<?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-2851054579896760670</id><updated>2011-07-07T23:34:05.025-04:00</updated><title type='text'>This is Our Life</title><subtitle type='html'>"That Just Happened"</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Craig</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17452141154764148996</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>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2851054579896760670.post-1987545441228704690</id><published>2009-07-27T21:55:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T22:32:05.298-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Luck</title><content type='html'>its been awhile, we suck, yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the other day at my amazing job i have, i call a particular 3rd party representative to find out more about one of the company's account holders. the very nice lady asked me for the last name of the accoUnt holder. i tell her, and she simply states in this very professional business call: "oh thats a gypsy last name around here, good luck getting a hold of that guy, have a good day." and ends the conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i was left in shock sitting at my desk trying to figure out two things: Did she really just say what i think she said? and: is what i think she really just said really true? after hours of deep thought about what that could possibly mean, i ask my supervisor. she tells me that yes it is true and indeed people with a certain last name in a certain part of the United states are indeed gypsies. they rob and steal stuff and travel in packs, so says the wikipedia article she read before. or Maybe, she was just making stuff up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;now, for security reasons and to protect the identity of the gypsies, I will not say the last name of the account holder or where i work., but if you read this close enough you'll probaBly figure it out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-1987545441228704690?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/1987545441228704690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/07/good-luck.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/1987545441228704690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/1987545441228704690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/07/good-luck.html' title='Good Luck'/><author><name>Jay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633275236368307791</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-2851054579896760670.post-2708741392765879097</id><published>2009-06-07T23:27:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T23:33:54.434-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Old City</title><content type='html'>Just a few highlights of what I saw down in Old City while going to the What Happened? show at the Khyber on Friday night.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  Gay Sammy Hagar look-alike.  Complete with chain wallet bearing the confederate flag, bell bottoms, and the necessary permed hair.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  Two people having a conversation through the window of a store.  One person was on the inside, the other on the outside.  Not entirely sure either of them could hear the other.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  Crazy bum guy talking to us trying to get change right outside the Khyber.  Highlights specific to this dude include:  a.)  Him referring to everyone as 'sir'.  Dude really wanted some change.  b.)  Him calling Perry a '14-year old boy'  c.)  Saying he's leaving, only to find some reason to stay and keep talking to us.  Not once, not twice, but three times.  d.)  Dude freaking out as a car is trying to park, thinking that the car was going to hit Alejandro.  e.)  Finally leaving while saying that he, and i quote:  "has more white people to fuck with".  Best dude.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-2708741392765879097?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/2708741392765879097/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/06/old-city.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/2708741392765879097'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/2708741392765879097'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/06/old-city.html' title='Old City'/><author><name>Craig</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17452141154764148996</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-2851054579896760670.post-6784993037133288388</id><published>2009-05-30T05:33:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-30T05:44:15.741-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Double Header</title><content type='html'>Saw two separate things tonight/this morning at Wawa on 2nd and South St's.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Bill and I were hungry at like 2:30 AM, so we decided to walk to the Wawa and get some food.  While we're waiting for our sandwiches to get made, like three cops walk into the store and start talking to the manager, whose working behind the register.  Now, I really have to give all the credit here to Bill because he actually heard the converstation.  Well, I heard it too, but I guess I'm half deaf because I couldn't make out any of the words.  Anyway, apparently the cops started asking the manager if there was anything wrong.  What seemed to have taken place was that there was some crazy lady outside the store that the manager wanted to get rid of, so he pressed the robbery button in order to get the cops there.  The freaking robbery button!  One of the cops starts scolding him saying that he shouldn't do that as a crapload of cops will just descend upon the place if they think there's a robbery.  So the manager then proceeds to ask the cop if they (the cops) have a contact number.  He must've never heard of 911.  Weird.  Still kind of blown away that a grown man can ask a question like that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;After getting our food, we sat down at the fountain across the street to eat.  After a little while, we catch a glimpse of a guy walking by himself up 2nd Street toward South on the side opposite to us.  Dude seriously was walking like he was a zombie.  As he's walking he's peering into windows and stuff, looking very unsure as to where he was.  Finally, he stopped, looked at a door to a restaurant as if he were reading it (although I really don't think he was reading anything), and then proceeded to act as if he were going to take a piss.  The thing is, he never actually took one, or so we think.  He just stood there for a minute pulling his shirt up, unzipping his pants, and putting his hands down them.  In the end, we both decided that he was so drunk, he was convinced that he was actually taking a piss.  So we think he actually whipped it out and acted like he was peeing, when in fact, he was not.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Definitely a great idea to go walking around as bars are letting out if you've never done it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-6784993037133288388?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/6784993037133288388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/05/double-header.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/6784993037133288388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/6784993037133288388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/05/double-header.html' title='Double Header'/><author><name>Craig</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17452141154764148996</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-2851054579896760670.post-9007340858535380249</id><published>2009-05-26T16:06:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T17:26:46.135-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Vegas</title><content type='html'>Ok, so this past weekend I was in Las Vegas for the Steel Bridge competition nationals.  Pretty awesome, right?  Anywho, neither Jay or I had updated with anything in a while, so I figured this would be a great opportunity to add some content.  Throughout the weekend, I kept a running list of things that were really ridiculous or things that simply amused me when I saw it.  To be quite honest, Vegas disappionted me a little bit.  Maybe that's because I don't drink and was only out for a few hours each night, but I didn't quite a whole lot of 'crazy' things going on.  Oh well.  Here's the list that I did come up with.  There are some real gems in here, though.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1.  I was in the Philly airport waiting to board and I see a girl in the seats across from me reading a book entitled "Desire Turned Deadly".  Definitely on my "must-read" list once I finish Harry Potter books 4-7.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2.  This one was while we were boarding and getting situated on the plane.  This dude sits down behind me and starts talking to 2 other guys I was traveling with.  When they asked him what he's doing in Vegas, his response was the following:  "Trying to fuck as many girls as possible."  He said this fairly loudly, and I would bet that at least 4 rows of people heard him say this.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  This one lady in the row behind and across from mine talked about food for probably 4 hours of the 5 hour flight.  Again, very loudly.  To the point where I couldn't hear the dude sitting next to me (who I'll get to next), but I could hear her.  From what I gathered, she enjoys chicken very much, primarily due to its richness in protein, and knows of many different dishes employing the meat.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  The dude sitting next to me.  Nice dude.  Weird dude.  I'm getting the feeling more and more that those two go hand in hand.  Take me for instance.  Anyway, back to the guy sitting next to me.  Could not hear a thing he said to me at all.  Ever.  I just nodded and smiled everytime he said something basically.  Even when he interrupted me reading to say something that was likely inconsequential to me.  That's right, dude just started talking to me (multiple times) when it was blatantly obvious that I was reading.  As we were descending, dude busts his phone out and shows me his garden or something and says that's what he's going home to, like I'm supposed to be sympathetic or impressed or something, not really sure.  Now that I'm typing this all, he seems much weirder.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5.  I laughed out loud (LOL, if you will) for this next one.  I was swimming in the pool at our hotel when this two little kids come up to go swimming.  They are brothers, the oldest is probably 10 and the other a few years younger.  The oldest goes into the pool, but the younger doesn't because there was some leaves and other minor debris in the pool.  In an attempt to convince the younger to get in the pool, the older says "Don't judge a book by it's cover.", to which the younger replies "It's not a book, it's a pool".  Best kid.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6.  Driving down the strip, I see a dude wearing a turban, on rollerskates, and playing electric guitar.  Not being quick enough to get a picture of this specimen will be one of my life's greatest regrets.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7.  We went out Saturday night checking out the various casinos.  Getting on the tram from Mandalay Bay to go to Luxor we see and hear (they were really loud) this large group of girls walking up.  I'm not really sure what they were saying, buuuuut they were all wearing something around their neck that was definitely penis shaped.  I initially thought it was some sort of dildo necklace, but upon further inspection realized it was some sort of cup, possibly a shot glass?  Who knows.  As we get off at our stop, I hear one of these girls say:  "So who's using the rabbit tonight".  They unfortunately stayed on the tram, but I would have loved to see where that conversation was going.  Hopefully some type of catfight to see who had the privilege of playing with their pet rabbit that evening.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8.  Go to the Luxor, walk in, and see girls dancing on stage basically right in front of the blackjack table.  Weren't that good looking in my opinion, but just the concept itself blew my mind until we left that casino.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;9.  After I only losing $10 at the Bellagio, we decide to leave.  On our way out, we walk past this couple.  All we hear the dude say to his girlfriend or whatever as we walk past is "suck my dick".  I have absolutely no idea what context that was used in, whether anything came before or after, and quite honestly I don't care.  Couldn't have been any greater timing for us to walk by.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;10.  I was really bored Sunday before our flight so I walked across the street to check out the Hard Rock casino, as I hadn't got a chance yet.  I walk in, and every single girl is wearing a freaking bathing suit.  No joke.  It was kind of surreal.  Can't really explain it.  But it was almost kind of weird at the same time.  Anyway, I'm walking around looking to gamble, and I'm doing what I normally do when I'm walking around a place like this by myself...start messing with my phone as if I'm texting or something, to make me seem like slightly less of a loser than I normally would.  Too bad it backfired on me and some really drunk girl came up to me and asked if she could use my phone.  Add this one to the list of really awkward social situations I always seem to find myself in.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's pretty much it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-9007340858535380249?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/9007340858535380249/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/05/vegas.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/9007340858535380249'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/9007340858535380249'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/05/vegas.html' title='Vegas'/><author><name>Craig</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17452141154764148996</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-2851054579896760670.post-22661982221847650</id><published>2009-05-21T01:17:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T01:19:56.141-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I Suck</title><content type='html'>Sorry for the lack of updates, but life just isn't providing us with the outrageous scenarios that they did when we first started with the blog.  That, and we've kind of gotten lazy.  Luckily, I'm off to Las Vegas tomorrow for 4 days, so I'm almost positive that the trip will provide at least one entry, so you'll get your fix soon enough.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-22661982221847650?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/22661982221847650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-suck.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/22661982221847650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/22661982221847650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-suck.html' title='I Suck'/><author><name>Craig</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17452141154764148996</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-2851054579896760670.post-6651114556472481218</id><published>2009-04-29T23:41:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-30T01:16:37.741-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mother Fucker Walking</title><content type='html'>I was hanging out at a WaWa parking lot in the glorious suburb of Bensalem Pennsylvania. Suddenly, a lady in a SUV asks me and my friends this: "Ya'll see a mother fucker walking around?" our natural reaction is What? she repeats "Ya'll see a mother fucker walking?" We just stare at her and she pulls away and circles the parking lot. She was exiting the parking lot when she sees the mother fucker she was looking for. Slams on her brakes, blocking the exit, gets out, throws her shoe at the mother fucker,the shoe  lands in the middle of a semi busy street, picks up the shoe, throws it at him again, then smacks the mother fucker in the face and keeps hitting the mother fucker. The mother fucker just pushed her away and then finally ran away from her and went to a different shopping center parking lot. She gets in her car and drives to the other parking lot looking for the mother fucker as the mother fucker was hiding from her. Finally she gives up and drives away. Hopefully the mother fucker is safe. Mother fucker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;_Jay&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-6651114556472481218?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/6651114556472481218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/04/mother-fucker-walking.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/6651114556472481218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/6651114556472481218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/04/mother-fucker-walking.html' title='Mother Fucker Walking'/><author><name>Jay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633275236368307791</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-2851054579896760670.post-3951878389167807894</id><published>2009-04-10T11:07:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T11:18:46.816-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Can't Even Come Up With A Clever Title Because I'm Still Not Even Sure What Just Happened</title><content type='html'>I'm riding my bike home from school on Market St. and I hear this really loud R&amp;amp;B type music.  My initial thought is that there's some sort of pep rally or party or some school function that I'm most likely not aware of going on.  As I get to 32nd and Market and I see nothing to indicate the above, I figure it most be some a-hole blasting their music really loud as is often the case in Philadelphia.  Then I see some dude riding west on Market in a motorized scooter (on the wrong side of the street to top it off).  I think nothing of it and continue my search for the car blasting the music......and then I realize that the music is coming from the dude in the scooter.  It's then that I take a closer look at him, and yep, dude's got a microphone and he's singing something which I could not make out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that's not all.  He's fully decked out in Phillies gear, head to toe.  Ryan Howard jersey, Phillies hat, baseball pants, and even cleats!  Riding a motorized scooter down Market St!  Singing!  Fairly loudly I might add, as I could still hear him probably 4 blocks away.  Pretty sure I ran a red light while trying to figure out what the hell is going on with this dude, and I'll probably never know either.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-3951878389167807894?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/3951878389167807894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/04/cant-even-come-up-with-clever-title.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/3951878389167807894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/3951878389167807894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/04/cant-even-come-up-with-clever-title.html' title='Can&apos;t Even Come Up With A Clever Title Because I&apos;m Still Not Even Sure What Just Happened'/><author><name>Craig</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17452141154764148996</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-2851054579896760670.post-6716722427960884978</id><published>2009-04-09T13:19:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T13:42:16.354-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Back Seat Windows Up</title><content type='html'>These stories keep piling up so it's time to start cracking down on them. Here is a new one:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Went to Dave and Buster's to get some Shirley Temple's and I parallel park (rather well) behind this car. I get out and start to walk away, turn around to check out my car as I always do, OCD I guess, and see this couple making out probably doing other stuff but I didn't stare long enough to see anything going down. However, I did look long enough for the dude to stare at me for a couple seconds while making out with his woman. Which is reaallllllllllly weird. I sit with my friend at the bar and 10 minutes later Craig walks in and tells me this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yo dudes, I just saw two people having sex in a car!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the best part is that was a completely different couple in a different car.  I was walking along Columbus Ave, right next to the boats parked by D&amp;amp;B, and I hear what sounds like a moan.  Sure enough, I look to my left, and there's a dude in the driver's seat of his car, with the seat tilted all the way back and a chick is right on top of him.  I'm pretty sure they looked at me as I walked by, but I just laughed and went on my way, not knowing Jay had seen something similar only 10 minutes earlier.  Crazy stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Craig&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-6716722427960884978?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/6716722427960884978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/04/back-seat-windows-up.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/6716722427960884978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/6716722427960884978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/04/back-seat-windows-up.html' title='Back Seat Windows Up'/><author><name>Jay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633275236368307791</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-2851054579896760670.post-3807681715789914115</id><published>2009-04-06T00:38:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-06T11:24:37.389-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Green and Grain</title><content type='html'>Tonight I went to the What Happened? show at the Titan House.  They played with The Leftovers and it was a very good time.  At one point during the night I went upstairs to go to the bathroom, and when I was in the bathroom attending to my business, I hear the following conversation taking place amongst those waiting in line outside:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-"Hey, what did you do today?  Did you study for 6 hours?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-"Nope, I smoked up and ate oatmeal"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, my mind was blown at this point and was not able to follow the rest of what was likely a very informative and entertaining exchange, but I feel like the part I did get was great enough as it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;EDIT:  I just realized that this is probably not as funny to those of you who smoke grass and/or eat large quantities of oats.  I apologize for wasting your time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-3807681715789914115?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/3807681715789914115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/04/green-and-grain.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/3807681715789914115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/3807681715789914115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/04/green-and-grain.html' title='Green and Grain'/><author><name>Craig</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17452141154764148996</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-2851054579896760670.post-3542011241317278455</id><published>2009-03-30T00:41:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T00:53:48.146-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Good</title><content type='html'>This next experience might be one which you have to be there to really appreciate, but I felt it was worthy of adding. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm driving home from hanging with some friends on Friday night (Saturday morning?) and I'm stopped at a red light.  I hear the car next to me honk it's horn, so I look over and it's a taxi with the driver beginning to roll his window down.  I'm thinking 'what the hell could I have possibly done wrong' and this dude is about to curse me out or something crazy.  So I roll my window down and he asks me something, but I don't hear him because he doesn't speak English that well.  When he repeats his question, it sounded to me like it was 'What year is your car?'  I respond, and my answer seems like it satisfies him, so apparently he did ask what year my car was.  His response is the following:  'It's good'.  That's it.  I'm pretty sure I had a really confused look on my face when I heard this.  Light turns green, and I give a pretty fucking awkward wave goodbye.  End. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of story:  situations like these were not meant for awkward dudes like me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-3542011241317278455?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/3542011241317278455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/03/its-good.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/3542011241317278455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/3542011241317278455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/03/its-good.html' title='It&apos;s Good'/><author><name>Craig</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17452141154764148996</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-2851054579896760670.post-3795733274567393740</id><published>2009-03-29T01:51:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-29T02:03:56.465-04:00</updated><title type='text'>You Ain't Got Service</title><content type='html'>HI! The episode that inspired us to make this blog goes as follows:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Craigers and I were on the subway when three 10 yr olds (i guess) walk onto the subway. so far so normal. They seemed to be unsure of what stop to get off of so one kid gets off and his other two friends do not. the doors close. the solo kid jumps from the platform, over the chains, and on to the section that connects the subway cars about a second before it takes off. As soon as he opens the door to the car, everyone starts screaming at him, telling him him crazy and all that stuff. One dude told him he was going to call the cops (for what purpose i do not know) and the kid replies "No you aint, you aint got service." Great. Then a lady asks one of his friends what he would've done if his friend had died. Kid: "He won't" Lady: "How do you know" Kid: "This is our life." So, This Is Our-Life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;_Jay&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-3795733274567393740?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/3795733274567393740/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/03/you-aint-got-service.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/3795733274567393740'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/3795733274567393740'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/03/you-aint-got-service.html' title='You Ain&apos;t Got Service'/><author><name>Jay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05633275236368307791</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-2851054579896760670.post-7408269830341680135</id><published>2009-03-28T13:39:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T13:45:12.054-04:00</updated><title type='text'>This is Our Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Welcome to This is Our Life.  This blog is dedicated to all the ridiculous things Jay and myself see in our everyday lives.  We felt that some of the stuff we see is just too great not to record in some way.  Hopefully whoever reads this finds all of this as hilarious as we do.  Look for a post soon involving the situation which was our inspiration for the blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2851054579896760670-7408269830341680135?l=thisisour-life.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/feeds/7408269830341680135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-is-our-life.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/7408269830341680135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2851054579896760670/posts/default/7408269830341680135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://thisisour-life.blogspot.com/2009/03/this-is-our-life.html' title='This is Our Life'/><author><name>Craig</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17452141154764148996</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></feed>
