tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176829704548523811.post1170201268328800284..comments2024-01-03T19:02:28.070-08:00Comments on oodles of funch: ChattyAnanda girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09578471199205376974noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176829704548523811.post-69637123341729860712009-03-16T19:06:00.000-07:002009-03-16T19:06:00.000-07:00I always try to listen to my gut. Sometimes I seco...I always try to listen to my gut. Sometimes I second guess myself, but my gut is usually right.Churlitahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/05018288474865559384noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176829704548523811.post-84933836844743775962009-03-15T02:18:00.000-07:002009-03-15T02:18:00.000-07:00It can really make you feel silly when you miss st...It can really make you feel silly when you miss stuff like that, after the initial shock wears off. And then if you're like me, you get pissed off to think that someone would do that to you. It's such a personal thing. Maybe not for the criminal, but it is to the victim.<BR/><BR/>Glad you dropped in.Ananda girlhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09578471199205376974noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176829704548523811.post-66397310954076242922009-03-14T18:41:00.000-07:002009-03-14T18:41:00.000-07:00I got into my car once in the parking garage and h...I got into my car once in the parking garage and had the weird sense that something was amiss. Then I saw black dust al over the dash and a note from the cops telilng me to call them. Only then did I look around and see that my window had been smashed out. Apparently the police had had already been by to dust for prints.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176829704548523811.post-92164555249439176162009-03-14T16:55:00.000-07:002009-03-14T16:55:00.000-07:00Oh I am so glad you drove around the block! I had...Oh I am so glad you drove around the block! <BR/><BR/>I had a similar experience way back in the early 70s. I'd just come home from a movie with friends and was home alone in our big old house. I was 16. Someone knocked on our door, which had a big glass window in it. I peeked out at a guy dressed like Grizzly Adams... Mr.Mountain Icky Guy. I could see his car behind him with it's hood up. But he didn't look right at all. He asked to use the phone and I told him we didn't have one... which could have been a bad idea. But the phone chose that moment to ring and I ran to the phone. It was my friend, Annie who told me to sneak out and see if he was still there. I crab-walked back to the window and sure enough, he and his car were gone! <BR/>Annie told me to stay put, stuck a steak knife in the bib of her overalls and drug her neighbor boy all the way to my house to make sure that I was safe. (What a friend! And we are still very close friends now 38 years later.)<BR/><BR/>But isn't that creepy?Ananda girlhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09578471199205376974noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7176829704548523811.post-46297687372207379682009-03-14T14:38:00.000-07:002009-03-14T14:38:00.000-07:00I am a big believer in instinct, gut feeling, or, ...I am a big believer in instinct, gut feeling, or, as I call it, "Spidey Sense." I've always had it in spades and I listen to it.<BR/><BR/>Since I'm feeling chatty as well, I'll relate an example of "Spidey Sense" that happened to me. I was pregnant with my second child and strapping my first into her car seat. I noticed a car with 4 african-american youths drive past my house. <BR/><BR/>It was the middle of the day and it struck me as very odd. Let me tell you, my spidey senses were tingling up a storm. <BR/><BR/>I drove off, but couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness, so I drove around the block and came back home. Sure enough, the car was parked in my drive way. Once they noticed me taking down their license plate number, they pulled out of my drive way just smiling and jiving all the way.<BR/><BR/>I always listened to my spidey sense before that day and I'm not about to stop now.cubehttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13788126579896276199noreply@blogger.com