a child would have first words such as these. If you knew me you would see that it isn't far fetched to think that these indeed were my first words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grandparents had a dog named stud that would always bark at people walking by the house. Since I lived with my grandparents for the first 5 years of my life I constantly heard family members yelling "Shut up Stud!" Well, I wanted to be part of the action too. Thus, I came up with my own version "Dudup Stud!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8485704-109623620720569368?l=shutupstud.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/feeds/109623620720569368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8485704&amp;postID=109623620720569368' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109623620720569368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8485704/posts/default/109623620720569368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://shutupstud.blogspot.com/2004/09/origin-of-shut-up-stud.html' title='Origin of Shut up Stud'/><author><name>Junior</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10337559023448280773</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
