<?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-3738732372223361500</id><updated>2011-04-21T11:24:27.174-07:00</updated><title type='text'>From the Drivers Seat</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-8936499376027390710</id><published>2008-04-02T18:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T18:45:13.949-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How Do You Know</title><content type='html'>Long time no post.  My brain has been over thinking many things lately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The latest thing I have been over thinking is how do you know when you're in love.  Or maybe in love enough to stay with the person you are with.  I've been with my partner for 7 years, and I know that I have not really been happy for a while now.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know what things that don't make me happy, such as his aunt and uncle that live with us.  He keeps telling me that they need to feel like it is their home too.  Unforutnately, that has meant that I end up having only 1 voice in 4 towards what goes on in the house.  And my voice tends to be the opposite of the intruders, so my partner gets caught in the middle.   So, I tend to just say do what ever, and walk away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We also have three dogs that I am totally responsible for.  He doesn't seem to feed them or care for them, even though we got each dog because he wanted them.  (I promis daddy, I'll take care of them).   So, I end up resenting the dogs, since I knew we didn't really have time for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I don't know if I am unhappy, as I feel like the money man, and the maid, or if it is more than that.  If the intruders left would things change?  If the dogs found new homes, would I be happy?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, how do you know you're in love?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you figure out what will make you happy?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3738732372223361500-8936499376027390710?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/8936499376027390710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=8936499376027390710&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/8936499376027390710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/8936499376027390710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2008/04/how-do-you-know.html' title='How Do You Know'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-8654628588180037270</id><published>2007-10-01T11:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-01T12:03:14.745-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I almost forgot</title><content type='html'>that I had a blog.  So sorry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, the other day I had one of those, I thought I saw everything, but apparently, I had not moments.  I went to lunch with an acquaintance.  As we were walking through the parking lot, I noticed a mom standing at the back of her SoccerMomSUV talking, but didn't see anyone.  I just figured she was using a wireless earpiece for her phone.  However, as we were walking by, being the nosy person I am, looked in the SoccerMomSUV to see what she had in there.  I was a bit taken aback as to what I saw... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was her daugher, who appeared to be 2 to 3 years old, sitting on a potty chair, pants around her ankles, in the back of the SoccerMomSUV.  Poor child will need therapy, being forced to go in public like that.  It was  a warm day.  If they were just getting there for lunch, I definately would pass on a ride home from them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RwFDjrZoMBI/AAAAAAAAABs/Vszt6u9ZR5I/s1600-h/potty.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5116444931894292498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RwFDjrZoMBI/AAAAAAAAABs/Vszt6u9ZR5I/s320/potty.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&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/3738732372223361500-8654628588180037270?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/8654628588180037270/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=8654628588180037270&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/8654628588180037270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/8654628588180037270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-almost-forgot.html' title='I almost forgot'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RwFDjrZoMBI/AAAAAAAAABs/Vszt6u9ZR5I/s72-c/potty.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-6514158254412099443</id><published>2007-09-13T08:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-13T09:00:32.748-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Little Respect....</title><content type='html'>has to be one of my favorite Erasure songs.  Fortunately for me, I was able to hear them perform the song live at their concert September 3, in Oxford, England.  I have seen Erasure peform live many times, but to hear them on their 'home turf' was, well, awesome.  Most, if not all, of the concerts here in the States, the audience skews to many gay men and women, probably in the 25 to 45 age bracket.  Well, at this concert I saw attendees as young as 10, and as old as 72 (I had to ask).  As for the orientation of the audience?  I would guess 75% straight, and the remainder gay men/women.  The energy was intense.  I don't think anyone sat down for the entire concert.  Everyone was up dancing, and singing along, yes, even the older generation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The vacation too me to London and Paris.  The first time for me in Paris, I lost count on London, as due to my father's job as a pilot, most vacations were to England, Ireland or Scotland, our heritage.  Paris was nice.  However, I will save more for later.  I need to get back to replaying the concert in my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh L'Amour.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RuldGDWdT4I/AAAAAAAAABE/7BhtdareuPQ/s1600-h/Andy+Bell.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109717610788638594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RuldGDWdT4I/AAAAAAAAABE/7BhtdareuPQ/s320/Andy+Bell.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&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/3738732372223361500-6514158254412099443?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/6514158254412099443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=6514158254412099443&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/6514158254412099443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/6514158254412099443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/09/little-respect.html' title='A Little Respect....'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RuldGDWdT4I/AAAAAAAAABE/7BhtdareuPQ/s72-c/Andy+Bell.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-1385807719932651541</id><published>2007-08-24T06:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-24T06:15:29.300-07:00</updated><title type='text'>T.M.I.</title><content type='html'>A couple of weeks ago I had to go to Boston for work. Unfortunately, I was unable to travel alone, and the Annoying Attorney and Indian Princess joined me. These two like to hear the sound of their own voice, so it was not so bad, in that they kept each other entertained. However AA left on Tuesday afternoon, leaving me alone with IP on Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;IP did her best to try and find out about me, what is my story kinda questions, and being just overall annoying. I should have asked her to just be quiet, and if I wanted to share about myself I would. Well, she decided to share things about other people she knows in a hope to get me to feel comfortable telling her things. Umm... okay, you want me to tell you a 'deep dark secret', yet here you are sharing others secrets with me? Sure..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, one of her friends secrets was just Too Much Information. It turns out one of her girlfrieds suffers from Sperm Allergy, so is allergic to her husbands sperm. She then went on to tell me the details, that she won't let the husband come near her unless he is double wrapped. I was just in shock. They are from a culture where there is supposed to be no premarital nookie, and no nookie outside of marriage, so the guy will always be wearing a rain coat. Even with the rain coat, there will be no oral invovled. Poor guy. I quickly switched the subject.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, earlier this week, she begins talking about it to me, asking me if I knew of any 'self pleasuring' techniques the husband might use to simulate some oral or regular intercourse so he can 'complete himself' as if it were real. So, I asked her if he was a good looking man. She said he was, so I told her, to give him my phone number, I would take care of him when his wife wouldn't/couldn't. She got disgusted, walked away, and hasn't talked to me since.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, why ask a horny gay guy that question and expect a different answer?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rs7ZvQOaU1I/AAAAAAAAAA8/42WZvxnmMIw/s1600-h/sperm.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5102254833689842514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rs7ZvQOaU1I/AAAAAAAAAA8/42WZvxnmMIw/s320/sperm.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3738732372223361500-1385807719932651541?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/1385807719932651541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=1385807719932651541&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/1385807719932651541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/1385807719932651541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/08/tmi.html' title='T.M.I.'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rs7ZvQOaU1I/AAAAAAAAAA8/42WZvxnmMIw/s72-c/sperm.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-5382475207403158268</id><published>2007-08-20T11:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T11:21:03.202-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Team Players</title><content type='html'>Apparently, according to my boss, I am not a team player. I found this strange, as when it comes to work, I feel I very much am a team player. If a group needs a leader, I lead, if a group has a leader and needs &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;contributors&lt;/span&gt;, I contribute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So her saying this bothered me somewhat, so I asked around. Apparently, her definition of a team player is one who not only works well with others, but also plays well with others. Her definition of play well is go to lunch with the group every day, attend social functions with them when they chose to go out. I attempted to have lunch every now and again with the team, however, when ever I attempted to add to the conversation, they were not interested in hearing what I have to say. Besides, I don't love my job, so therefore, I like my hour break from everyone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Friday we did a team building exercise, and we took a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;DiSC&lt;/span&gt; profile personality test (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;similar&lt;/span&gt; to the Meyers-Briggs). It showed that my boss and I don't get along very well on a social level or on a work level either. Wish they told me something I didn't know.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I don't think I will be much more of a team player. Unless the team looks like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RsnbNQOaU0I/AAAAAAAAAA0/Ju9VXcfYBi4/s1600-h/team+players.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5100849073713992514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RsnbNQOaU0I/AAAAAAAAAA0/Ju9VXcfYBi4/s320/team+players.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3738732372223361500-5382475207403158268?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/5382475207403158268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=5382475207403158268&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/5382475207403158268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/5382475207403158268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/08/team-players.html' title='Team Players'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RsnbNQOaU0I/AAAAAAAAAA0/Ju9VXcfYBi4/s72-c/team+players.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-622868785776908717</id><published>2007-07-31T11:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-31T11:47:15.544-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Boston ...  Legal</title><content type='html'>Well, next week, I will be off to Boston for a few days for work. I'm excited to be traveling again, but my travel companions are less than desirable companions. First, it was already told to me they do not wish to visit any gay bars. My response was, a) your loss, and b) you weren't invited anyway. My companions are BossLady and Indian Princess. This will be my first time traveling with them, and I am trying to keep an open mind, however, with that unsolicited comment, I can't imagine it will be much fun. I am sure they will be giving me the evil eye, as I have already upgraded my flights and hotel room, using perks earned from my prior job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The last time I was there was in 1987, so I know it has changed. Also, on that trip I was mugged. The mugging did not keep me away this long, however, there were other places I chose to vacation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am kinda excited, as I do like the show Boston Legal. Now, I know they only film exterior shots there, if even those. However, I will attempt to see if I can find the buildings. I know, geeky.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; So, if anyone knows what else there is to do in Boston, please let me know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rq-DdN5sSHI/AAAAAAAAAAs/lda0Y46-6sw/s1600-h/Denny+Crane.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093434241550403698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rq-DdN5sSHI/AAAAAAAAAAs/lda0Y46-6sw/s320/Denny+Crane.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Denny Crane&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rq-DYd5sSGI/AAAAAAAAAAk/jVVI4pL4C6I/s1600-h/Boston+Legal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5093434159946025058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rq-DYd5sSGI/AAAAAAAAAAk/jVVI4pL4C6I/s320/Boston+Legal.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.sarjaopas.com/kuvat/Boston_Legal_iso.jpg&amp;imgrefurl=http://www.sarjaopas.com/index.php%3Falue%3Dsarjat%26genre%3DDraama%26ID%3D22&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;h=294&amp;w=608&amp;amp;sz=53&amp;hl=en&amp;amp;start=0&amp;tbnid=iXG-yILYE-SlhM:&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;tbnh=66&amp;tbnw=136&amp;amp;prev=/images%3Fq%3DBoston%2BLegal%26gbv%3D2%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3738732372223361500-622868785776908717?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/622868785776908717/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=622868785776908717&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/622868785776908717'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/622868785776908717'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/07/boston.html' title='Boston ...  Legal'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rq-DdN5sSHI/AAAAAAAAAAs/lda0Y46-6sw/s72-c/Denny+Crane.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-1933219629092086938</id><published>2007-07-24T07:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-24T07:48:18.821-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Jimmy Buffet ...  A New Respect</title><content type='html'>As I mentioned earlier, I drive Limo part time.  On Saturday, I was hired to drive a chartered limo (hired by the hour) to take a group of people to the Jimmy Buffet Concert.  While I enjoy his music, I never really thought about going to his concert.  However, based upon last Saturday night, I may have to change my mind.  What a party there was.  As we arrived at the parking lot, I noticed most Limos, as well as &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Buses&lt;/span&gt; &amp; RVs in the next lot, and cars in the other lot, were surrounded by people partying away.  My clients were &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;slightly&lt;/span&gt; buzzed having been drinking various rum drinks.  They partied with some of the other concert goers.  And there was quite a show going on nearby as well.  There were no restrooms near us, so when people had to go, they just went &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;into&lt;/span&gt;the weeds by the parking lot.  Men, women, young, old, gay, straight, didn't matter, they just went.  For, me, I saw way too many naked women, and not enough naked men, but hey at least I saw some.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At one point, after my clients went into the concert, I was just hanging by the car, and this small group of people came by, with one woman coming up to me saying, "You need like you need to get &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;lei'd&lt;/span&gt;" and preceded to plant a big sloppy kiss on me, put a lei around my neck, and said, "Damn, boy, I hope that was as good for you, as it was for me."  Trying to let her down easy, I replied it was good, but for me, it would have been better if her male friend was the one who &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;lei'd&lt;/span&gt; me.  Next thing I know, he said, "Why the hell not, first time for everything."  So, he came, leaned in, so we had a nice long, lingering kiss.  "Damn, man, with lips and a kiss like that you probably could have any man or woman here."  Then he &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;lei'd&lt;/span&gt; me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My clients were quite impressed when I told them I got &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;lei'd&lt;/span&gt; twice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, while I would never have thought about attending a Jimmy Buffet concert before, I have a new respect for the party that is the concert. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RqYOct5sSFI/AAAAAAAAAAc/odF2k2Shbg8/s1600-h/Lei.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5090772315309623378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RqYOct5sSFI/AAAAAAAAAAc/odF2k2Shbg8/s320/Lei.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&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/3738732372223361500-1933219629092086938?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/1933219629092086938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=1933219629092086938&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/1933219629092086938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/1933219629092086938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/07/jimmy-buffet-new-respect.html' title='Jimmy Buffet ...  A New Respect'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/RqYOct5sSFI/AAAAAAAAAAc/odF2k2Shbg8/s72-c/Lei.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-4375291125816683193</id><published>2007-07-19T08:43:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-19T10:33:27.358-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Some One Needs to Chill.....</title><content type='html'>Well, it has been a few days since I posted last. Thanks to my good friend David  &lt;a href="http://www.dwqonline.com/"&gt;http://www.dwqonline.com/&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.dwqonline.com/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;for reminding me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not a lot has happened. I did go see the new Harry Potter movie. I enjoyed it. Nice to know only one more year (or so) before he is legal here in the US to lust over. However, when I go to London in September, the age is only 16, so I can lust after him if I see him. (As if I have a chance).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did go to Kohl's today at lunch to look for shoes. (They usually have decent prices on Sketchers). And a bizarre thing happened to me. I parked my car in the parking lot, and started walking in behind this guy. Apparently, he was going to look at shoes as well, so once in the store, we ended up taking the same path to shoes. Everytime I turned the aisle to look at shoes, here he was. I thought to my self, "Self, is this dude following me? Checking me out? Stalking me? I hope not, as I don't find him attractive at all." Apparently, we made our decisions at the same time, and ended up in the same line at the register. Once outside in the parking lot, it figures his car is parked next to mine. As he sees me enter my car, he said loud enough for me to hear, "Figures the Faggot would be stalking me in the store. I ain't interested." To which I replied, "Sir, only in your wildest dreams and imaginations would I ever do anything sexual with you. Besides, you are the one stalking me, so please leave me alone." That boy needs to chill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rp-f4L-HzbI/AAAAAAAAAAU/yfWoBUJ0vrA/s1600-h/Ice+Cube.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5088961891586788786" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rp-f4L-HzbI/AAAAAAAAAAU/yfWoBUJ0vrA/s320/Ice+Cube.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So how is your day?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3738732372223361500-4375291125816683193?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/4375291125816683193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=4375291125816683193&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/4375291125816683193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/4375291125816683193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/07/some-one-needs-to-chill.html' title='Some One Needs to Chill.....'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Rp-f4L-HzbI/AAAAAAAAAAU/yfWoBUJ0vrA/s72-c/Ice+Cube.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-8268002356842680597</id><published>2007-07-06T07:08:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-06T07:19:48.740-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fingers</title><content type='html'>As a person who drives alot, I also look around alot. I am one of those who, when at a stop light, looks at the other drivers around me. Afterall, one of them my be my future ex-husband. So, I appologize if it was me when you were thinking, "Geez, that guy should take a picture, it would last longer." But, be assured, if I am looking too long, that means you are very good looking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing I do notice is the use of fingers. Of course, many people use the most known finger to wave hi all the time. However, it is the index finger that causes me concern when I look around. It also causes me concern that many people think they can't be seen in their cars. I mean, why on earth would a huge percentage of people pick their nose while they can be seen?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5084087834826593554" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="103" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Ro5O8vm5VRI/AAAAAAAAAAM/8X2Onkf8o5A/s200/nose.jpg" width="91" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it is even more scary, so much so I have to look away, when their fingers are removed from their nose, and head towards their mouth....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3738732372223361500-8268002356842680597?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/8268002356842680597/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=8268002356842680597&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/8268002356842680597'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/8268002356842680597'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/07/fingers.html' title='Fingers'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_tvuMpEsqTTE/Ro5O8vm5VRI/AAAAAAAAAAM/8X2Onkf8o5A/s72-c/nose.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-3033176519710980421</id><published>2007-07-02T11:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-07-02T12:02:18.972-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Little About Me</title><content type='html'>Thanks for stopping by and taking a look see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On my prior blog, I did a 100 things list.  I may do one here, but figured right now maybe some actual prose might be a good idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, My name is Scott.  I live in the Chicago Suburbs, with my partner M and our three 'children', Buffy, Glacier and Prue.  The kids all have four feet, as they are Siberian Huskies.  M and I have been together for 6 1/2 years, and have been married (at least in the eyes of Canadian Law) for 3 1/2 years.  Cher played our reception in Toronto, October 31, 2003.  It was an intimate affair with 50,000 of our closest friends in attendence.  Of course that was to be her final North American Concert.  I have seen her twice in North America since then.  I guess she changed her mind.  Divas are allowed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, more later.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3738732372223361500-3033176519710980421?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/3033176519710980421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=3033176519710980421&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/3033176519710980421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/3033176519710980421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/07/little-about-me.html' title='A Little About Me'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-8339876737620184121</id><published>2007-06-20T15:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-20T15:31:02.330-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Why The Title</title><content type='html'>Some may wonder where the title to this blog comes from.  Since this blog will probably be my view on the world, it feels natural to me to say it is from the drivers seat.  Living the the suburbs of a large midwestern city, and living 40 miles from my office I spend a lot of time commuting.  Also, I am invovled in the limo business, thus spend a fair amount of time driving around that way was well.   Makes sense to me anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3738732372223361500-8339876737620184121?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/8339876737620184121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=8339876737620184121&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/8339876737620184121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/8339876737620184121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/06/why-title.html' title='Why The Title'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3738732372223361500.post-7479120343409033833</id><published>2007-06-18T12:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-06-18T12:43:03.272-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wow...  a blog</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Welcome to my blog.  I had a blog in the past (A Day In the Life of Scott), but ended it. Decided to try again.  So, until I begin to write.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/3738732372223361500-7479120343409033833?l=fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/feeds/7479120343409033833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=3738732372223361500&amp;postID=7479120343409033833&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/7479120343409033833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/3738732372223361500/posts/default/7479120343409033833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fromthedriversseat.blogspot.com/2007/06/wow-blog.html' title='Wow...  a blog'/><author><name>Scott C</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02600199732382688024</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
