<?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-2796571401436469501</id><updated>2012-01-02T10:08:25.605-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Smashley's Words</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>25</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-5162254942654627969</id><published>2011-03-31T14:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-03-31T16:13:01.024-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Someday I will stop writing boring blog posts</title><content type='html'>...and actually start blogging on a regular basis. If I had to choose my blogger style, it would be something like &lt;a href="http://mkhobson.blogspot.com/"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; or &lt;a href="http://mormonchildbride.blogspot.com/"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt;. The latter is a new discovery. For a moment I even thought she was me...minus the child bride part:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mormon female professional. Check. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;High school English teacher. Check. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Liberal. Check.&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;  &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;(Please ignore the name "Ayn" in my blog header. I don't know why I own her books.)&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Distrust-er of those who like Glenn Beck. Check. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;(I love you Tony!) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Discusser and sharer of the crazy things people say and do in church. Check. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sadly, I will never be able to blog like her because despite my degree in English, I don't think I ever completely learned the art of putting my best thoughts into words (or at least I never learned how to do it in a witty and entertaining manner).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. Shout out to Darren Edwards, Elizabeth Benson, and my almost non-existent role in their accomplishments! Check out &lt;a href="http://www.cityweekly.net/utah/article-13591-best-of-utah-2011-media-politics.html?current_page=3"&gt;City Weekly's Best of 2011&lt;/a&gt; (third one down). Note the second one down, and you will find today's blog inspiring discovery.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-5162254942654627969?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/5162254942654627969/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=5162254942654627969' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5162254942654627969'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5162254942654627969'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2011/03/someday-i-will-stop-writing-boring.html' title='Someday I will stop writing boring blog posts'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-1726672123214210622</id><published>2010-04-26T17:07:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-01T16:16:11.802-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Summertime</title><content type='html'>One of the great perks of being a teacher is having the whole summer off. I think I have spent the entire school year contemplating what I should do with my summer. For awhile there, I had next to no ideas. What does one do with a whole summer that they are not used to having off? But throughout the school year, and especially within the last couple of months, so many opportunities and good ideas have presented themselves that I am not sure I am going to be able to fit everything I want to do into my summer! I just hope I don't ruin it by turning it into a summer that does not feel like a summer off. There are so many things you can do when you are free all day, every day, for a whole three months and still get paid. I definitely don't want to make it through my first summer feeling I have accomplished nothing. The best part is that I am going to attempt to blog about much of what I have decided to do, so be prepared for future blogs on the following topics: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1) Jobs &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, so I decided that in order to stay sane, I could not completely stop working for the summer. I also decided that I must still be able to consider it a summer off, so...I scheduled out only a very SMALL amount of my time to money making endeavors. But to me they seem pretty cool.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Money making endeavor #1: I am going to work at Zubs once a week. I shall never escape the place.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Money making endeavor #2: I have accepted a job with Salem Hills High School as the Credit Recovery Coordinator. Basically that entails being in charge of distributing packets that students must complete in order to receive credit for failed classes. This will only require four hours a day for the first three days of my summer and only about two hours of my time weekly thereafter.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Money making endeavor #3: Jenni, my sister-in-law, requires the services of someone willing to do odd jobs at her place of employment. These jobs would involve work like stuffing envelopes and being a receptionist for a random event. Although they seem menial, they are few and far between and pay well. Sometimes it IS just about the money...  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Money making endeavor #4: I may have the opportunity to be a receptionist elsewhere for a week. Again, sometimes it is just about the money.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Money making endeavor #5: I will attend collaboration training--training with the purpose of teaching me the collaborative ways of teachers. :) I will be compensated for the time I spend sitting and listening to those who know more than I do about the subject.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The best part about these jobs is that besides jobs 2 and 5, I am not really obligated to perform any of them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2) I am going to attend an AP training conference in Las, Vegas Nevada for a week at the end of June.  It should be fairly entertaining, and if not, the nights spent exploring Vegas will be. ;)   Now to move on to the more exciting endeavors and goals of the summer...  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3) I am going to buy a car!  I have saved, and I am ready. Be prepared for a new Ashley...an Ashley who will not be driving the same old, beat-up, sad excuse for a car that she has driven since she received her driver's license.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4) I am going to throw a bridal shower for my soon to be sister-in-law, Ramona Porter.   For those of you who do not know, Devin is getting married! Despite his belief that I despise him for his choice to marry, I am actually quite excited for him. Though, to maintain my pride (I know, pathetic), I am not one to really let my excitement show. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5) I am going to make a quilt.   Not the kind with a front and a back and stupid little yarn ties...I am talking about the quilt square kind of quilt. And yes, I am very very excited about it. I am going to become the crafty person I hate to admit that I am at heart. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6) I am going to make AT LEAST a couple of new recipes a week, and fill a cookbook full of the ones that are successful.  Again, so excited. Nuff said. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;7) I am going to work my way through the list of books found below. Yay for reading and having time to do so:  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In Cold Blood, Truman Capote &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Metamorphosis, Franz Kofka &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lord of the Flies, William Golding &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Several other classics and nonfiction works that are escaping my mind at the moment (they are books that I will teach in AP Language)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Brain That Changes Itself, Norman Doidge &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Five People You Meet in Heaven, Mitch Albom &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Under the Dome, Stephen King &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And NOW for the most exciting goal for the summer...  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;8) I am going to train for a half marathon!   Exercise everyday for the summer pretty much. That's only three more weeks a day than I am doing right now. Totally going out of my comfort zone with this one, but probably the summer goal I will be the most proud of. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-1726672123214210622?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/1726672123214210622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=1726672123214210622' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1726672123214210622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1726672123214210622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2010/04/summertime.html' title='Summertime'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-1675873280473447234</id><published>2010-04-09T10:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-09T17:10:32.391-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What do I do when LOST is gone?</title><content type='html'>I am a LOST addict. I have seen most episodes more the once, I discuss with my fellow LOST lovers my theories, I look forward to &lt;a href="http://tunedin.blogs.time.com/2010/04/07/lostwatch-would-you-believe-in-a-love-at-first-sight/"&gt;TIME's review&lt;/a&gt; every week, and I read random blogs like &lt;a href="http://djtrudeau.wordpress.com/category/tv/"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt; one. I have not yet decided completely how I feel about what is going on this season, but I am willing to live through all the chaos as long as the season finale blows my mind and doesn't screw with the characters' lives in a way that doesn't make sense. Meanwhile, I am looking for a show that can replace my LOST addiction when the series ends. I have been trying a few shows on for size over the last couple of weeks:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://abc.go.com/shows/modern-family"&gt;Modern Family&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, really, when it comes down to it, a comedy can't necessarily replace my need for the characters, chaos, and mystery of LOST, but Modern Family is hilarious. I don't know if I have a lack of sense of humor, but there are few shows that can cause me to laugh the way Modern Family does. Revolving around three related families, the show puts together a variety of character personalities that work extremely well together. My favorite character by far is Phil. Just watch &lt;a href="http://www.hulu.com/watch/119061/modern-family-fireman"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt;. The look on Phil's face as his wife wheels him out of his hospital room is priceless. Watch again if you must. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://abc.go.com/shows/v"&gt;V&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Typical aliens-come-to-invade-Earth-type-show, but interesting enough for me to watch the first five episodes in one sitting. I like the twist that the aliens have come under the guise of wanting to promote peace and advances in technology. The story is okay so far, and I see some potential. I just hope that I am not trying to convince myself that is the one to replace LOST because Juliette, from LOST, is the protagonist.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.fox.com/fringe/"&gt;Fringe&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I admit I knew nothing about this show as of last night, have only watched one episode, and after reading more about it, wasn't all that impressed, but hey, it made it to its second season, and...dun, dun, dun...it was created by J.J. Abrams, the creator of LOST. It is possible that I could be using semi-faulty logic similar to the above logic concerning Juliette, but oh well, I am going to give it a try because I am a sucker for sci-fi. Though, Fringe does involve a parallel universe, something I have not decided how I feel about when it comes to LOST.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Although none of these shows have stirred up the same kind of passion in me that LOST has, I would like to think that LOST took more than a couple of episodes to do so. But who am I kidding? I am pretty sure I was hooked on LOST after watching only one episode. I think I know what is missing from the shows above: well thought-out, real, morally conflicted characters. Get it right future TV show writers: develop characters we can relate to and care about. It's not all about a great mind-blowing plot.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-1675873280473447234?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/1675873280473447234/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=1675873280473447234' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1675873280473447234'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1675873280473447234'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2010/04/what-do-i-do-when-lost-is-gone.html' title='What do I do when LOST is gone?'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-2240345002107391500</id><published>2009-10-13T17:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-12-06T09:43:26.701-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ashley....Ashley....Ashley...Ashley....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Bear with me...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;So I hear these stories all the time...stories about the other Ashley Christensens in the world.  Up until recently, my favorite one was a story told to me by my friend Holly.  While attending SUU, her picture was put in the school paper as someone else...someone named Ashley Christensen.   This Ashley Christensen (not me) was attending SUU, and the paper quoted Ashley in the article and for some reason thought that my friend Holly's picture was a picture of Ashley.  She thought it was funny not only because one of her best friends (me) was named Ashley Christensen, but because a girl that sat in front of her in one of her classes was also named Ashley Christensen (not the Ashley in the article either).  Then when she was telling the Ashley from her class about the whole story, the girl sitting behind her said, "My name is Ashley Christiansen!"  Yes the name is slightly different, but funny enough to make it a good story.  This Ashley was also not the Ashley from the article.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well...I like my new story better.  When I started working for Nebo School District, the district called to inform me that my email address would not be the typical email address (firstname.lastname@nebo.edu) because there was, unfortunately, another Ashley Christensen that worked for the district.  I was somewhat bothered because I knew that I would/will probably spend the rest of my career in Nebo not getting all of my email.  I sent her an email asking if she would forward all of my email onto me.  Easy enough.  Well...after the first week of receiving my email from her, I was soooo confused because a ton of the email she sent me really wasn't mine.  I wondered if she was just stupid and didn't realize it was actually hers.  Instead, I googled "Ashley Christensen Nebo School District" and discovered that...haha...there was actually a &lt;i&gt;third&lt;/i&gt; Ashley Christensen that worked for the district.  I called this Ashley to let her know that I would be forwarding her email onto her.  We couldn't let the first Ashley do this because there was no way for her to know which emails belonged to which Ashley.  I thought my story was too funny not to share, so I told the attendance secretary, Mrs. Christensen (who also gets confused with me although her name isn't Ashley), my story.  Her son was there visiting her, and he informed me that his wife, Mrs. Christensen's daughter-in-law, was also named Ashley Christensen, and that she &lt;i&gt;also&lt;/i&gt; worked for the district but had opted out of having a district email address.  Thus, she was a &lt;i&gt;fourth&lt;/i&gt; Ashley Christensen who worked for the district.  He also quickly told me a story about how he and his wife moved into an apartment that had previously been rented by a male Ashley Christensen! Well, the fourth Ashley Christensen story checked out when I couldn't log into the district's subfinder system and had to call and figure out why.  Sure enough, the person in charge informed that there were four Ashley Christensens working for the district, causing a lot of confusion.  Four Ashley Christensens who are all teachers!  I wonder if any of these Ashleys are the same Ashleys from the first story.  So much for having an original name.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-2240345002107391500?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/2240345002107391500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=2240345002107391500' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/2240345002107391500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/2240345002107391500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2009/10/ashleyashleyashleyashley.html' title='Ashley....Ashley....Ashley...Ashley....'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-5523499258556198640</id><published>2009-09-21T17:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T17:21:51.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Teacha Picha</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=teacha-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/teacha-1.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am a teacher...and sadly...I have to worry once again about that day every year that I have to get my picture taken.  And then worry more once it shows up in the yearbook.  Okay, I don't worry THAT much.  But funny story for you...the picture people thought I was a student when I got my picture taken, so I didn't get a teacher ID like all the other teachers did on picture day. :(&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-5523499258556198640?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/5523499258556198640/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=5523499258556198640' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5523499258556198640'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5523499258556198640'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-am-teacher-and-sadly-i-have-to-once.html' title='Teacha Picha'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-7687220711160401544</id><published>2009-09-18T14:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-28T21:00:25.709-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dystopias and Obama (not to be considered related)</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Dystopia (&lt;i&gt;n&lt;/i&gt;): A futuristic, imagined universe in which oppressive societal control and the illusion of a perfect society are maintained through corporate, bureaucratic, technological, moral, or totalitarian control. Dystopias, through an exaggerated worst-case scenario, make a criticism about a current trend, societal norm, or political system (&lt;a href="http://www.readwritethink.org/"&gt;www.readwritethink.org&lt;/a&gt;).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;Just in case you were wondering, books, and often movies, dealing with dystopian societies are my favorites.  You may already know this, but I love love love them.  &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My book favs: &lt;i&gt;Ender's Game, Brave New World, Fahrenheit 451, 1984, Anthem, Hunger Games, Mistborn, The Road, The Giver.  &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;And my movie favs: &lt;i&gt;V for Vendetta, The Village, The Matrix, The Truman Show, Gattaca, I, Robot, Pleasantville, Minority Report&lt;/i&gt;...you get the picture.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Who knew, though, that they could be so exciting?  Okay, obviously I know, and I was pretty sure my students knew...that dystopian societies could be a fun thing to learn about, read about, and discuss, or maybe I am just a nerd.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And although some of the above mentioned books/movies are only bordering on the definition of dystopian societies, any book or movie dealing with a messed up world/future and/or postapocalyptic society makes me want to curl up in my bed, read my time away, and forget about the outside world.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why, you ask? I don't know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So back to the point of my story.  I am an English teacher.  I just started a unit on &lt;i&gt;Anthem&lt;/i&gt;, by Ayn Rand (quick FYI: free classroom sets of Ayn Rand books can be ordered at &lt;a href="http://www.aynrand.org/"&gt;www.aynrand.org&lt;/a&gt; for any secondary educator), and &lt;i&gt;Fahrenheit 45&lt;/i&gt;1, by Ray Bradbury.  These books, like I said above, deal with dystopian societies.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My lesson was scary for me to plan.  It was my first time teaching literature (I only taught writing as a student teacher). It was the first lesson of a unit, so it had to be a good one. And...one of my fellow English teachers was coming to watch me teach it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The lesson went extremely well...maybe even a little too well.  After spending the majority of the lesson discussing our First Amendment rights (rights often not found in a dystopian society), we moved on to defining a dystopian society.  In order to help my students get the best picture possible, I had them come up with examples from popular books or movies. Discussion.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Went.Great.  Not only could students name multiple books and movies involving these types of societies, they could get down to the details about what was wrong with these societies.  Once they named a movie, I would have them give a short synopsis that they had to keep appropriate; many of the movies are rated R.  They then discussed what was dystopian about the society. They even went into &lt;i&gt;The Matrix &lt;/i&gt;and how although their fake society may have been better than actual society, it wasn't better because it wasn't REAL, and they pointed out that we need to have choices.  I love my students.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Well...after class, one of my students comes up to me and says, "It makes me feel good that teachers can talk about things like this."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Dystopian societies?" I ask while thinking&lt;i&gt; &lt;/i&gt;to myself...&lt;i&gt;D&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;on't tons of teachers teach books dealing with dystopian societies?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"No, well...just what we're talking about," he responds.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Shoot&lt;/i&gt;, &lt;i&gt;he must be talking about the rated R movies&lt;/i&gt;, I think to myself.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Great. Great. Great.  I think I may have made my first mistake.  I did ask them to keep it appropriate, though.  And the only thing that makes me feel better is that the well seasoned teacher observing my class didn't seem to find anything wrong with it.  At least he didn't &lt;i&gt;say anything&lt;/i&gt; about it when going over the strengths of my lesson. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And that is not the only stupid thing I did that day.  Once 4th period came around (the last period of the day), I praised Obama's speech on education.  FYI:  My district would not allow the schools in my district to watch Obama's speech because of too many complaints from parents.  They did, though, eventually change their minds, and we watched it in 2nd period the day of my dystopian lesson.  But only after those students whose parents wouldn't allow it left the classroom. So basically, praising Obama's speech may not have been the best thing to do in front of my students...even if I went off about how it wasn't political at all.  You really really do need to watch what you do and say as a teacher; trust me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On a side note, I would like to give some credit to &lt;a href="http://www.readwritethink.org/"&gt;www.readwritethink.org&lt;/a&gt;  and &lt;a href="http://www.freedomforum.org/"&gt;www.freedomforum.org&lt;/a&gt; for giving me great ideas for my successful dystopian lesson.  :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-7687220711160401544?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/7687220711160401544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=7687220711160401544' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/7687220711160401544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/7687220711160401544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2009/09/dystopia-n-futuristic-imagined-universe.html' title='Dystopias and Obama (not to be considered related)'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-1181436831988546599</id><published>2009-09-13T11:58:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T14:09:20.465-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I am a teacher</title><content type='html'>I have had many funny moments since I became a real teacher.  Here are just a few:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1)  I had a male student teasingly call his male friend beautiful, but to the entire class, it looked like he was calling me beautiful.  He turned bright red, and tried to explain away his actions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2)  I had a parent looked really confused the whole time I talked to her about her student.  Suddenly she had this look of realization on her face as she said, "Oh!  You're a teacher?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3)  I find myself shushing people a lot more and asking people to be quiet outside of school in a very teacherly tone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4)  Very similarly, when I was talking to my brother Devin the other day, I found myself saying, "I need you to pay attention when I am talking," when he started texting on his cell phone.  I was totally not meaning to act like a teacher, but I say that to my students all the time and it just came out!  Ahhh!  I hope I don't do that again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-1181436831988546599?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/1181436831988546599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=1181436831988546599' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1181436831988546599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1181436831988546599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-am-teacher.html' title='I am a teacher'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-3494980322991638271</id><published>2009-03-20T18:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-20T18:46:33.347-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What are the chances?</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;Funny story.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;So last night, my little brother’s apartment got robbed.  When my mom told me, I immediately thought to myself…oh poor big screen TV, surround sound, Wii, Xboxes (is that how you pluralize Xbox?), video games, movies, iPods, Xunes, laptops (including a MacBook), guitars, and every other item worth money you can find in an apartment full of four male twenty somethings.  When I actually called and talked to my brother about it, I found out that all that was taken was &lt;em&gt;ONE&lt;/em&gt; of the Xboxes, a couple of Xbox games, and a really expensive guitar.  Everyone, including myself, thought it must have been some stupid kid, on foot, and by himself, who probably wanted the items for his own use.  Otherwise, he probably would have grabbed quite a few more items worth some money if he was planning on selling the stuff.  Anyways, they reported it to the police figuring they would likely never get their stuff back.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;Not to the funny part quite yet…&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;This morning, the only other things my brother and his room mates discovered were gone were a couple of bottles of cologne and some prescription pain killers.  These things proved whoever it was had actually rifled through their stuff.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;So here comes the funny part…&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;My brother’s room mate, the one who owned the guitar, actually spent his morning traveling around to pawn shops and gaming stores trying to see if anyone was trying to sell his guitar (worth a good amount of money) or my brother’s Xbox (which is quite a unique Xbox with a 300GB hard drive with loads of games and movies on it).  Anyways, after he had spent quite a bit of time driving around with no luck, he stopped in at a pawn shop in Provo, where, lo and behold, he found the thief in the process of selling his guitar to the pawn shop!&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;I mean, seriously, what are the chances that he went in to the exact same pawn shop at the exact same time the guy was trying to sell it?&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;He went up to the kid, who was 18 years old, demanded to know where he got the guitar, told him he wasn’t going to let him leave, and called the police.  The kid was stupid enough to claim that he had just found the guitar by a dumpster!  The police showed up in five minutes and started questioning the kid.  The kid still denied that he knew anything, but then his wonderful little girlfriend spilled the truth.&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;The kid ended up living in the apartment building just next to my brother’s.  The cops took him home, found the rest of the stuff, and hauled his sorry ass away.  He already had a criminal history and was on probation.  &lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p&gt;So, less then 24 hours later, peace and happiness was restored, and  now my little brother can get back to watching all the movies he has downloaded on his Xbox.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-3494980322991638271?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/3494980322991638271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=3494980322991638271' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3494980322991638271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3494980322991638271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-are-chances.html' title='What are the chances?'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-3590764805235983801</id><published>2009-02-09T18:01:00.002-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-11T10:01:22.559-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I love you Adrianne</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=n122801076_30829753_50651.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/n122801076_30829753_50651.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I am sad. I am more than sad. In some ways I am devastated. Adrianne McBride, one of my very best friends, died yesterday morning in a car accident. I saw her beautiful face twenty minutes before it happened. Twenty minutes. It is so unreal to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel both happy and guilty that I shared a bed with her her last night here on Earth. Happy because I am honored to have spent the last moments of her life with her; guilty because someone more worthy should have been able to share them. We had just spent the night celebrating my brothers' birthday with many of my friends. She arrived late to &lt;em&gt;Red Robin&lt;/em&gt;, around 8pm, happier than ever. She said "I love you" and "I miss you" so many times that I can't even count. I just wish I had said them more times back. She looked beautiful, wearing black and yellow and one of my favorite necklaces of hers. She was in one of her best moods ever. My little brother had been asking forever when Adrianne would arrive; he was excited to spend time with his "movie soul mate," especially on his birthday. I am sad that in the picture taken of my group of friends, Adrianne hid her head behind mine, on purpose. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=7d4bfc28.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/7d4bfc28.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(notice she has a diet coke with lime in her hand :) )&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We spent dinner talking about the movie &lt;em&gt;He's Just Not That Into You&lt;/em&gt;, which we had both seen that day. She loved it, as she knew she would. She saw it with her friend Jonny I think; she was glad to have been able to spend time with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When dinner was over, I spent the next couple of hours letting Adrianne talk about anything and everything. I hardly said anything back...just listened. For some reason, although I was a little annoyed that she was doing all the talking, I felt like I needed to &lt;em&gt;just listen&lt;/em&gt;, so I just let her talk. I am glad now, because I think I can recount much of what she talked about in the last moments of her life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first thing we did was head to &lt;em&gt;Victoria Secret&lt;/em&gt;, one of her favorite stores. Adrianne loves lingerie (Is that how you spell it? I wish you were here to let me know). Adrianne loves anything that makes a person feel beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next, we ran into a friend of mine, and when he told us he had just read &lt;em&gt;The Road&lt;/em&gt;, by Cormac McCarthy, she instantly became his best friend and shared her love of everything Cormac McCarthy and her excitement for the movie of &lt;em&gt;The Road&lt;/em&gt; soon to come out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, we made a &lt;em&gt;Del Taco&lt;/em&gt; run. Adrianne loves &lt;em&gt;Del Taco&lt;/em&gt;. She ordered a load of food, refused to let me pay for my own order, (which she did all the time...she is one of the most generous people I know) and got a huge Diet Coke...her favorite. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As we sat down, she told me all about her sister's swim meet and how she was hoarse from cheering her family members on. So loyal. She loves her family so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She talked about her pregnant sister, the upcoming baby, and how excited she was for it to come. She talked about her pregnant sister's funny belly button and how great she thought it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me how funny she thought her brother-in-law Greg is and how his funny hand gestures make her laugh. She told me about how he once described his nipples as tarantulas (because they are hairy) while doing spider movements with his hands in front of his nipples. She demonstrated for me as I went into a fit of laughter. She told me how much she loved her sister and her husband and how perfect they are for each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She told me about her new job and how much she loved it! She told me about her instant friendship with the receptionist and how much they were alike. Adrianne was instantly friends with everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We then went and hung out at my brother's apartment where we watched SNL. She had comments for everything that happened and comments about all the actors. She knows everything about acting, television, and the film industry, and she has opinions on it all. She talked to everyone like she had known them forever and informed everyone that if they weren't already watching &lt;em&gt;30 Rock&lt;/em&gt;, they needed to be. She shared her love for Alec Baldwin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After awhile, we left, went home, and started getting ready for bed. She was excited that the only toothpaste I could find was my nephew's...bubble gum flavor and didn't hesitate to brush away while reminiscing about using it in childhood. Adrianne was passionate about everything! Her passion was always something I was a little jealous of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was totally okay with sharing a bed with me...it wasn't the first time. I was in love with hers and had fallen asleep in it several times on accident. She didn't mind at all. As we fell asleep, we talked about her friend Scott, about what a great person he was, how fun he was, and how she wished she could spend more time with him. She admired him a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we woke up. She told me how she hates to eat breakfast, how she hates waking up, and how happy she was to spend time with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She followed me to Maverick, filled up with gas, and she was on her way. One of the last things she told me was how much she loved and listened to a certain Death Cab song, and I am sad I cannot remember which one it is. I can't remember if I said I love you when she left, and I am sad about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About twenty minutes later, she joined all of our past loved ones on the other side. I will miss her, and I regret that I was not a better friend to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adrianne was there for me in all the times that mattered most in the nine months that we were friends. She was strong in a way that I was not, and she lent some of that strength to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Adrianne- You taught me to be a little more passionate, a little more strong willed, and a little more empathetic. You felt peoples' pain in a way I know I never will be able to. You made me feel beautiful and loved. I have never had a more loyal friend than you. You are amazing!! Someday, I hope we meet again, and I hope you will forgive me for my shortcomings. Because of you, I will be a better friend to everyone I come in contact with. I will love you forever, for eternity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your friend,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ashley&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-3590764805235983801?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/3590764805235983801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=3590764805235983801' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3590764805235983801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3590764805235983801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-am-sad_09.html' title='I love you Adrianne'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-5000228295588864277</id><published>2008-12-21T11:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-21T11:26:34.993-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I wish I could be creative like this...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://casasugar.com/2567794"&gt;&lt;img height="550" src="http://images.teamsugar.com/files/upl1/6/61259/49_2008/96fdf524ebe489f2_drawers_before-1.preview.jpg" width="508" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://images.teamsugar.com/files/upl1/6/61259/49_2008/b7206d9caacc407a_drawers_after4.preview.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img height="550" src="http://images.teamsugar.com/files/upl1/6/61259/49_2008/b7206d9caacc407a_drawers_after4.preview.jpg" width="413" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe someday...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-5000228295588864277?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/5000228295588864277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=5000228295588864277' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5000228295588864277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5000228295588864277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-wish-i-could-be-creative-like-this.html' title=''/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-5218848970735755838</id><published>2008-10-17T09:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-17T10:11:23.631-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Passing the stone was not the end...</title><content type='html'>So Monday afternoon, the day after I went to the doctor, I passed the stupid stone. I was immediately up and running and better than ever. By Wednesday morning, this was not the case. After going to bed at midnight, I woke up at 3am feeling extremely sick to my stomach. Within a half hour, I started throwing up. For around six to seven hours, I couldn't stop. I couldn't keep anything down, despite my extreme thirst.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finally decided it was time to go back to the doctor, and after trying to call several different people, Darren was once again the lucky winner. Once I got there, and they called my name, I listed off all of my new symptoms to a different face this time. He immediately had me hooked up to an IV and started pumping fluids and nausea medicine into me. I was extremely dehydrated, had a heart rate of 130, and a temperature. They drew blood, had me pee in a cup, and did a couple of x-rays. The best part was that I just couldn't stop crying. I think I may have broken a record for crying this year. Everytime I had to tell someone new what was up and everytime they left me alone in the room, I would cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I ended up being there for almost two hours. Darren was a great friend through it all and was a very good sport when I made him come sit next to me when they stuck the IV in. When they finally came in to talk to me about all their lab results, they weren't quite sure what was wrong. They were pretty positive I had a urinary tract infection but it was probably combined with other things as well. Other options included: more kidney stones, a system messed up from the narcotics they gave me for the kidney stones, or a virus which I am guessing was worse because of my weakened immune system from the kidney stones. Pretty much I blame it all on kidney stones. Then to make it all worse, they sent me home and said that if I kept throwing up or being light headed that I needed to come back in and have more tests done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now it is Friday, and I am feeling oh so much better. My mom came up and helped me clean and do my laundry. She even bought me food and made me breakfast. She is great. My dad came too. He was worried. I love both of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you stay tuned, my next post will include the best picture of my actual kidney stone that I could manage. Yay!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-5218848970735755838?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/5218848970735755838/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=5218848970735755838' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5218848970735755838'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5218848970735755838'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/10/passing-stone-was-not-end.html' title='Passing the stone was not the end...'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-3532141467382426265</id><published>2008-10-13T12:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-19T09:44:41.640-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I heart my kidneys :)</title><content type='html'>7am, Sunday Morning&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wake up to a sharp pain in my side...something like cramps, but not quite. I am pretty sure there is something wrong with me, so I call my mom and tell her I am dying. That is how I communicate pain to my mother; she knows I am kidding, but she definitely knows there is something wrong. She suggests I get one of my soundly sleeping room mates to take me to the emergency room. I cringe at the thought of inconveniencing anyone about my mysterious pain. I am sure they'll just think I am crazy. My mom's friend, who is with her at the moment, suggests I wait a little bit. I pop in some Tylenol and wish that my Mom isn't in California about to run a half marathon in an hour. I talk to her for a little longer, convincing myself that it is just some mysterious pain that no one wants to hear about. As the pain begins to reside, I am glad I haven't woken up any of my room mates. I go back to sleep only to wake up a half an hour later to get ready for church. There is no pain, I am happy, and I leave to church at 9am better than ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:30am&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am sitting in Sunday school listening to everyone talk about light. I am feeling anything but light as I experience a painful twinge in my side. I lean to my room mate, who I told about my mysterious pain on the way to church, and tell her that I think my pain is coming back. She just smiles. I think back to my past room mate and her mysterious pains and decide it is best to keep my pain to myself. So I sit there, trying to convince myself I am imagining it. Why I try to convince myself I am imagining it, I don't know; that would just provide more proof that I actually am crazy. Soon all I can think about is the pain, and I get up and leave with all my stuff. I know I am not coming back. ________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this is how it all started and this why I sit here in bed on a Monday afternoon instead of teaching high school. After leaving Sunday school, I had one of my room mates drive me home and then drove myself to the IHC Instacare. I didn't want to be that crazy person running into the emergency room with some unexplainable pain, and I didn't want to be that person who makes someone else come with them and support their claims about mysterious pains.  After I got all checked in and they called my name, I explained to the doctor all of my wonderful symptoms. To my surprise, he didn't even come close to looking at me like I was crazy and within five minutes of sitting in his office determined that I probably had kidney stones. (kidney stone: noun, a hard mass formed in the kidneys, typically consisting of insoluble calcium compounds) After telling him how much soda pop I drink, he decided that that was probably not the problem. Instead, he attributed them to heredity. Thanks mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pain just grew worse as I sat there, and the doctor explained to me that I was going to have to go to the hospital to get a CT scan just to make sure. He also said that they wouldn't give me any good drugs unless I could find someone to drive me. I tried to call my room mate and she didn't answer, so I called my good friend Darren, who was more than willing to offer his help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From there I got a wonderful sharp poke full of drugs in each side, a bottle of Gatorade to fill up my bladder, a drive to the hospital, and an ugly hospital gown and a CT scan. Not only that, but I was dizzy and felt like I was going to puke the whole time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we were done at the hospital, Darren drove me back to the Instacare, where right after I threw up, they informed me that, indeed, I was passing a kidney stone, and that there were several others waiting in my kidneys to come out in the years to come. The doctor informed me that it would be my "lot in life" to pass kidney stones. All I could imagine when he said that was someone several years down the road asking me what I do and me responding, "Oh, I pass kidney stones."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor filled out three different prescriptions for me, gave me a funnel with a strainy thing at the end to pee into, and a container in a bag marked "biohazard" to collect my stone in once it had passed. Once it does pass, I get to take it back to the hospital so that they can perform laboratory tests on a little rock that has spent its lifetime in my kidney and urinary tract.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I got on Google images and typed in kidney stone so that I could post some actual pictures, but pretty much they were too gross looking for me. So if you want to know what they look like, check them out yourself. Some of them looked like nothing less than a little piece of hell to me. Instead of providing you a picture of an actual stone, I will provide you a picture of where kidney stones are found in the body.  Take note of how far it has to travel before it makes its way out. The doctor actually told me that the CT scan showed that the stone only had a couple of centimeters left in my body, so it better come out pretty dang soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here ya go:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=kidney_stone.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/kidney_stone.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would like to offer a special thanks to my many wonderful friends:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Darren, who drove me everywhere I needed to go, didn't think I was crazy, didn't make fun of me in a hospital gown, and who dumped my puke in the toilet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Katie, who would've driven me everywhere if she could have and always made sure I was okay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chelsea and Shawna, who picked my car up from the Instacare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And thanks to everyone else who was even in the least bit concernced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you guys!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-3532141467382426265?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/3532141467382426265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=3532141467382426265' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3532141467382426265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3532141467382426265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/10/i-heart-my-kidneys.html' title='I heart my kidneys :)'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-1099110110955824416</id><published>2008-10-01T15:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T15:11:16.354-07:00</updated><title type='text'>With graduation drawing nearer...</title><content type='html'>So in December, I, Ashley Nicole Christensen, graduate with a Bachelor's degree in English from Utah State University.  I will also graduate with a Teaching Certificate.  Yay for completing a five plus year program in four and a half years! So this is the deal.  My mom wants to take me on a trip as a graduation gift but will only take me somewhere in the continental United States or Mexico.  Where should I go...what should I see?  I need some ideas!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-1099110110955824416?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/1099110110955824416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=1099110110955824416' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1099110110955824416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1099110110955824416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/10/with-graduation-drawing-nearer.html' title='With graduation drawing nearer...'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-5681092194159302180</id><published>2008-09-04T19:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T19:36:17.250-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Surprise</title><content type='html'>When do you think Ashley will notice her blog got a makeover? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy first week of school, Ms. Christensen!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-5681092194159302180?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/5681092194159302180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=5681092194159302180' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5681092194159302180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/5681092194159302180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/09/surprise.html' title='Surprise'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-9124308056563673101</id><published>2008-06-26T10:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T10:50:33.508-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome to my humble abode</title><content type='html'>So this summer, I am experiencing something I have never experienced before. I am living in a house, as a student. It is actually turning out to be quite wonderful. For one, I actually feel like I live in a home. Two, it is the cutest house ever. Even more great things: I only have two room mates, I have a washer and dryer, my room is super cool, and we have the most comfy man-family room ever. Here are the pictures to prove its greatness...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first glance, it just looks like a normal run down student home:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0440.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0440.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;But step inside, and you are in a whole new world. First is the kitchen...it is all remodeled, as is the rest of the house, but the remodeled-ness is especially apparent in the kitchen:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0427.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0427.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0426.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0426.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0428.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0428.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;If you enter the family room and turn left, the bathroom is directly to your right. Despite its similarity to a cave (it is quite small and has no windows), it pulls off adorable quite well:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0429.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0429.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0431.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0431.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0430.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0430.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Next is the Laundry room. Not only is it bigger than the average Laundry room, but Chess board linolium adorns the floor. Who wouldn't want Chess board linolium?:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0432.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0432.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Next is the man-family room. Its manliness is evident by its providing a home for two love sacs and a big screen TV:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0423.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0423.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0424.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0424.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0425.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0425.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;Last, and best of all, is my bedroom. Although it may be the smallest room in the house, no one can deny that it has the most personality. Why it was unwanted by my other two room mates may have to do with the fact that the floor slants, but I would take a slanty floor for a cute little window seat any day:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0434.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0434.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0436.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0436.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0435.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0435.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0438.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0438.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0437.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0437.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0439.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0439.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-9124308056563673101?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/9124308056563673101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=9124308056563673101' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/9124308056563673101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/9124308056563673101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/06/welcome-to-my-humble-abode.html' title='Welcome to my humble abode'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-2950756927658742645</id><published>2008-06-17T10:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-17T13:12:09.533-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I love my brothers because...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;1)&lt;/span&gt;They enjoy making ugly faces on a regular basis...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=101_0009-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/101_0009-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;faces which are painfully funny. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;2)&lt;/span&gt;They come up with strange ideas...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=101_0304-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/101_0304-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;like sticking apples on our heads...and then doing hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;3)&lt;/span&gt;They can do cool tricks...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=101_0302-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/101_0302-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;that most people can't do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;4)&lt;/span&gt;They love me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0447-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0447-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;5)&lt;/span&gt;They dress up in funny clothes...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0463-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;and walk around the house like it is the normal thing to do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;6)&lt;/span&gt;They do special things...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=101_0137-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/101_0137-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;to make sure I know they love me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;7)&lt;/span&gt;They are not afraid of acting stupid...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0495-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0495-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;especially in public.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;8)&lt;/span&gt;They make me laugh.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0464-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0464-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;9)&lt;/span&gt;Going places with them is an adventure.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=100_0493-1.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0493-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;10)&lt;/span&gt;They do the strangest things to make people laugh...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0488-1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Picture with Grandma, steak knife in left hand pointing at Grandma. Does Grandma know? No.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-2950756927658742645?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/2950756927658742645/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=2950756927658742645' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/2950756927658742645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/2950756927658742645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-love-my-brothers-because.html' title='I love my brothers because...'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-6950085686747524069</id><published>2008-06-11T10:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-11T10:45:01.813-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kari forces me to blog...</title><content type='html'>10 years ago: I was twelve years old, and I was still a very little girl. I definitely wasn't one of those 12 year olds who was already a young woman. I likely spent the majority of my June 10 years ago having sleep overs with my best friend Jessi, who to this day, is still my best friend. We both wore glasses and braces and didn't care much about boys. We had this tree that we carved our names into, probably that very summer, which we called "our tree." We still visit that tree...we are nerds. The last time we vistited it was probably about 6 months ago, right before Jessi left on her mission to Russia. It still has our names carved in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 years ago: I was dating my first boyfriend. We probably liked eachother for more than a year before the dating actually started to happen. We were afraid of each other. He had this ball he played with at work that he wouldn't let anyone touch... a plastic baseball. I kidnapped it and held it for ransom. I told him he had to take me on a date to get it back. It worked. I am a nerd. We spent a lot of time watching movies and laying on his tramp looking at the stars, but mostly we were just awkward around eachother and afraid to even hold eachothers' hands. That changed eventually, but not long before he too left on a mission to Russia.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 months ago: It was the beginning of a new semester...my last semester of my college career. Little did I know that it would be the most stressful semester of my life. 18 credits can be a killer. I went snowboarding for the first time, and yelled shit as a biffed it coming off the lift for the first time. I felt guilty...it was a church activity. Mostly I spent a lot of time falling down the mountain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 things on my to do list: finish my graduation application, have a talk with someone, visit Kari, pay my tithing, and write to Jessi in Russia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 snacks: applesauce (I just ate some), graham crackers with peanut butter, saltines with cheese, peanut butter m&amp;amp;ms, and Zubs brownies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 billionaire things: travel the world, help out my family, buy a nice camera, pay off student loans, live somewhere expensive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 places I have lived: Murray, Springville, and Logan...all in Utah. I don't really know if I have lived anywhere else...I can count the different places in Logan I have lived, but I would rather not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 things you might not know: 1. I have a scar on my chin from burning it on a toaster. 2. I played the flute in the band for five years. 3. I have a 3.9 GPA. 4. I HATE when people blow me off or cancel plans on me, more than almost anything. 5. I have never been on an airplane.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-6950085686747524069?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/6950085686747524069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=6950085686747524069' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/6950085686747524069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/6950085686747524069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/06/kari-forces-me-to-blog.html' title='Kari forces me to blog...'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-3669662352354574060</id><published>2008-04-08T13:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-08T13:54:04.823-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Conference in a Love Sac</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=IMGP0408.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/IMGP0408.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is why you do not watch conference in a Love Sac. I am on the left fast asleep. The other two girls are fast asleep as well, although one of them is not in a Love Sac. This is pretty much how I spent all four sessions of conference...I am a sinner. As for the &lt;a href="http://ryanmckoy.blogspot.com/"&gt;fourth person&lt;/a&gt;, who is taking the picture, he spent his four sessions of conference watching us sleep and creating &lt;a href="http://ryanmckoy.blogspot.com/2008/04/general-conference.html"&gt;digitial evidence&lt;/a&gt; of our failure to be good saints.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-3669662352354574060?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/3669662352354574060/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=3669662352354574060' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3669662352354574060'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3669662352354574060'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/04/conference-in-love-sac.html' title='Conference in a Love Sac'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-3709054131796878600</id><published>2008-02-20T21:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T21:31:09.893-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tag??</title><content type='html'>Hmm...interesting (or not so interesting) things about me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  I only cried four times last year but have somehow accomplished crying three times in one day already this year about things of much LESS importance.  Cars and school are definitely not worth being cried over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  The reason I procrastinate all school assignments is because if I do them early, I don't try my hardest because I figure I have time to fix it and make it better.  The problem is that once it is finished, crappy or not, I tend to have no desire to go back and fix it.  So if I procrastinate...I do my best work. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  One time at girls camp, when I was 16 years old, the young women's president in my ward told me I was more mature than my mother.  What she really meant was that over the last couple of days she had seen my mom act like a teenager more often than she had seen me act like a teenager.  I think this is still true today.  Instead of convincing me to buy a less revealing swimming suit this weekend, like most mothers would, she talked me into buying a bikini.  I wouldn't have her any other way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I usually don't like taking any type of drug other than antibiotics or painkillers.  Drowsy drugs give me the inability to sleep.  Pepto Bismol once made me almost throw up.  Abreva made my lips swell to twice their size.  Pshh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  For some reason, unknown to me, I tend to read both magazines and newpapers from back to front--most of the time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-3709054131796878600?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/3709054131796878600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=3709054131796878600' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3709054131796878600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3709054131796878600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/02/tag.html' title='Tag??'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-6494090767289219036</id><published>2008-01-25T13:36:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-25T13:41:47.753-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My new heading</title><content type='html'>Well look above at my cool new heading.  Thanks to &lt;a href="http://mkhobson.blogspot.com/"&gt;Kari&lt;/a&gt;, my blog doesn't look like every other person's templated blog.  Is templated a word?  Well now it is, and don't pretend you don't know what I mean by templated.  Thanks Kari.  You are nice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-6494090767289219036?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/6494090767289219036/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=6494090767289219036' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/6494090767289219036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/6494090767289219036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-new-heading.html' title='My new heading'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-3980934885988938849</id><published>2008-01-24T18:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-25T11:35:24.768-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pfff...me</title><content type='html'>Interesting things I have discovered about myself from recent pictures:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) I can lift one eyebrow&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;current=new.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/new.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) I can look really ugly in pictures&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;current=101_0132.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/101_0132.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) I make a good batman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;current=101_0142.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/101_0142.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) I fit pretty well in this dryer...and I think that possibly two of me could fit...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;current=100_0360.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/100_0360.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-3980934885988938849?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/3980934885988938849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=3980934885988938849' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3980934885988938849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/3980934885988938849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2008/01/interesting-things-i-have-discovered.html' title='Pfff...me'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-35678632093992477</id><published>2007-12-24T20:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-24T21:12:15.854-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas</title><content type='html'>I have been home since December 13th. Much too long to be home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;These are some new things I have learned while being home...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) My Dad might not have a sense of humor...while playing Apples to Apples, he didn't get why everyone kept picking the most funny comparison rather than the most likely comparison.&lt;br /&gt;2) My older brother has more of an ability to over react than I thought he did.&lt;br /&gt;3) Skills at Guitar Hero increase drastically if you play for four hours straight.&lt;br /&gt;4) I have friends who actually miss me.&lt;br /&gt;5) My mom has children I didn't know about...apparently my mom does not only mother her four children...but her friends at work as well. :) (Her friend Jason has given her the title Mom #2)&lt;br /&gt;6) Cell phones can be sent through the washer AND dryer and still work just fine.&lt;br /&gt;7) If your cell phone is missing for a couple of days...you might want to check in the dryer.&lt;br /&gt;8) If you count the people you know while you walk through the mall...you will be surprised how many people you know and see everyday but choose not to talk to.&lt;br /&gt;9) I really do not enjoy watching Christmas movies.&lt;br /&gt;10) I can eat a ton.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I learn anything more...I'll let ya know. But here is a little taste of my Christmas break and Christmas fun. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://s79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/?action=view&amp;amp;current=collage-4.jpg" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/collage-4.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-35678632093992477?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/35678632093992477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=35678632093992477' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/35678632093992477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/35678632093992477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2007/12/christmas.html' title='Christmas'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-232389309260995200</id><published>2007-11-28T16:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-30T17:51:20.955-08:00</updated><title type='text'>People</title><content type='html'>&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photobucket.com/" target="_blank"&gt;&lt;img alt="Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket" src="http://i79.photobucket.com/albums/j136/ashienickie/collage-1-2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;These right here--these are my favorite people. :)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-232389309260995200?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/232389309260995200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=232389309260995200' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/232389309260995200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/232389309260995200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2007/11/these-right-here-these-are-my-favorite.html' title='People'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-2442604213287593879</id><published>2007-11-17T19:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-17T19:22:00.579-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Randomness</title><content type='html'>Sometimes random things can be fun...like...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1) Going to get dinner with someone who I only met once and haven't seen for a year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2) Deciding that maybe I want to live somewhere besides in Utah this coming summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) Buying a book I have never even heard of just because it looked good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Asking someone I have never met before for help getting into my locked car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay...maybe not that random, but that is about as random as my life gets.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-2442604213287593879?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/2442604213287593879/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=2442604213287593879' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/2442604213287593879'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/2442604213287593879'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2007/11/randomness.html' title='Randomness'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2796571401436469501.post-1702695779426370282</id><published>2007-11-15T19:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T19:51:47.814-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh blogs...</title><content type='html'>I told myself that I would never make a blog, but here I am doing just that.  Don't ask my why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I think I will give people an update on what I am up to these days...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1)  I have officially decided that I am going to get a master's degree.   Woohoo.  For some reason a Bachelor's degree just isn't enough for me.&lt;br /&gt;2)  I am doing my practicum in a high school next semester.  You should start laughing now, cuz pretty sure I can still pass for a 17 year old.  I don't think I am excited to have high school boys hitting on me.&lt;br /&gt;3)  I am so ready to travel somewhere...even if it is not that cool.  Places which seem intriguing:  Seattle, New York City, and of course Europe...all of it.&lt;br /&gt;4) My newest favorite music is Colin Hay...and also the Garden State Soundtrack (which Colin Hay is on).  Funny because this is not the type of music I am usually enjoying...my favorite before this was Wilco...especially Hummingbird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well those are some glimpses into my life for the moment...bye.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2796571401436469501-1702695779426370282?l=ashienickie.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/feeds/1702695779426370282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2796571401436469501&amp;postID=1702695779426370282' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1702695779426370282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2796571401436469501/posts/default/1702695779426370282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ashienickie.blogspot.com/2007/11/oh-blogs.html' title='Oh blogs...'/><author><name>Ashley Christensen</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01870988636662189328</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='26' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_4SChQR43k0c/S7-ZeGGmEeI/AAAAAAAAA3c/jV1sLoJPloI/S220/ashy2.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
