<?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'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897</id><updated>2009-02-21T03:30:48.903-08:00</updated><title type='text'>chopped liver</title><subtitle type='html'>documentation of my gradual insanity</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>284</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-116611394636433497</id><published>2006-12-14T08:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-12-14T08:32:26.376-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Coming Back?


Nobody knows of this little abode but Ryan and my former girl with the brown hair curls but neither of them probably check this place out anymore. Myspace is where my friends are at. I should start writing again. I can't believe it's been years. So many things have happened. The passage of time is a bitch but for it I have grown up considerably. I regret so many things but I'm in a</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/116611394636433497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/116611394636433497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2006/12/coming-back-nobody-knows-of-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110892042147228846</id><published>2005-02-19T09:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-02-20T09:27:01.473-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Happy birthday


Happy Birthday to a little bird. 6 years ago today I remember well.
</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110892042147228846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110892042147228846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2005/02/happy-birthday-happy-birthday-to.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110402939390290441</id><published>2004-12-25T18:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-25T19:01:32.656-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Not the Christmas I imagined


This time of year is always rife with the absurd. I got a call that a fat drunk guy was waving a gun at people up and down a major thoroughfare. Long story short, I ended up tackling the guy and I’m smiling having a good time on top of him (I hope someone videotaped it) while another officer is attempting to talk to this deranged lunatic. The guy spits at the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110402939390290441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110402939390290441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/12/not-christmas-i-imagined-this-time-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110321119050130019</id><published>2004-12-16T07:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-16T16:41:17.723-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Critic Appreciation


“Hot, stammering creative bliss … an uncertain but dazzling light onto the world … a monument to human intellect.”
-The New Yorker



“Stretches the game out … P.I.M.P. fo’ life”
-Vibe



“He scares me”
-Charles Manson



“Asshole”
-Most of my ex-girlfriends



Feel free to leave your appreciation as well ... I am sure you are astounded by the genius </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110321119050130019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110321119050130019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/12/critic-appreciation-hot-stammering.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110312726875097367</id><published>2004-12-15T08:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-15T09:46:34.193-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>State of affairs


The dancing girl left a voicemail telling me I’m an ass for not calling her and the girl with the brown hair curls has kept her word not to call.



One of my good friends just got accepted into the fire academy. He’s getting married to a very old ex-girlfriend of mine. I am excited for him but I pity him too. Police and Fire train at the same academy and those fire </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110312726875097367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110312726875097367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/12/state-of-affairs-dancing-girl-left.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110265583914432057</id><published>2004-12-09T21:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-09T21:19:03.750-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
I need a hug



It seems I write here when I am not feeling the most chipper. This last year I was on hiatus from writing was the greatest year ever. Girls, great job, more friends than I knew what to do with, parties, clubs, trips, and the most dominating softball team ever assembled.



Now I feel pretty depressed about the current state of affairs. Great new job, however it’s pretty </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110265583914432057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110265583914432057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/12/i-need-hug-it-seems-i-write-here-when.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110264756472967525</id><published>2004-12-09T18:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-09T20:19:58.743-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>“I never want to speak with you again”


Harsh … the words from the girl with the brown hair curls. But, but … but I didn’t promise. Why does she have to be so rigid? How many times does she insert that word into my mouth?



We’ve been trying to be good friends and allow the past to be the past. I wanted to drop by her class where she was making potato latkes for her kids. I told her I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110264756472967525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110264756472967525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/12/i-never-want-to-speak-with-you-again.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110203727237946725</id><published>2004-12-02T17:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-02T19:12:29.990-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The next Pearl Jam song


For my peace of mind. To place my ghost at rest. I must find her. It’s been 5 years. I will call the next time I hear a Pearl Jam song come on the radio. She would understand.



In my attempt to vocalize my current mood:



Bridges do crumble
The water so cold
Bridges do humble
A traveling soul

How do I get home to the streets I knew?
How do I get home</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110203727237946725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110203727237946725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/12/next-pearl-jam-song-for-my-peace-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110183782388980643</id><published>2004-11-30T10:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-12-02T13:14:14.970-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>A wall fell on me


I got switched to the day shift. All rookies get switched around for the first 4 months to get exposure to the different shifts. It is so boring during the day. All the action occurs at night.



My average of arrests has come down from 2-3 at night to 1 during the day. It’s a pretty high average thus far. I guess it’s something to be proud of. I’m positive that I have </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110183782388980643'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110183782388980643'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/wall-fell-on-me-i-got-switched-to-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110162790082519825</id><published>2004-11-28T00:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-27T23:48:12.200-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the word of the day


For all you etymologists out there, the word of the day is ... abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz



It is the only common word in English to contain twenty-six different letters, all in alphabetical order.
</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110162790082519825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110162790082519825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/word-of-day-for-all-you-etymologists.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110149403061180238</id><published>2004-11-26T10:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-30T10:11:32.866-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>countdown to the new year begins


Who is going to give me my New Year's kiss? I started the year dating four girls at once, then I got back with the girl with the brown hair curls, and next I hooked up with one of my best friend’s a couple times and chased after her to Chicago during the Halloween weekend. Now I’m back to square one.



My most recent female interest was peculiar. Her </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110149403061180238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110149403061180238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/countdown-to-new-year-begins-who-is.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110133504071424875</id><published>2004-11-24T14:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-24T18:29:10.023-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>a productive night


It must be a record for a rookie. Made 5 separate arrests. Served 11 arrest warrants. Charges ranged from 11 misdemeanors to 10 felonies. 2 building searches. Searched in vain for a homicide suspect that was in the area. To apprehend that guy would have been the ultimate clincher. He purportedly gunned down a man and left his badly decomposing body for his 4 year old son </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110133504071424875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110133504071424875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/productive-night-it-must-be-record-for.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110106958887777713</id><published>2004-11-21T12:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-25T16:49:03.596-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>the remains of the play


We are fledgling children of passing latter days – actors of improvisation unable to cope with the realities of the play.



Suicide call last night. A high-school kid shot himself in the chest and phoned his recent ex-girlfriend to tell her that he was dying.



It was a nightmare. We arrived to absolute pandemonium. Family and friends were arriving to the </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110106958887777713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110106958887777713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/remains-of-play-we-are-fledgling.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110106436964736296</id><published>2004-11-20T00:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-22T02:35:30.716-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Cranberry Splash


Last night the girl with the brown hair curls joined me for coffee and a movie (The Incredibles). I told her that before I had picked her up I had had a cranberry splash from Eegee’s, a local phenomenon of frozen fruit slush’s. Every month they have a flavor of the month and every year for the past 7 years without fail I eagerly look forward to November’s for my favorite, </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110106436964736296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110106436964736296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/cranberry-splash-last-night-girl-with.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110089123089572026</id><published>2004-11-19T12:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-19T14:30:43.456-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>
Opinions



Opinions, everyone has one right?



I try hard to steer away from them. However, I do have some. It is hard to preclude them from forming. I believe cats are cute. I believe that babies have the potential to become well-adjusted adults. And if there is one strong opinion I do embrace it is the fact that I don't like vegetables. I like to keep it simple, opinions that others</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110089123089572026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110089123089572026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/opinions-opinions-everyone-has-one.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110079838625414943</id><published>2004-11-18T09:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-20T03:58:16.623-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>digitize me






Bought my first real camera as opposed to my first camera. An Olympus C-7000 digital camera.



It’s about time I began recording the redeeming qualities of the transitive physical world, converting those images into binary bits of information. Or in other words … “fuck yeah I’m going to shoot some freak nasty shit.”



Show me, show me,
Show me how you do that </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110079838625414943'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110079838625414943'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/digitize-me-bought-my-first-real.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110060204527623520</id><published>2004-11-16T02:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-20T03:59:15.313-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>good guys 1, bad guys 0


I don't exactly know where the spleen is located but it must suck to get shot there. One less evil in this world.



During however long my tenure as a cop may be, I foresee that I could easily become callous, bereft of emotional response. My callous response? An ode to Hector who stole our hearts away...



We are the pretty, petty thieves,
And you're </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110060204527623520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110060204527623520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/good-guys-1-bad-guys-0-i-dont-exactly.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-110045190761968752</id><published>2004-11-14T08:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2004-11-19T12:45:24.646-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>your hair is everywhere


Chicken, beans, and rice burritos from Trader Joe's. It keeps you rocking. I still owe Ryan a burrito. It appears he moved to San Francisco.



So many changes ...



It's been a year since my last post. What happened? Where have I been? My purported death was just rumor. It’s been a whirlwind though.



Got lost in the Pyrenees … for 2 months. Thought I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110045190761968752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/110045190761968752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2004/11/your-hair-is-everywhere-chicken-beans.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-106544034030136506</id><published>2003-10-03T04:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-07T19:17:24.950-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>The day that changed me


In this one day
This one day contained
The confusion of the former days
All passed away
And after the years I find
The feelings still remain



My arms are so wide
Your kisses may break me
So break me
Go ahead and break me



I’m so afraid
The struggles of today
But in this one day
This one day contained
I remember
I remember I was brave
</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106544034030136506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106544034030136506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2003/10/day-that-changed-me-in-this-one-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-106499831074822454</id><published>2003-10-01T01:51:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2004-11-19T11:24:21.623-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>October


I wait for October’s like children await Christmas or vampires await the sunset or like vampires awaiting children on Christmas Eve. October is my favorite month of the year. If September’s are ridden with bad luck, it is all made good again by October’s good fortune. This is the month I shine. This is the month I come out to play and play hard. This is the time of the year where I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106499831074822454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106499831074822454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2003/10/october-i-wait-for-octobers-like.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-106499828865963790</id><published>2003-10-01T01:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-01T03:56:21.076-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>An Anniversary


Two years ago today the girl with the brown hair curls kissed me. We were sitting on a bench late at night on campus. She turned and I turned and she planted one on me. I knew it was coming … I’m glad she took the initiative. And I kept kissing her, thinking the night would end and I would never have the chance to kiss her again.



Would I do it again if I knew what would</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106499828865963790'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106499828865963790'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2003/10/anniversary-two-years-ago-today-girl.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-106499826657066779</id><published>2003-10-01T01:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-10-01T01:51:06.780-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Leaving on a jet plane


I have to leave in a couple hours for Florida. My grandparents are both on their deathbeds. I will be back Saturday.
</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106499826657066779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106499826657066779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2003/10/leaving-on-jet-plane-i-have-to-leave.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-106492178634305060</id><published>2003-09-29T04:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-30T05:02:35.283-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Pip Triumphant


I remember when I was a kid playing the make your own adventure Dungeon and Dragon books. The hero of the series of books was a young, malnourished boy named Pip. With his trusty little sword and shaking hands he would fight dragons, goblins, trolls, wraiths, and the like on his two spindly legs. And if you chose wisely and accomplished the primary goal of his undertaking you </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106492178634305060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106492178634305060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2003/09/pip-triumphant-i-remember-when-i-was.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-106475079222501724</id><published>2003-09-27T05:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-28T16:20:32.046-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>No show


Instead of carousing around town I decided to go to the gym. It’s a different crowd on Friday nights. Everyone is under the age of 21. Some underage couples actually made dates of it.



I’ve never had my stomach tied in knots prior to a gym workout, but this night was different. This night I was going to attempt to charm the girl that I have been thinking of nonstop since we </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106475079222501724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106475079222501724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2003/09/no-show-instead-of-carousing-around.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3470897.post-106458206524138583</id><published>2003-09-26T06:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2003-09-26T18:56:02.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Conversations with Danielle


This Danielle is driving me crazy. She has got to be the greatest flirt I have ever come across and I have come across my fair share. She has mastered the art of it splendidly. The butterflies will attest to her effectiveness.



She has the most beautiful almond shaped brown eyes and she uses them to her advantage. She stares at me and will not drop her eyes </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106458206524138583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3470897/posts/default/106458206524138583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://choppedliver.blogspot.com/2003/09/conversations-with-danielle-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Todd</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/09067294347976418618</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='18233218408053499791'/></author></entry></feed>