<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><rss xmlns:atom='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' version='2.0'><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Tue, 13 Oct 2009 02:21:20 +0000</lastBuildDate><title>ao in dc</title><description></description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>158</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-528378898062622022</guid><pubDate>Wed, 26 Aug 2009 20:11:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-08-26T16:12:22.445-04:00</atom:updated><title>NEW LOCATION</title><description>and new theme too... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hope to see you there... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://notarunner.com/"&gt;http://notarunner.com/&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-528378898062622022?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2009/08/new-location.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-3010090048451131321</guid><pubDate>Wed, 10 Dec 2008 10:58:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-12-10T06:03:55.096-05:00</atom:updated><title>Immaculate Mary</title><description>Well it's officially the holiday season. I had an argument with a cab driver yesterday about the merits of Mary as a strong figure in the Catholic church. I told him Mary was born without sin. He said, no she wasn't. All I could think of was, I'm a bad Catholic. And I'm really late for this meeting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-3010090048451131321?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/12/immaculate-mary.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>4</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-234833532619025782</guid><pubDate>Tue, 09 Dec 2008 03:09:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-12-08T22:21:48.268-05:00</atom:updated><title>Nice cult people</title><description>I think Scientologists are the nicest, most well-spoken cult people I've ever met. I often run into them handing out fliers in Dupont and asking me to join for a two-minute tour. I have to say, every single one of them has been such so cultishly cordial.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-234833532619025782?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/12/nice-cult-people.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-1865661696942050610</guid><pubDate>Wed, 03 Dec 2008 21:48:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-12-03T18:58:45.545-05:00</atom:updated><title>Short people</title><description>I saw a short man and a short woman holding hands on the street today. They were the littlest people I'd ever seen. Well, aside from actual little people. And I thought, well I'm sure glad they found each other.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-1865661696942050610?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/12/short-people.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-6761483113055334528</guid><pubDate>Tue, 02 Dec 2008 04:03:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-12-01T23:05:46.684-05:00</atom:updated><title>Pie</title><description>My aunt generously donated one of her fantastic pumpkin pies to me last week. Back in my lonesome apartment, I have been eating it out of the pan with a fork. No slices. No plates. Just pure unadulterated pie. I figured, why the hell not. It's my pie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-6761483113055334528?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/12/pie.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-4432364346672586998</guid><pubDate>Thu, 06 Nov 2008 02:02:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-11-05T21:07:26.586-05:00</atom:updated><title>Booyah</title><description>All I can say is, I've never been so content to be so utterly exhausted. I spilled my coffee about six times, almost fell asleep at the keyboard twice and walked into a glass door. With force. But you know what, I felt secure for the first time in eight years. Here's to democracy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-4432364346672586998?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/11/booyah.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-5016090939378462349</guid><pubDate>Tue, 04 Nov 2008 00:39:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-11-03T19:44:15.359-05:00</atom:updated><title>Fuzzy bar memories</title><description>I saw a man on the bus today that looked so incredibly familiar. For the life of me, I just couldn't place him. And then it hit. I'm pretty sure we had some kind of encounter at a bar, on some random night, within the past 10 years. I thought about approaching him, but can you imagine that conversation? "Hey, random guy. We might have met at bar sometime in the last decade. I don't know what I said, how drunk I was, nor do I remember how the night ended, but how 'bout that number again?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-5016090939378462349?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/11/fuzzy-bar-memories.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-7088308040167144244</guid><pubDate>Mon, 27 Oct 2008 15:08:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-27T11:18:39.340-04:00</atom:updated><title>Defriend</title><description>Only in this surreal online world can you so bluntly "defriend" someone. I never thought it would happen to me. I also never thought I'd be so hurt. Over the weekend, as I was conducting my regular round of Facebook stalking - I mean, um, catching up with old friends - I hit a roadblock. Much to my dismay, I was no longer friends with someone. The nerve. So what if I broke up with your brother? I think I still deserve access to your wall.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-7088308040167144244?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/10/defriend.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-7243305327675298074</guid><pubDate>Thu, 23 Oct 2008 19:04:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-23T16:31:49.664-04:00</atom:updated><title>High heel race</title><description>There are times I think I was not meant to be a girl. Like this morning, when I decided to spice it up and wear sexy boots over my jeans. I left my apartment, barely made it up the stairs, saw a bus approaching and thought, "There is no way in hell I am running to catch that." The drag racers in Dupont wear heels far better than I.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-7243305327675298074?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/10/high-heel-race.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-8781921297735858005</guid><pubDate>Wed, 22 Oct 2008 01:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-21T21:48:49.242-04:00</atom:updated><title>Skim and whip</title><description>I ordered a pumpkin coffee drink at Caribou today. I asked for it with skim milk. The man behind the counter then said, "No whip?" I replied, in a flirty tone I later regretted, "Oh no, I want the whip." He smirked and I couldn't quite figure out if it was because of my hypocrisy in ordering nonfat milk topped with fatty whipped cream, or if it was because the thought of a whip excited him. A disturbing moment to say the least.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-8781921297735858005?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/10/skim-and-whip.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-3361502446706246928</guid><pubDate>Mon, 20 Oct 2008 19:39:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-21T21:51:01.043-04:00</atom:updated><title>Drunk wedding guy</title><description>On the shuttle bus back from the wedding I attended last night, I mistakenly decided to sit next to "drunk wedding guy." This wouldn't have been a huge deal, except for the fact that he was also "horny as hell wedding guy." As the shuttle pulled away from the reception, he leaned in, a hand creeping up my leg, and said, "Hey, it's dark." I wondered how many girls he actually gets feel up using that line. I replied, "Hey, you have a girlfriend."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-3361502446706246928?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/10/drunk-wedding-guy.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-1576377409232934503</guid><pubDate>Fri, 17 Oct 2008 03:53:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-16T23:55:40.519-04:00</atom:updated><title>Doggie bag</title><description>I was so tired at one point today that I thought a black plastic bag was a dog. And not just a dog, but a cute little puppy, most likely a black lab. I almost went over to the man carrying the "dog" to say how cute his "dog" was. Then I got a double espresso, and all was well again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-1576377409232934503?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/10/doggie-bag.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-3377960483029842225</guid><pubDate>Tue, 14 Oct 2008 11:56:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-14T08:01:30.377-04:00</atom:updated><title>Orgy</title><description>They are in the process of renovating our gym. This morning, my spin instructor informed the class that they are building a co-ed Turkish bath as part of the renovation. From the back row of bikes, some guy yelled out, "Will that affect the classes?" Now, when she said "co-ed Turkish bath," I'm pretty sure the last thing on my mind was "the classes."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-3377960483029842225?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/10/orgy.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-3543745728748533070</guid><pubDate>Tue, 14 Oct 2008 02:12:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-13T22:15:55.602-04:00</atom:updated><title>Chick flick</title><description>Here's a tip. If you're a woman. A single woman. In her late 20's. Who just had a rough couple weeks. A great couple weeks though. You're confused. You're sad. You're aroused. You're every emotion at once. DO NOT. I repeat, DO NOT watch the Sex &amp; the City movie. Alone. In your one bedroom apartment. With ice cream. Period.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-3543745728748533070?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/10/chick-flick.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-2430012550572406562</guid><pubDate>Tue, 30 Sep 2008 16:36:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-10-21T21:52:41.091-04:00</atom:updated><title>Throat monster</title><description>I've been sick for about three days now, trying to ignore it and go about my business. Well, it finally took over. I went to a clinic, figuring it'd be faster. It was. But the points they gained in speed they lost in bedside manner. You see, I told the doc that I had a fever and that my throat hurt. She leaned in with the throat light, told me to open wide, took one look, and then stepped back suddenly as if there was a monster down there. Then she said, "Oh my."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-2430012550572406562?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/throat-monster.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-3781359461737348809</guid><pubDate>Wed, 24 Sep 2008 13:42:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-24T09:53:03.015-04:00</atom:updated><title>Bud</title><description>I had to make a mad dash to Colorado this week for work. After my presentation concluded, I took the opportunity to hike around a mountain or two, and explore the small town of Telluride. As I was strolling along, using my not-quite ideal running shoes and messenger bag, two young men approached me. Suddenly, one said, "Hey, do you know where we can score some bud?" And without a single moment's hesitation, I said, "Nah, man, I don't. Sorry, I don't live here." As if to suggest that if I &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;had &lt;/span&gt;lived there, I would know &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;exactly &lt;/span&gt;where to find marijuana.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-3781359461737348809?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/bud.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-1432985994140904242</guid><pubDate>Fri, 19 Sep 2008 10:43:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-19T07:20:19.490-04:00</atom:updated><title>Cabbie language</title><description>I had to take a cab home last night. I told the driver my address and off we went. He began what I thought was a normal conversation, including regular cabbie commentary like, "People here don't know how to drive," and "What a beautiful night, huh?" He spoke perfect English. Until. For some reason, I was completely unable to understand what he was saying next. Something about the silver circles and, I swear this is true, a nice pussy. He went on and on, occasionally looking back at me for approval. I just nodded politely and empathetically agreed, "Yeah, I know, man..."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-1432985994140904242?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/cabbie-language.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-3273449982588730550</guid><pubDate>Wed, 17 Sep 2008 17:21:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-17T14:40:39.469-04:00</atom:updated><title>Pumice stone incident</title><description>There are guns. There are knives. And then there are pumice stones. After an unfortunate incident in the shower this morning, I now have a pretty serious abrasion on my hand. Who knew pumice stones were so dangerous. Public service announcement to anyone who owns a pumice stone. Use caution. Also, you might want to keep one by your front door to fend off any unwanted guests. (Go for the smooth skin, if you know what I mean.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-3273449982588730550?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/pumice-stone-incident.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-2588435876112059886</guid><pubDate>Tue, 16 Sep 2008 18:19:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-16T14:31:42.096-04:00</atom:updated><title>Finger food</title><description>As much as I try to bring my lunch to work, in the hopes of saving money, it never happens. So I went to the pay-by-pound deli today and purchased some beef and broccoli. It was salty and delicious. It was also very tough, apparently, because just as I was about to dig into the last slivers of beef, the plastic fork broke violently against the pressure. Instead of getting a new fork from the kitchen, though, I just kept eating. That's right. I wasn't even phased by it. It was like I was Ethiopian, only without the humongous spongy bread.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-2588435876112059886?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/finger-food.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-4762827607363547967</guid><pubDate>Mon, 15 Sep 2008 20:05:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-15T16:13:40.326-04:00</atom:updated><title>Street festival</title><description>There's nothing quite like meat on a stick. Especially when consumed in 96 degree heat among hundreds of sweaty people on 18th Street. Needless to say, I was destroying my teriyaki chicken skewer, while innocently enjoying some bad outdoor karaoke, when someone approached me with a video camera. I'd like to point out that I had been wondering, bra-less, in the middle of the day. I was sweating buckets without a care in the world. And I had teriyaki sauce all over my face, no doubt framing the bits of chicken stuck in my teeth. Yes, all this and more may be on your local news today. Enjoy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-4762827607363547967?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/street-festival.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-2388176897282384904</guid><pubDate>Thu, 11 Sep 2008 17:00:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-11T13:20:03.829-04:00</atom:updated><title>Elevator</title><description>Our building had blood drive today. There was a lot of commotion in the lobby as I returned from getting my lunch, so I scurried into the elevator, along with another woman. I decided to be friendly and ask her, "So, you giving blood today?" She replied, slowly and freakishly, "Well, I can't. I have... a... chronic... disease." We rode in silence the rest of the way up to the 6th floor, as I tried to come up with an appropriate response and hold my breath at the same time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-2388176897282384904?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/elevator.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-8314593557137128871</guid><pubDate>Wed, 10 Sep 2008 10:26:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-10T06:36:31.215-04:00</atom:updated><title>Basil</title><description>My 10th high school reunion is coming up. It's going to be a blast. We kick it off with Family Day out on the soccer field, followed closely by an open bar with 100 of my closest friends from high school, all of whom I keep in touch with solely via Facebook, and about half of whom are married with kids. I thought about bringing my basil plant. You know, as an example of a living thing that I've nurtured through the seasons. And then I remembered, oh yeah, maybe I should water that basil plant. Well, what's left of it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-8314593557137128871?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/basil.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-748142130213033231</guid><pubDate>Thu, 04 Sep 2008 12:00:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-09-04T08:14:48.352-04:00</atom:updated><title>Beef jerky nuggets</title><description>On my recent road trip, I decided to seek out a high-protein snack. There are very few options for protein at roadside convenient stores, so I went with the beef jerky nuggets. Although it looked like dog food, I figured, why not condense the beef into a nugget. I mean, right? More bang for your buck. It was a delicious treat, let me tell you. Yet, I began to wonder, how is the nugget formed, and is it really beef. Turns out, it actually &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;is &lt;/span&gt;beef. Or at least it used to be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-748142130213033231?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/09/beef-jerky-nuggets.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-3928119184773197829</guid><pubDate>Thu, 28 Aug 2008 12:15:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-08-28T08:26:54.032-04:00</atom:updated><title>Muffin tops</title><description>After a good spin class this morning, I decided to scan the bakery case at 7-11. My eyes immediately zoomed in on the muffins. And because I only eat muffin tops, I bought two. Muffin tops equal goodness. And two muffin tops equal one whole muffin, in my opinion. I don't see anything wrong with this. The clerk at 7-11, however, stared me down as if to say, you overindulgent American. I didn't care though. The prospect of muffin tops beat out any pride lost along the way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-3928119184773197829?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/08/muffin-tops.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251214.post-4597090260864360220</guid><pubDate>Wed, 27 Aug 2008 11:51:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2008-08-27T08:01:34.556-04:00</atom:updated><title>Zit</title><description>I felt it coming. It was the mother of all zits. Right smack in the middle of my cheek. It's been there for days now, taunting me, drawing attention from coworkers, preventing me from enjoying everyday pleasures such as direct light and creative writing. Yes, it's that bad. What am I, in 9th grade again? It's a horrible unpoppable mound of a zit. Someone was having fun with bubble wrap yesterday. I was like, you bastard.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8251214-4597090260864360220?l=aodc.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://aodc.blogspot.com/2008/08/zit.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (AO)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item></channel></rss>