<?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-6101815</id><updated>2011-04-21T19:15:26.599-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My Life in New York City</title><subtitle type='html'>Life in New York is more like an adventure than a life.  The following are notes and observations from this life...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>24</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-110122789511431099</id><published>2004-11-23T11:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-11-23T11:38:15.113-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Scary Subway Ride</title><summary type='text'>The ride to work today was SO COOL!!! Today the doors opened to the N train and I entered a car without electricity. Generally when I enter a car in Mid Summer and there's no A/C, I get out at the next stop and move to a "cooler" car. In Mid November A/C is not a factor but the lights are...I could tell that the lights were out when I entered the car. However, it didn't matter too much because </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/110122789511431099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/110122789511431099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_11_21_archive.html#110122789511431099' title='Scary Subway Ride'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-109405204279726207</id><published>2004-09-01T11:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-01T11:59:18.336-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My One Person Show</title><summary type='text'>In New York it seems like everyone has a one person show. Often it's a running joke. "I'm working on my one person show", usually ending with a laugh. But after several failed attempts at writing a stand up routine. I decided it was time for me to write a one person show. I didn't know what to write about at first so I started with writing about art. I've always been an art admirer but I have a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/109405204279726207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/109405204279726207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_08_29_archive.html#109405204279726207' title='My One Person Show'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-109405425080638510</id><published>2004-08-01T11:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-09-01T11:57:30.806-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My First One Bedroom Apartment</title><summary type='text'>Today was the first day in my brand new apartment. I LOVE it! Well, the apartment is great but I absolutely love living by myself. It's really a good feeling to have my on space. My friend Sabrina moved to Michigan and I got her place. I'm soooo lucky. We had an extremely humid move in today but the apartment looks very promising. Once I figure out the streets in Queens I'll be golden.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/109405425080638510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/109405425080638510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_08_01_archive.html#109405425080638510' title='My First One Bedroom Apartment'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-108613366165661586</id><published>2004-06-01T19:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-06-01T19:47:41.656-04:00</updated><title type='text'>My yellow umbrella</title><summary type='text'>My umbrella is gone and my heart feels broken. I know it sounds ridiculous but I feel more sad at the loss of my umbrella than when I lost my cell phone.  Phil gave me that umbrella at the beginning of our relationship.  It's the only present he's ever given me and now it's gone.  It was the perfect umbrella too.  Just small enough to fit in my purse.  It was a bright yellow and it came with a </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/108613366165661586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/108613366165661586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_05_30_archive.html#108613366165661586' title='My yellow umbrella'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-108575875242692135</id><published>2004-05-28T11:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-05-28T11:39:12.426-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Memorial Day Fears</title><summary type='text'>As I approach the upcoming Holiday, I am struck with fear.  I couldn't figure out what I should do this weekend so I thought maybe I'll go to the park?  I haven't been to Inwood Park in awhile.  If you haven't been there, it's the most beautiful park in the city.  It's the only natural park left on the island.  It is completely preserved in it's close to original state and in many areas you can't</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/108575875242692135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/108575875242692135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_05_23_archive.html#108575875242692135' title='Memorial Day Fears'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-108325128662437653</id><published>2004-04-28T10:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-29T11:12:23.856-04:00</updated><title type='text'>40 Ways to Know that you are a New Yorker</title><summary type='text'>My friend sent me an email forward entitled "40 Ways to know that you are a New Yorker".  Normally I read these, maybe crack a smile and hit delete.  But, in this case, I saw it as a way to get back into my writing habit.  Needless to say, I have been having trouble feeling inspired with a lot of things lately.  So, this might be just the push that I need.  I have given myself an assignment.  I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/108325128662437653'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/108325128662437653'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_04_25_archive.html#108325128662437653' title='40 Ways to Know that you are a New Yorker'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-108247118457414241</id><published>2004-04-20T10:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2004-04-20T10:30:29.233-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate roommates!</title><summary type='text'>You know how you get mad at someone for something that isn't really their fault but then it escalates and by the end it most definitely is their fault?  Well, that happened today.I woke up early because I had to sign up for an audition before I came into work and I didn't want to be late for work.  So, I got up a half an hour early.  And, not to mention, I had to pee really bad.  And my </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/108247118457414241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/108247118457414241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_04_18_archive.html#108247118457414241' title='I hate roommates!'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107772378426519267</id><published>2004-02-25T10:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-25T10:45:53.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The World According to Sark</title><summary type='text'>Our Lives are made of Adventure and the stories are everywhere.  The adventures can be common and uncommon, Tiny and Large.  The telling and sharing of adventure stories is an adventure itself.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107772378426519267'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107772378426519267'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_02_22_archive.html#107772378426519267' title='The World According to Sark'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107652879819638263</id><published>2004-02-09T13:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-11T14:49:08.153-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I got caught!</title><summary type='text'>I woke up late for work today so the subway was unusually crowded.  After squeezing my way on, I managed to stand smack dab against the door.  I hate leaning on the doors.  I have this fear that they'll just pop open on me and I'll die.  Well, after the train started to move, I noticed my coat was stuck in the door.  My first reaction was to pull, trying to free myself.  Then I thought, "What if </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107652879819638263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107652879819638263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_02_08_archive.html#107652879819638263' title='I got caught!'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107618909742160920</id><published>2004-02-07T16:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-02-07T16:27:22.043-05:00</updated><title type='text'>One Year Ago Today</title><summary type='text'>In New York, as in any city, your life can completely redirect in the matter of one second.  One year ago today, I was in a car accident returning from a ski trip in the Pokonos.  I remember thinking, "I'm going skiing in the Pokonos.  People only do that on TV."  So, I went on the ski trip.  It was vibrantly refreshing from my superficial life in New York City.  On the way back to the train </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107618909742160920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107618909742160920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_02_01_archive.html#107618909742160920' title='One Year Ago Today'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107453298072644909</id><published>2004-01-18T23:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-19T12:24:59.043-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hip Hop Video</title><summary type='text'>When I was in high school, one of my life's ambitions was to be a "fly girl".  You remember those girls that danced in between sketches on In Living Color?  J Lo was one of them, although I didn't know who she was at the time.  Well, my dreams of becoming a Fly Girl have long since past.  The show went off the air in the 90's and as I grow older I realize my body's not all it used to be.  But let</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107453298072644909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107453298072644909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_01_18_archive.html#107453298072644909' title='Hip Hop Video'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107453425586461675</id><published>2004-01-18T00:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-19T12:50:16.903-05:00</updated><title type='text'>No Pants Day</title><summary type='text'>Today I took my pants off on the subway.  It was with a group called Improv Everywhere.  They travel around the city performing improv on streets of New York.  Their improv is meant to draw attention and open the minds of jaded New Yorker's everywhere.  Well, today our mission was to take our pants off on the subway.We congregated on the steps of De La Guarda in Union Square.  Once the 30 </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107453425586461675'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107453425586461675'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_01_18_archive.html#107453425586461675' title='No Pants Day'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107420188239347240</id><published>2004-01-10T15:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-15T16:26:35.543-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My SNL Connection</title><summary type='text'>Last night I partied like a rock star!  I didn't even expect to either.  I went out after I watched an improv show and everybody left early.  So, Christina and I were like we wanna stay.  So, here we are, two girls sittin' downstairs at The Bull Moose, when in walks a flock of guys.  They walk straight to our table give a shout out and cross to the bar.  They were cute but definitely messed up on</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107420188239347240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107420188239347240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_01_04_archive.html#107420188239347240' title='My SNL Connection'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107409576473261180</id><published>2004-01-10T12:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-14T10:57:55.670-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The Black Box</title><summary type='text'>I have been living with a huge black rectangle on the bottom third of my television screen for the past three months.  I've asked everyone I know how to fix it, including my cousin who works for the cable company.  I assumed it was a problem with my cable line.  DVD's worked perfectly, no black box.  I have a cable line running to my TV but I don't have cable service.  This line helps me get five</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107409576473261180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107409576473261180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_01_04_archive.html#107409576473261180' title='The Black Box'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107345670543062863</id><published>2004-01-07T01:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2004-01-07T01:25:24.963-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hale to the Victors!</title><summary type='text'>Tonight I was hanging out with friend's for my roommates birthday, when I saw a commercial for ESPN that became the highlight of my evening.  Two people popped up on the screen-one wearing a Michigan sweatshirt and the other a Ohio State sweatshirt.  They were sitting on a couch making out.  I actually stood up and said the words, "oh my God that's disgusting".  Then, on the screen pops "Without </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107345670543062863'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107345670543062863'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2004_01_04_archive.html#107345670543062863' title='Hale to the Victors!'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107272756644313685</id><published>2003-12-29T14:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-12-29T15:45:24.506-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to New York</title><summary type='text'>I made it home safe and sound!  No major plane delays but I did have a little trouble at Louisville International Airport.  My mom walked me in, which she usually doesn't do but I'm glad she did because when I got to the counter I had to pay extra because my bag was too heavy.  Mom's always good for a couple bucks (just kidding).  Then I foolishly asked the guy if my printer would be OK if I </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107272756644313685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107272756644313685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2003_12_28_archive.html#107272756644313685' title='Back to New York'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107271616484279844</id><published>2003-12-27T23:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-12-29T15:46:51.100-05:00</updated><title type='text'>UofL/UofK</title><summary type='text'>Today was the day of the annual UofL/UofK basketball game.  Besides the Kentucky Derby, this is a prime time event in Kentucky sports.  So, what better to do than throw a party!!!  And without ruining the ending, man oh man was it fun!First of all, the party was great.  We had nacho dip, sausage balls, bourbon and Bud Light.  What more can you ask for?  My mom even bought blue and red plates to</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107271616484279844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107271616484279844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2003_12_21_archive.html#107271616484279844' title='UofL/UofK'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107272834180155160</id><published>2003-12-27T00:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-12-29T15:47:13.600-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Christmas Carol</title><summary type='text'>Tonight I saw Christmas Carol at Actors Theatre of Louisville.  I played the Giggling Sister two years ago and it's really a lot of fun seeing it again.  Although, last year the giggling sister was not up to par.  This year, I can safely safe she held her own.  Although, as my family would say, I am certainly the best giggler in town.I went to the show with Brent Langdon.  He's in New York now </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107272834180155160'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107272834180155160'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2003_12_21_archive.html#107272834180155160' title='A Christmas Carol'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107272981567152308</id><published>2003-12-25T22:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-12-29T15:47:37.100-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Merry Christmas!</title><summary type='text'>I love Christmas.  Giving gifts and spreading thank yous are two of my favorite things in life!  Christmas Eve is spent at my mom's family's house.  The home of Jay &amp; Sarah Conder, aka Grandma and Grandpa Conder.  This year's gifts of choice were fleece jogging suits.  All of the cousins got one.  It was the thing to do apparently.  Some even had little monkey butts.  Monkeys from Aeropostale.</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107272981567152308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107272981567152308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2003_12_21_archive.html#107272981567152308' title='Merry Christmas!'/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-107047440400407905</id><published>2003-11-27T17:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-12-03T13:03:02.543-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Don't ever take a cab to Newark Airport!  I like flying out of Newark because it's closer to my apartment than Laguardia.  So, I assumed a cab would be around the same price, if not less, but NOOOOOO...Where I usually pay $25 to LGA, I paid $55 to EWR.I only took a cab because I woke up late.  Normally I would take an Olympia Bus from Port Authority.  It's brilliant, only $12 and it leaves </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107047440400407905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/107047440400407905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2003_11_23_archive.html#107047440400407905' title=''/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-106986600471567270</id><published>2003-11-26T12:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-11-26T12:03:07.563-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>Musical Theatre people are funny.  Yesterday I went on an open call for Rattlestick Productions, a local theatre company.  At the same time, there were auditions for Children of Eden, the musical.  It was an open chorus call at the Equity Building.  Man, I thought I was in the wrong place.  Everyone looked like they were dressed in costumes (spandex and character shoes, wigs, fake faces).  They </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/106986600471567270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/106986600471567270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2003_11_23_archive.html#106986600471567270' title=''/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-106980035036254766</id><published>2003-11-25T17:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-11-25T17:48:41.530-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I hate carrying an umbrella when it rains.  Especially in the big city.  Especially when it's windy.  Especially when it's crowded.   Once a friend insisted that I borrow her umbrella, even though I knew I wouldn't see her to give it back.  I thought that was the kindest gesture.  A few weeks later my neighbor stopped by to borrow an umbrella.  I gave her that one.  I never got it back.  I hope </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/106980035036254766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/106980035036254766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2003_11_23_archive.html#106980035036254766' title=''/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-106934854901702307</id><published>2003-11-20T12:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-11-20T12:21:35.220-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I ride the "E" train to work every morning.  I ride in the last car, so I'll be right by the escalators when I exit.  The last car is always over crowded so I have to stand.  It's only 4 stops.  The escalators travel about two stories to the street level.  There is an unwritten rule to using the escalators:"STAND ON THE RIGHT/WALK ON THE LEFT"For some reason, not everyone knows this rule.  </summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/106934854901702307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/106934854901702307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2003_11_16_archive.html#106934854901702307' title=''/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6101815.post-106926620673486898</id><published>2003-11-19T13:23:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2003-11-19T13:29:20.410-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><summary type='text'>I am very excited about my new blog.  I didn't even know what a blog was until yesterday.  Now I have one on my website and it's a huge success.  Audiences are raving about it.  It's Very New York.  One day you're nothing and the next-EVERYTHING!</summary><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/106926620673486898'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6101815/posts/default/106926620673486898'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://stacymayer.blogspot.com/2003_11_16_archive.html#106926620673486898' title=''/><author><name>Stacy Mayer</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06386085654136934166</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='31' height='21' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_t50p4FKAVnc/S3r-s6kDHuI/AAAAAAAAAFA/X3w8YDLB2YU/S220/sm-new_headshot_high_res.jpg'/></author></entry></feed>
