<?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-13951437</id><updated>2011-07-14T17:24:10.887-04:00</updated><title type='text'>This Grawl Is Fredeschay!</title><subtitle type='html'>Fredeschay is a blog about a family in Sims 2. It is written by a group of friends who met in the beta stages of The Sims Online. This group has created a couple of Sims 2 neighborhoods to share with each other.

This blog will focus on the family of CJ Fredeschay and his descendants as they work, live, love and play in the grawl of Fredeschay.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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>70</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-113202139973636510</id><published>2005-11-14T19:49:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-14T21:35:27.066-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby, baby, baby!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/harry%207%20lydia%20wed.1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/harry%207%20lydia%20wed.1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/harry%20weds%202.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/herm%20weds.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/herm%20weds.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/harry%20weds.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harry and Hermione have a double wedding at the Fredeschay Estate. Lydia was gorgeous in a lime satin dress and Parker wore his trademark shag. Several family friends and coworkers (as well as the ubiquitous Kay Bachmann) showed up to wish the couples well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eager to start their new families, both Lydia and Hermione soon find themselves pregnant. &lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/herm%20preg.0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/herm%20preg.0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/lydia%20really%20preg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/lydia%20really%20preg.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lydia gives birth first to a very lively red headed boy, which Harry promptly names Iago. Shortly thereafter, Hermione also gives birth to another little boy and names him Iggy after her favorite musician.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/Iggy%20Knight%20is%20born.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/Iggy%20Knight%20is%20born.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/harry%20happy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/harry%20happy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While staying at home during the pregnancy, Hermione had decided to give in and finally become a vampire. The want has been nagging her long enough and the time has come to get it done and over with (plus she really wants her own casket). So she talks to Captain CJ who is more than happy to oblige.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/herm%20vamp.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/herm%20vamp.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beseiged by the same nagging want, Harry follows suit shortly thereafter, with a little help from his sister.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/harrys%20bit%202.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/harrys%20bit%202.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, neither Parker nor Lydia are happy with these changes, regardless of the fact that their better halves are still really good looking vampires. Parker seems to have taken it harder and decides to buy his own house for his growing family. And so the Knights move out of the Fredeschay Estate with little Iggy in tow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lydia may not be thrilled with the vampire situation, but she seems to like it just fine. Enough to find herself pregnant again with Harry's second child (Two down, four to go!). Iago grows into a toddler shortly before his brother Ike's birth and Lydia can't help but daydream about their weddings...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/Iago%20tod.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/Iago%20tod.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/Ike%20Fredeschay.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/Ike%20Fredeschay.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/13951437-113202139973636510?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/113202139973636510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=113202139973636510' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/113202139973636510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/113202139973636510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/11/baby-baby-baby.html' title='Baby, baby, baby!'/><author><name>Isolt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16731786457632696748</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-13951437.post-113191558149008127</id><published>2005-11-13T15:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2005-11-13T18:34:37.403-05:00</updated><title type='text'>And so it goes...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d082a275.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/bitten%202.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/bitten%202.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Harry's so called weirdness led him to befriend the local vampire families, whose members dropped by frequently at night (of course) to enjoy some much needed R&amp;R at the Fredeschay estate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Captain CJ, always the horndog, was intrigued by a pretty, grey skinned contessa with blonde hair and red eyes and turned on the charm immediately. The way he saw it, it was not cheating if Gabriella was asleep and the object of his affections was of a different species altogether.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What he didn't take into consideration, though, was the fact that not only the Contessa was not attracted to his slick ways, she also had a penchant for biting... with long - term consequences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there she was, lounging around in her red swimsuit (to match her glowing red eyes), when the mummy, er, Captain CJ came by once again and tried to goose her. Tired of his unwanted advances, the Contessa proceeded to mesmerize him with her purple glow of doom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harry walked in on them right as the biting was taking place but he figured it was best not to interrupt. The need to become a vampire had been persistently nagging at him day after day and he thought he'd see how things went for the old man before he caved in and indulged his little want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/bitten.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/bitten.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sun came out shortly after that and the Contessa flew home, not before telling Harry where he could purchase some quality caskets for the old man to sleep in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/captain%20vampire%202.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/captain%20vampire%202.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever the practical sim, Harry had one delivered immediately (money talks...) and then went on about his regular business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He had not heard from Brenda since graduating from college. Everytime he called her, she seemed to be too busy with some paper or the other. Bored after having reached the top of his career, Harry wants to have some fun. Surely all that money can get him some, right (Fun, that is)? So he decides to call the local matchmaker and get ready for a night out on the town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The results are less than stellar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/failed%20date.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/failed%20date.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harry quickly sends his date back home without even asking her name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things seem to be going a lot better for the innocent Hermione. A surgeon at Fredeschay General who has yet to be kissed, Hermione likes to try out new things (that does not include PJs), and wonders why there's a casket in the Captain's bedroom. She has noticed he's quite ashen lately but it's not like he's dead or anything... right? Hermione tries out the casket and soon enough, she too, has a persistent want to become a vampire. However, she decides to take her brother's advice and wait and see how things go for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/casket%20testing.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/casket%20testing.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the meantime, she seems to be spending more and more time with the really cute Parker Knight. Sure he's not the most active sim out there... but he is cute... and the first one to kiss Hermione. Ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/herm%20in%20love.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/herm%20in%20love.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Hermione is totally and completely in love. It seems Parker is too, and soon enough they have a quiet engagement party, where they both wear the most fancy schmancy attire they own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/engaged%20too.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/engaged%20too.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Parker has let his hair grow since they last saw each other in college and now sports a sexy goatee. He even wants to be a medical chief of staff, just like her!! Hermione can't believe how lucky she is and cannot wait to be Mrs. Parker Knight. But will Parker be able to live in the wierd Fredescahy household with that old man that just won't die?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the other hand, Harry is thrilled that things are going so well for his sister and wishes they would turn around for him, too. With Brenda still MIA, he calls up his friend Lydia and asks her out for coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harry and Lydia met briefly at a frat party a few years ago and had remaind friends ever since. Lydia attended all girl's schools all her life and was a bit too "outgoing" for Harry's taste. But now Harry is just crazy about Lydia's Princess Leia hairdo and she seems to have calmed down now and he's really enjoying her company. She seems to like him as well, dropping by several times a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They slow danced to the music in their heads one afternoon...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d082a275.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d082a275.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then they kissed!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_7082a28e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/snapshot_cfb86687_7082a28e.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boy, was Harry going to have a LOT of explaining to do if Brenda ever showed up! But... wait a minute... Brenda's not here, is she? And so the inevitable happens...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/One%20wild%20night.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/One%20wild%20night.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems like Harry's destiny is about to change.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-113191558149008127?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/113191558149008127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=113191558149008127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/113191558149008127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/113191558149008127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/11/and-so-it-goes.html' title='And so it goes...'/><author><name>Isolt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16731786457632696748</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-13951437.post-112948457637208922</id><published>2005-10-16T13:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-16T14:27:30.106-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wrapping up loose ends</title><content type='html'>Hermione joined her older brother at LFT and the two of them moved in with their Aunt Gwyneth and Uncle Galahad. The two "elder" students were set to graduate very soon, so it wasn't long before it was just Harry and Hermione. School flew by and Harry graduated Magna Cum Laude with a degree in Mathematics and the only skill he was not a complete expert at was Creativity. Within two days of being home, he remedied that and fulfilled his dream of becoming the Grawl's resident mad scientist. Although he did have a hot girlfriend in the form of Brenda Sims, Harry was content with his destiny of being weird, Uncle Harry, educator of future Fredeschay generations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_70333055_f05db860.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_70333055_f05db860.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d05dd315.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d05dd315.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gabriella and CJ were blissfully happy with one another, a fact not dampened when Gabriella turned into the hottest old lady in the Grawl. For some odd reason she sort of wanted a facelift but Captain CJ said &lt;em&gt;"Baby, don't change a thing!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_905dcdf9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_905dcdf9.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hermione finished off her senior year by completing all her required coursework in record time.  This gave her plenty of opportunities to throw some raging parties. Although she had yet to be kissed, she did have several very good male friends. After one last Turkey N' Samba party, Hermione headed home with her well earned Physics degree in hand. She was well pleased to get a job as a surgeon at the Grawl Medical Center. Now she just needed to decide which of her three closest friends would move to the next level. Would it be Parker "Lazy Ass" Knight, granola hippie Zeeshan Reeves or her friend since teenhood, Ian Cormier? Only time would tell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_70333055_f05e6c67.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_70333055_f05e6c67.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_70333055_705e7004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_70333055_705e7004.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112948457637208922?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112948457637208922/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112948457637208922' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112948457637208922'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112948457637208922'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/wrapping-up-loose-ends.html' title='Wrapping up loose ends'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112941483713593845</id><published>2005-10-15T18:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-15T18:31:13.063-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Once a horndog, always a horndog</title><content type='html'>Stately Fredeschay Manor.  When the family was unable to move Vincent's urn to the graveyard because of the overgrowth of weeds, they decided to bridge the moat so the gardener could get in as well as create a separate alcove for Tristen's grave. Tristen's headstone spent one night on its secluded island and then mysteriously disappeared. The family reaction to the loss was underwhelming. The rest of the Fredschay ghosts took the opportunity to haunt like hell - and thus Hermoine met her grandfather Vincent I one night while snarfing down some pasta.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_105c296f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_105c296f.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gabriella, in the meantime, was desperate to win back CJ's affections. Her obsession now was not only to not die old and never married (guess the two times she married Vincent II didn't count) but to specifically marry CJ. Captain CJ was Captain CJ after all, so it wasn't long before he forgot all about that unpleasant jilting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_905c2864.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_905c2864.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_105c2e8d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_105c2e8d.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The two got married in their pajamas one day after Hermoine left for school.  This time Gabriella initiated the vows, just to prove to CJ that she was serious this time.  Hermione was nonplussed on her arrival from school, and she figured that there was no time like the present to join her brother at school. Because like, OMG senior citizen WooHoo? Ewwwww!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f05c2b5b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f05c2b5b.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_70333055_f05d58b7.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_70333055_f05d58b7.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112941483713593845?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112941483713593845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112941483713593845' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112941483713593845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112941483713593845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/once-horndog-always-horndog.html' title='Once a horndog, always a horndog'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112941419768364380</id><published>2005-10-15T18:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-15T18:15:52.816-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Boy Who Joybuzzered</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_efca9ed1_305c2f95.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_efca9ed1_305c2f95.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harry wasted no time getting down to work when he arrived at the Cayon Dorms at LFT. His mother had tried to encourage him to be a little more fun loving, or at least get the hell off the chess board once in a while. It hadn't worked, Harry was as much of a humorless boor as ever but he wanted to make his mother happy. When uber playful Reed Patch showed up at the dorm trying to rouse everyone in a school cheer, Harry decided to give &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;joie de vivre&lt;/span&gt; a try and hit Reed with the old Joybuzzer trick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_efca9ed1_f05c33e1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_efca9ed1_f05c33e1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As expected, Harry's lack of natural ability was more than evident. Oh, it was ugly. Reed, despite being the King of the Joybuzzer did not appreciate the tables being turned. He poked Harry in the chest and called him an assortment of rude names. Harry wasn't about to take that lying down and shoved the llama suited punk. The resulting fight left Harry with a lighting bolt shaped scar over his right eyebrow and a renewed resolve that playfulness sucked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_efca9ed1_505c3427.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_efca9ed1_505c3427.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112941419768364380?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112941419768364380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112941419768364380' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112941419768364380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112941419768364380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/boy-who-joybuzzered.html' title='The Boy Who Joybuzzered'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112931943192774191</id><published>2005-10-14T15:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-14T16:30:54.736-04:00</updated><title type='text'>As the Grawl Turns</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_505af439.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_505af439.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f05aeedc.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f05aeedc.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the death of his father, Harry decided to postpone his admission to college until his sister became a teenager. But his reasons weren't purely altruistic, the extra time would allow him to really start skilling in earnest.  Captain CJ was more than happy to pass on his knowledge of making the perfect chocolate truffle and the best club to use when putting from a distance. Harry's natural aptitude in so many differet discplines attracted the eye of the local headmaster and soon Harry and his sister were students at Grawl Country Day School.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gabriella was faring less well. Becoming a widow for the second time, from the same man took its toll.  One day at work she fumbled a critical citizen defense manuever and was unceremoniously dumped as Captain Hero.  It didn't matter, the job couldn't fill the empty hole in her life and she desperately wanted to get married again. Her two biggest fears were losing the little love she had left for CJ and being old and unmarried. At first she though maybe she'd cozy up to Ian Cormier, the handsome young man who walked by their house on occasion but Gabriella realized she just wasn't going to have time to build up their relationship before she aged. In desperation, she proposed to CJ who gladly accepted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_b05af5e8.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_b05af5e8.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then something strange happened. Gabriella panicked, what would happen if she married  her great-great grandfather? Would there be some kind of repercussions? Would the Grawl Board object and revoke their colonization license? So, despite being the one who wanted it all along, Gabriella refused CJ when the time came to say "I do". That was it, the fragile love was gone, in fact as far as CJ was concerned, he didn't even KNOW Gabriella anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_905afc8e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_905afc8e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hermoine, completely oblivious to the drama swirling around her happily turned into a gorgeous teenager.  A childhood spent watching her family die, come back to life and die again made her determined to become the best doctor in the Grawl. Harry was very proud of her and felt this was the best time for him to be off to college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_efca9ed1_d05afdf2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_efca9ed1_d05afdf2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112931943192774191?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112931943192774191/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112931943192774191' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112931943192774191'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112931943192774191'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/as-grawl-turns.html' title='As the Grawl Turns'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112888487051935373</id><published>2005-10-09T15:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-09T15:29:51.373-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Death for the Win!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f05553ad.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f05553ad.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It started out as such a good day at stately Fredeschay manor. Gabriella returned from work after achieving her final promotion and was awash with joy. Harry was doing extremely well in school and it was Hermione's birthday. No one felt like throwing a party, so just the immediate family and Vincent's buddy Randy Ng from work cheered on the tot as she blasted into a well-skilled child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_b0555619.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_b0555619.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The party also served to push Vincent and Randy's friendship over the edge and they became best friends. In fact, Randy was Vincent's tenth best friend! It was as if this day couldn't get any better, Vincent thought joyously.  He was so flush with success that he thought he'd just fix that trash compactor that everyone had been neglecting. Maybe it was too much cake, or perhaps his happiness distracted him but despite having a bit of experience with mechanics, Vincent fried like Colonel Sanders. Everyone was distressed, particularly Randy, who just stood there horrified, ankle deep in refuse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d05554f5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d05554f5.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f055554f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f055554f.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vincent hadn't used up all his lives yet. He survived charred, but without even wetting his pants. He excused himself from his guests and went upstairs to take a quick nap so he could make it through a shower before collapsing. Before he could make it however, Knut decided what was good for Eloise was good for him and made with the &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Ooga Booga&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d0555659.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d0555659.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Death, a bit rancorous from his previous failed attempts to collect a fresh Fredeschay soul, was beside himself with glee to find Vincent curled up in a stinking fetal heap.  Gabriella had already hit the sack and Captain CJ was too busy whining that Vincent's fetid corpse was in his way, so Death faced no resistance adding to his Vincent collection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_b0555794.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_b0555794.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_105557ae.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_105557ae.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112888487051935373?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112888487051935373/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112888487051935373' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112888487051935373'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112888487051935373'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/death-for-win.html' title='Death for the Win!'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112870578810071213</id><published>2005-10-07T13:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-07T13:34:45.203-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Could this be normalcy?</title><content type='html'>It wasn't long before Gabriella discovered the reason for her sudden collapse. She was pregnant again with Vincent's child.  Captain CJ was still completely oblivious to Vincent and Gabriella's affair and didn't seem to question the appearance of a new baby.  Gabriella gave birth to a girl, whom they named, what else, Hermione.  The child had a sparkling 10/6/4/9/6 personality. Gabriella was so happy to have her family complete and perfect again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f05269f5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f05269f5.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gabriella spent a few days teaching Hermione the basics of life, then decided to get a job in law enforcement. She knew that the only thing that could make her happier than her family was to protect and serve her "family" of Grawl citizens! Captain CJ came out of his meditative state long enough to whip Gabriella into shape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_9052950a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_9052950a.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever cautious of being found out, Gabriella and Vincent got married in a furtive ceremony in the downstairs bathroom. The only witness to the event was Brittany Parker - who for once in her life wasn't being annoying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_105296d3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_105296d3.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the arrival of his more personable sister, the pressure was off newly teenaged Harry somewhat. This made him extremely pleased because it meant he could focus on the serious pursuit of knowledge. He could play chess as long as he wanted without his parents prodding him to "just get outside once in a while."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_30529c17.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_30529c17.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112870578810071213?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112870578810071213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112870578810071213' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112870578810071213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112870578810071213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/could-this-be-normalcy.html' title='Could this be normalcy?'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112864660470369237</id><published>2005-10-06T20:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T21:05:12.226-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Death on speed dial</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_3051ac6c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_3051ac6c.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Captain CJ finished his daily meditation, he didn't seem to notice that Gabriella was sleeping in the middle of the day or that Vincent was wandering around in his underwear.  He was so blissfully ignorant that he gladly agreed to give the younger man some cooking lessons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_b051ad8e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_b051ad8e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But things were not all rosy for Gabriella. Apparently her little romp with Vincent took more out of her than she expected and when she went to get up, she promptly collapsed into an exanimate heap on the floor. Vincent, who was just stepping out of the shower, had this odd urge to start weeping so he rushed upstairs to see the spectral image of his old nemesis the Grim Reaper floating in. Not for nothing had Vincent died and come back to life twice, he made short work of guessing in what bony hand Grim was hiding Gabriella's immortal soul. Mr. Death had no choice but to give up yet another Fredeschay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_5051ae05.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_5051ae05.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_7051ae28.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_7051ae28.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112864660470369237?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112864660470369237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112864660470369237' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112864660470369237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112864660470369237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/death-on-speed-dial.html' title='Death on speed dial'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112864151980642174</id><published>2005-10-06T19:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-06T19:44:13.440-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Zen and the Art of Cheating on Your Lover</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_704f0eb9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_704f0eb9.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harry was devestated by Fiona's "tragic accident" but then his parents bought him a brand new telescope and he felt significantly better. The rest of the family took the whole thing rather well. Gabriella had been longing to flirt with Vincent, but just didn't feel right doing it while he was technically her stepfather. With Fiona out of the picture, however, that barrier was lifted. But still, the matter of Captain CJ would have to be addressed before she could go any further.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f04f10eb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f04f10eb.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a well-known fact that Captain CJ, when not being an autonomous horndog, liked to spend his time meditating in his new Tranquility Garden. Perhaps, Gabriella thought, this was the opening she was looking for. She'd had a mysterious illness earlier in the week, so she told Vincent she was heading up to bed to "relax" and perhaps he could check on her in a few minutes to make sure she wasn't still running a fever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_504f10ae.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_504f10ae.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vincent came up to check on Gabriella and was drawn to her simple, yet oddly stimulating white pajamas.  The two partook in some playful banter with lots of clever innuendo about having a fever and being hot (that god is far too tired to think up at the moment).  As Gabriella drifted off in post-firework bliss she thought it would be really nice to get engaged to Vincent again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d04f1108.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d04f1108.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Captain CJ was none the wiser.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112864151980642174?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112864151980642174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112864151980642174' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112864151980642174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112864151980642174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/zen-and-art-of-cheating-on-your-lover.html' title='Zen and the Art of Cheating on Your Lover'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112847428786542397</id><published>2005-10-04T20:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-05T07:59:44.906-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A Tale of Two Vincents</title><content type='html'>It all started with a sweater. Fiona came home with it one day after a trip to the Fredeschay Supply Company. Vincent thought it a bit odd as Fiona knew he preferred the more urban chic look of a leather coat, but the gesture was sweet so he started wearing it around the house. Then Fiona suggested he stop wearing his contact lenses. His glasses made him look so much sexier, she purred.  Vincent again agreed.  But he started getting suspicious when she brought home a clip on pontytail. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Your hair would look so much better long, and this way we don't have to wait for it to grow.&lt;/span&gt;. Reluctantly he clipped it on, and was about to comply with Fiona's wish that he shave off his goatee when he happened to pass Gabriella on his way to the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Oh my ANNE!&lt;/span&gt; she gasped. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;If you had a tan you'd look just like my FATHER!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_304f0e1e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_304f0e1e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ohhhh, it all became crystal clear to Vincent (who was still a little slow from his last near death experience). That explained the appointment tomorrow at Grawl Tan! Fiona was trying to remake Vincent in Vincent's image! She didn't love him at all - she just wanted a Vincent surrogate. Vincent seethed in anger - he had given up his lovely young wife, broken his home for this woman and here was his repayment! He would make her pay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f04f1037.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f04f1037.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The entire next evening, Vincent worked furtively in the yard, not coming to bed until nearly dawn.  Then he sat and waited for Fiona to wake up. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;"Darling, you have got to see the fabulous Halloween decorations I put up. We're going to win the Grawl decorating contest this year for sure!"&lt;/span&gt;. He led her out to the backyard where a large, sinister looking inflatable Jack O' Lantern sat beside a long forgotten walled garden.  Fiona was delighted by it&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt; Oh! And look at that cunning creepy plant - you really went all out Vincent.&lt;/span&gt; And thus, Fiona was finally with her one true Vincent, just as she had always wanted.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112847428786542397?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112847428786542397/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112847428786542397' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112847428786542397'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112847428786542397'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/tale-of-two-vincents.html' title='A Tale of Two Vincents'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112836537391011606</id><published>2005-10-03T14:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T20:13:24.523-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Self-control and the lack thereof</title><content type='html'>The tumult of her romantic life must have aged Fiona rapidly, because she became an elder soon after her marriage to her former son-in-law.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_304c7fd6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_304c7fd6.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was just in time for her to look more grandmotherly for little Harry, a much doted-on tyke despite his rather uninspiring 7/9/6/0/6 personality. Harry learned all the important life skills early and concentrated on improving his toddler charisma, which would benefit him later on in his life as a humorless windbag. Still, he had the cuteness of youth, and his family adored him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_504c7660.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_504c7660.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Harry's mother Gabriella longed for some love in her life and even a new baby, but she was still on strained terms with Vincent since his accident and subsequent resurrection. Some part of her was keeping a flame burning for Vincent, as she harbored a secret desire to flirt with him and once again become his best friend. But since he'd moved on to her mother, it seemed a little too awkward to try and patch things up. And really, what could she give Vincent that Fiona couldn't? Sure, she'd saved him from death, but just the other night he had a scare from Grandma Eloise and would have turned into an urn again right there in the stairwell if not for some shrewd bargaining by Fiona, so even that advantage was lost. Gabriella had to wonder if she was a fool for even wanting to get back together with someone who had such a hard time staying alive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_704c8441.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_704c8441.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it was the fact that she so wanted to fall in love again that made her flirt with Captain CJ. Or maybe he flirted with her first, there's no telling; he had secretly wanted to for days. Maybe it was the fact that the old man had become such a lonely, desperate horndog, an autonomous wanker who couldn't even keep it in his pants for ten freaking minutes while he should have been busy training his own distant descendant on the punching bag--who's to say. All Gabriella knew was that it thrilled her to be in love again, but at the same time, she realized it was a stupid move. I mean, only total hobags sleep with their ancestors, right? She found herself starting little arguments with CJ to try and snap herself out of it, but really, she feared losing her love for him. A lot. And Captain CJ was so fond of her that it looked like he would never feel otherwise. This definitely complicated Gabriella's plans to someday get back together with the father of her child. Crap, crap, crap.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112836537391011606?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112836537391011606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112836537391011606' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112836537391011606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112836537391011606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/self-control-and-lack-thereof.html' title='Self-control and the lack thereof'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112836524390539146</id><published>2005-10-03T14:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T20:12:51.963-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello, Kettle?  Pot here...</title><content type='html'>Fiona Bachman, nee Fredeschay, was obviously no stranger to love. She collected lovers like Girl Scout badges. But, in her opinion, what's good for the goose is DEFINITELY not good for the…well, the other goose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't long after Fiona had hopped out of the hot tub with her newest lover Vincent that her partner Kay came home from work. Whew, that was a close one! Kay had been cultivating a friendship with a guy named Oliver, which was important to her because--once a cheerleader, always a cheerleader--she still clung to her obsession with being popular. Fiona hadn't taken much notice; she figured that Kay was just being kind to Oliver after his terrible face-flattening run-in with a wall made him a turnoff to all the other colonists in the Grawl. So, she was completely unprepared for what she found in the hallway that evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_104c6baf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_104c6baf.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiona was, hypocritically, furious.  She was so enraged that she impulsively sent Kay packing and threw away her wedding ring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_304c6bcc.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_304c6bcc.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_304c6bed.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_304c6bed.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily Vincent was around to console her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A night of consolation made Vincent fall even more deeply in love with Fiona, and in his morning giddiness, he thought the best way to ease Fiona's pain was to marry her straight away. Fiona, on the rebound, agreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_504c72c0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_504c72c0.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And thus Fiona became, once again, a Fredeschay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112836524390539146?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112836524390539146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112836524390539146' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112836524390539146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112836524390539146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/hello-kettle-pot-here.html' title='Hello, Kettle?  Pot here...'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112828600444017359</id><published>2005-10-02T16:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T20:12:05.736-04:00</updated><title type='text'>When you aren't with the one you love...</title><content type='html'>Vincent's journey to the great beyond had understandably traumatized both him and Gabriella, and things between them just weren't the same after he came back from the dead. Now that he was a serious, energetic, tidy extrovert, Gabriella felt like she didn't know him very well anymore. Though estranged, they both stayed at Fredeschay Manor for the sake of their future child. One could hardly blame Fiona, then, for noticing one night in the hot tub that Vincent was really quite a hunky Sim.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vincent, who had never realized how hot his mother-in-law was before either, was seeing Fiona in a new light as well. Soon the two were sneaking "alone time" together in the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_504b1e49.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_504b1e49.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_304b1eed.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_304b1eed.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, it wasn't long before Kay had to go off to work and the two lovebirds were relaxing on the bed upstairs, gazing into each other's eyes, moving close...and finally, after waiting so long...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_304c70ce.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_304c70ce.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...they jumped out of bed to run downstairs and watch Gabriella give birth to a beautiful baby boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_b04b2618.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_b04b2618.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pondering an appropriate name, Gabriella racked her brain...should she choose a Native American name like Hahkethomemah? Or something in the old English tradition, like Haestingas, Haethowine, or Hagaleah...or Hagaward, meaning "keeper of the hedged enclosure"! It was perfect!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_504b262d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_504b262d.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah, but wait: Captain CJ had finally gotten sick of the hours upon hours of hedge-trimming and the veritable grassland of weeds and, in a hayfever-induced fit of insanity, mowed down every flower and shrub on the property and replaced the immense front hedge wall with some well-placed trees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, Harry it was.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112828600444017359?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112828600444017359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112828600444017359' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828600444017359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828600444017359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/when-you-arent-with-one-you-love.html' title='When you aren&apos;t with the one you love...'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112828561625825425</id><published>2005-10-02T16:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T20:11:40.496-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It pays to be cheap</title><content type='html'>Gabriella was overwhelmed with grief by her husband's sudden death, and in the middle of her pregnancy, too. It reminded her so much of her dear father's demise; there was definitely a Vincent Curse in the Fredeschay family. She wished that there were some way, any way, that her beloved Vincent could be there to see the birth of their child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was then that she remembered a dusty old artifact in a dark corner of a room upstairs…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_304ae48f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_304ae48f.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gabriella placed a tearful long-distance phone call to the Grim Reaper himself, and, miracle of miracles, Vincent appeared before her!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_504ae506.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_504ae506.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was little wonder that after his ordeal, Vincent just wasn't all that playful anymore. But, on the upside, he wanted to make the best of his new lease on life and was determined to be neater, more active, and more outgoing than ever before!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112828561625825425?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112828561625825425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112828561625825425' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828561625825425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828561625825425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/it-pays-to-be-cheap.html' title='It pays to be cheap'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112828534347161007</id><published>2005-10-02T16:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-03T14:56:02.973-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The fun stops here</title><content type='html'>It wasn't long before Gabriella started to pooch out a little and realized she and Vincent were going to have a baby. She was excited about the little one on the way, though Vincent seemed more interested in making friends with her family than in looking forward to parenthood. Gabriella was a little sad to see that he was so uninterested, but then again, it was hard to expect much from Vincent. Even though she loved him, she knew that he was essentially a shy, lazy slob.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What he lacked in all those areas, though, he made up in playfulness; Vincent was more playful than anyone you'd ever meet. He could never resist the temptation to make a game out of everything, even trimming the family's substantial and perpetually-overgrown front hedge when its sheer immensity was too much for the gardener to handle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_904ae127.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_904ae127.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_704ae191.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_704ae191.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f04ae205.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_f04ae205.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_704ae25a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_704ae25a.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_104ae27d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_104ae27d.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d04ae2b1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_d04ae2b1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d04ae2d6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_d04ae2d6.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_b04ae407.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_b04ae407.jpg" alt="" 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/13951437-112828534347161007?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112828534347161007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112828534347161007' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828534347161007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828534347161007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/fun-stops-here.html' title='The fun stops here'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112828517648280657</id><published>2005-10-02T16:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-02T17:10:15.636-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Welcome home</title><content type='html'>After approximately seventeen years of college, Gabriella and Vincent were finally ready to bid Gwyneth and Galahad farewell and head back to Fredeschay with their diplomas in hand. They got out of the taxi and decided, right there on the front stoop in the middle of the night, to get married. Not really knowing what the sleeping arrangements were around the Manor these days, the happy couple commandeered the closest double bed and consummated the quickie marriage with, well, a quickie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_7049733d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_cfb86687_7049733d.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things around Fredeschay Manor were as contentious as always. Gabriella's mother Fiona was living there with her partner Kay, an arrangement which had somehow angered the family's ageless patriarch, Captain CJ. Gabriella could only surmise that it was because Fiona had abandoned the Fredeschay name and taken Kay's surname, because, really, what else could it possibly be? At any rate, Fiona still seemed to have warm feelings for her great-grandfather, but he had nothing but contempt for both her and Kay. Again with the fun Fredeschay family dynamic. Perhaps the ghost of Tristen was somehow involved.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112828517648280657?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112828517648280657/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112828517648280657' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828517648280657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828517648280657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/welcome-home.html' title='Welcome home'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112828505239924312</id><published>2005-10-02T16:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-02T17:06:29.056-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A stranger's just a friend you haven't met</title><content type='html'>Vincent's new determination to make lots of friends-—or, heck, even just a few friends, seeing as he was kind of a wallflower-—was proving to be quite a task. He had taken to stopping random passersby outside the dorm if they looked like they'd be friendly, simply to try his hand at casual chatting. The first person he stopped for a meet-and-greet was a cheerful young woman named Lindsay Pai, who was, Vincent secretly thought, very attractive, although some tragedy seemed to have befallen her because she had absolutely no hair. Vincent tried not to bring it up after initially embarrassing himself by asking about her taste in hats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_70333055_9039fc9b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_70333055_9039fc9b.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He also got quite friendly with a nice-looking female nudist who happened by the dorm. She ran in hooting and hollering and making a scene, but once Vincent chatted her up, she was happy to lounge around making conversation and playing darts in the buff. Still, with all the work involved in keeping a straight-A average and his steadfast addiction to lounging around watching TV, Vincent found it hard to be the social butterfly he wanted to be. Just as well, as Gabriella might have been jealous of all the pretty (and occasionally naked) women that Vincent seemed to be hanging around with.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_70333055_9038c443.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_70333055_9038c443.jpg" alt="" 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/13951437-112828505239924312?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112828505239924312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112828505239924312' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828505239924312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828505239924312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/strangers-just-friend-you-havent-met.html' title='A stranger&apos;s just a friend you haven&apos;t met'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112828478318343013</id><published>2005-10-02T16:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-02T17:05:47.890-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ch-ch-ch-changes</title><content type='html'>Gwyneth had also once thought that having lots of friends was the key to happiness, but since she was failing pretty dismally in the pursuit of that lifestyle, she was rethinking her priorities as well. She determined that what she really wanted was to grow old with that special someone, although in the short term, falling in love and having some WooHoo would be just about right. Unfortunately, however, Gwyneth didn't have that special someone in mind. So grave was her desperation after a few terms of loneliness that she cornered her dorm neighbor, the rugged Payton LeTourneau, and after one kiss, she decided she wanted to get engaged right then and there. Payton wisely made himself scarce "at class" and "asleep in bed" for quite some time thereafter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_70333055_d049606a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_70333055_d049606a.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_70333055_504960a9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_70333055_504960a9.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Galahad, not wanting to buck the trend, wondered if his own goal of being a money-grubbing business tycoon was maybe a little shallow. He decided that his two older sisters had it right: the better goal was to have a family. And when he had a family one day, he wanted to have three kids just like Gabriella, Gwyneth, and himself—-except perhaps with a mate who was not, in fact, related to him-—who could all go to college together and get their degrees, just like the three of them were doing now. Starry-eyed, Galahad finally professed his love to his dormmate, Barbra Streisand lookalike LaShanda Carr, who had the incredibly attractive qualities of being conveniently nearby and already knowing him. Ah, true love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_70333055_50495dbe.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/400/snapshot_70333055_50495dbe.jpg" alt="" 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/13951437-112828478318343013?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112828478318343013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112828478318343013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828478318343013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828478318343013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/ch-ch-ch-changes.html' title='Ch-ch-ch-changes'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112828461148208006</id><published>2005-10-02T16:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-10-02T17:04:11.773-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Giving it the old college try</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_70333055_30495886.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_70333055_30495886.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Those college years just slip away like sand through your fingers, don't they? One day you're a dreamy-eyed freshman; the next, some hundreds of thousands of actual days later, there you go, a proud college graduate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Fredeschay kids were nowhere near that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gabriella, Gwyneth, Galahad, and Gabriella's main squeeze Vincent Gray were all living in the same dorm at La Fiesta Tech. It was that or the dorm occupied by the spirit of a long-dead guy named Blair, and nobody wanted to chance that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Galahad had decided to major in economics so that he could someday become a money-grubbing business tycoon, an idea that made him quite cheerful. Vincent chose a major in physics, mostly just to play to his strength of mechanical skill, since all he really wanted to do was settle down and have a family. Gabriella wanted a family too, but she also wanted a career, ideally as a superhero. In fact, though she loved Vincent, his yammering on and on about how he wanted to get married and have six kids and see them all get married someday, too, and the beautiful circle of life blah blah blah, was making her rather uneasy. She subtly tried to convince Vincent to look beyond his family goals, suggesting there might be more to life (and, in the case of family size, less). Her incessant hinting must have eventually worked its way into Vincent's brain, because one day he woke up and said, "Of course! A circle of friends is like one BIG family! THAT'S what's really important! Someday I want to be surrounded by lots and lots and lots of best friends." It was a pretty ambitious goal for someone who wasn't particularly outgoing and, in fact, had no friends outside the Fredeschay family, but Vincent was just a guy who liked to dream big. Gabriella could only sigh and roll her eyes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112828461148208006?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112828461148208006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112828461148208006' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828461148208006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112828461148208006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/10/giving-it-old-college-try.html' title='Giving it the old college try'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112673724098201266</id><published>2005-09-14T18:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-14T20:41:09.680-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Who's Yer daddy?!?!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/Galahad%20close%20up.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/Galahad%20close%20up.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Galahad grows into a handsome little boy and the mystery of his origins continues, although sometimes when Eloise looks at him, she sees a resemblance here and there. Could it be...? No... That's impossible. In any case, she doesn't care, because Galahad is the most adorable little boy ever. With all the tutoring and studying he's been exposed to, he is soon enrolled in private school with his older sisters, where he proves himself smart and athletic, and makes many friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Captain CJ, Knut, Eloise and Fiona are all very proud of him, even though Captain CJ is a bit off in the head due to his age. Knut and Eloise are not too young themselves, and while he is retired and enjoys gardening and photography (and making out in the terrace), Eloise loves going to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_7031fbb6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/snapshot_cfb86687_7031fbb6.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiona, on the other hand seems to have acheived a healthy balance. Having reached the pinnacle of her career, she can afford herself the luxury of pursuing other interests, mainly perky, cheerful ones. While she doesn't seem to be able to focus her interest in just one person, Kay Bachman, the once pesky cheerleader, sure does take up a lot of her free time. With Kay and Fiona's past history, one would wonder why they would be spending so much time together now, but with Vincent gone as well as all those other men whose names she can't remember, Kay seems to be a firm presence in Fiona's life. She is more mature now and has changed her hairstyle, which makes Fiona's dislike for her tone down a bit. Little Galahad is not very fond of her, but it's not like they're getting married or anything, so Fiona doesn't worry much about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day, Kay comes by to visit as always and just out of the blue, she kisses Fiona. She then goes on to confess that she's always had a crush on her and that's why she was so mean to Vincent. Fiona is touched and flattered, and from then on, they become inseparable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/snapshot_cfb86687_30344fa3.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;p&gt;With Gabriella and Vincent gone off to La Fiesta Tech, the house is a lot more quiet than it used to be, even though Gwyneth seems to have the same phone bug as well. She has grown into a lovely teenager with many friends. She'd like to have a boyfriend but she wants to get rid of some extra pounds that make her self- conscious.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/Galahad%20n%20Gwyn.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/Galahad%20n%20Gwyn.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;At La Fiesta Tech, both Gabriella and Vincent have fit in nicely. The first thing she does when she arrives on campus is hit the Mirage shops, of course, for a new set of clothes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Vincent doesn't care much for clothes, so he keeps his standard issue outfit and focuses on the more important things, namely, books.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Gabriella certainly is a complex creature. Once her shopping spree is over (it's good to be a Fredeschay!), she is so happy with all her purchases, and her new wardrobe... that she streaks for joy all over the parking lot!!!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/thumbnail_0000000a_3033331b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 128px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 97px" height="95" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/thumbnail_0000000a_3033331b.jpg" width="189" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;But not everything can be happiness and shopping sprees in a sim's life and all things must come to an end. In this case, Knut and Eloise. Probably the oldest sims ever to live in the Grawl, they pass whithin a few hours of each other and are deeply mourned by their families.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_9031fce3.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_9031fcda.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/snapshot_cfb86687_9031fcda.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d0344d84.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d0344d84.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Gwyneth goes away to college shortly thereafter and joins Gabriella and Vincent at La Fiesta Tech. Galahad grows up into a very handsome teenager, with only one thing on his mind (no, not THAT): Money. He wants to be a businessman... a very rich one.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In an unexpected turn of events, his grief-stricken mother marries the cheerleader and even takes her name! Galahad is furious and can't take it anymore. He enrolls in the advanced program of his high school, graduates ahead of his class&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/thumbnail_cfb86687_d0344f72.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/thumbnail_cfb86687_d0344f72.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; and heads out to La Fiesta to join his sisters...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/thumbnail_cfb86687_70344c34.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/thumbnail_cfb86687_70344c34.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/13951437-112673724098201266?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112673724098201266/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112673724098201266' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112673724098201266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112673724098201266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/09/whos-yer-daddy.html' title='Who&apos;s Yer daddy?!?!'/><author><name>Isolt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16731786457632696748</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112621083224891673</id><published>2005-09-08T15:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-08T16:55:05.496-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Can you hear me now?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/grandmas%20lil%20boy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/grandmas%20lil%20boy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/a%20baby%20is%20born1.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Galahad soon grows up to be a cute little toddler, and for all her mumblings about his origins, Eloise bakes him a cake and blows out the candles for him. Nobody can resist a smiling baby!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CJ spends a lot of his free time with Galahad, just like he did with Gabriella and Gwyneth before him. He really enjoys teaching the little boy how to walk, talk and even how to use the potty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soon they are best friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/galahad%20walks.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/galahad%20and%20grandpa1.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/galahad%20and%20grandpa2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But Galahad is not the only one growing in the Fredeschay household. The girls are growing like weeds, too (Fiona barely notices because she's busy trying tu fulfill her new lifetime want of 20 lovers...), especially Gabriella who goes from this:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/big%20gabby.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/big%20gabby.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/before.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;To this:&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/big%20gabby%202.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/after2.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In what seems a relatively short period of time, Gabriella has turned into a lovely adolsecent with beautiful auburn hair. Actually, a more accurate picture of Gabriella would look something like this:&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/big%20gabber.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;The Fredescahys would've forgotten what Gabriella looked like before she had the phone surgically attached to herself, had it not been for all the pictures depicting her before this bizarre incident took place. She doesn't seem to mind, though. She's happy as long as she can apply makeup in between phone calls. Gabriella is extremely fond of makeup. And phones.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It was during one of her routine prank calls that she met another teen from the neighborhood. He had enough sense of humor to find her mildly amusing, so they chatted for a while. His name was Vincent, like her dad and soon they were calling each other all the time. And when you're talking about Gabriella and the phone... that's a LOT.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Fiona took some time off in between her romps and put an end to it, seeing as the line was always tied up and she didn't have time to buy her a cell phone. So Gabriella did the logical thing and invited Vincent over.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/phone%20Vincent%20visits.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/phone%20Vincent%20visits.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Gabriella is not really impressed when Vincent shows up. He seems like a bit of a geek to her. And those clothes! She looks him up and down but decides he's still cute enough.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;They start hanging out at her place a lot and soon enough, not only are they inseparable, but she has a crush on him that of course, she'll deny any day.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/chit%20chat.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;One thing...                                                                     Leads to the other...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/hair%20front.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/hair%20front.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/kiss%20smooch.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/kiss%20smooch.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And soon there is talk of running away together to live in the mountains or some such nonsense, which ends rather quickly when Gabriella realizes there will be no phones in the mountains.  So they decide to go to college together.  One with phones.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112621083224891673?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112621083224891673/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112621083224891673' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112621083224891673'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112621083224891673'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/09/can-you-hear-me-now.html' title='Can you hear me now?'/><author><name>Isolt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16731786457632696748</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-13951437.post-112604521534775778</id><published>2005-09-06T17:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-06T18:45:59.706-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Oops!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/sisters.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/sisters.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gwyneth grows into a lovely dark haired, tanned child always wondering why she didn't get her sister Gabriella's unique orange locks (except for when kids call her "Ronald McDonald" at school, so maybe orange hair is not all it's cut out to be...). No longer looking like an adopted Asian boy, she is pretty in her own way. The two girls are close and enjoy spending time with each other, as well as competing for their grandparent's attention with their excellent grades.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things seem to be getting back to normal in the Fredeschay household, when Fiona, who had been trying to forget about her wild night and go on with her life, realizes not only she won't forget about it anytime soon, but everybody else will know about it, too. Fiona was pregnant again! With Vincent dead, it was no surprise the other family members were curious as to the origins of this new addition, but Fiona refuses to talk about it, making Eloise walk away mumbling...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/pregnant%20fiona2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/pregnant%20fiona2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All throughout the pregnancy, Fiona seems very absent minded, spending long periods of time staring away into space, smiling and saying nothing. Knut just smiles and watches TV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/staring%20fiona.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;At last, the long awaited day arrives and Fiona finally talks... but it's sailor speak and not fit for printing, as the birth was a painful one and she wasn't happy with all the people cheering in the room, waiting to get a glimpse of the mysterious baby (not to mention some had placed bets on who the daddy was...).&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/a%20baby%20is%20born.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/a%20baby%20is%20born.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It's a BOY!!! After much screaming and squirming, Fiona finally delivers a healthy baby boy.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;They all stand around waiting for her to name the baby, hoping that maybe that'll give them a clue as to who the daddy is, but Fiona names him Galahad. Nobody remembers any friends or neighbors with that name, so they figure she probably didn't name him after his daddy. So who is the daddy??&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;They are all puzzled, but Fiona only smiles and holds the baby...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/1600/holding%20the%20baby.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5477/1382/320/holding%20the%20baby.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/13951437-112604521534775778?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112604521534775778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112604521534775778' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112604521534775778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112604521534775778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/09/oops.html' title='Oops!'/><author><name>Isolt</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/16731786457632696748</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112575985952573552</id><published>2005-09-03T11:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-09-03T12:11:08.560-04:00</updated><title type='text'>What's Cookin'</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_b00b583b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_b00b583b.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After some time, and with much doting upon by her grandparents, parents and great-great-grandpa CJ, it came time for little Gabriella to grow into a charming little toddler.  And so, with the help of her grandfather Knut, Gabriella moved into the realm where she was finally mobile, and where observors learned that she was a very nicely established child with a 10/5/7/9/6 personality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone was SO proud.... except, perhaps, her mother Fiona... who continued to eat her breakfast without pausing to celebrate.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f00b5834.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f00b5834.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; There were times when the family seemed to have some kind of eating disorder, however the symptoms were not clear and were not consistent.  It was worrisome thought... could there be a flaw in the family genetics?  Had the strange biotics of Fredeschay begun to wreak havoc upon the family?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Illness concerns notwithstanding, time marched on.  And, the family received yet ANOTHER surprise when Fiona gave birth to a new daughter.  Young Gwyneth was received with much joy, and everyone rushed into the room to greet her where they all cheered for Fiona and where CJ and Eloise celebrated with a game of Punch-Me, Punch-You.&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_b01614fa.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_b01614fa.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The beautiful child was thrilling and exciting, and both Vincent and Fiona where very happy to have contributed yet another lovely child to the Fredeschay clan.  There hope was to have one more child... hopefully a man-child who could carry on the family name as either a George, Gaston or Gordon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knut though, was thrilled.  He had been waiting for a new grandchild.  And even though he was napping, he celebrated with a happy dream of his new granddaughter.  And of course, when he awoke, he learned that it wasn't just a dream!&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d016150f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d016150f.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, yet again, life moved on.  Tragically, everyone was so smitten with the goddamn baby that all organization in the house was shattered.  Soon the various generations were lining up trying to hold, coddle, feed, change and coo at the new baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d016138f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d016138f.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Poor Gabriella received SOME attention from her Grandmother Eloise however it was generally a rule in the family that babies get more attention than anything else, including good health.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vincent and Fiona took to eating bad food, resulting in food poisoning...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f025add3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f025add3.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And other strange behavior...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d025939c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d025939c.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_1025943a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_1025943a.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;And then, without warning, but very likely due to the goddamn baby, Vincent's food poisoning took a turn for the worse.  It seemed that in the midst of exhaustion, hunger, illness and the ever-burning desire to hold the baby, that he reached a point where he could no longer survive, even with the best medical care available on the planet.  He was the only doctor in the house, and since he had passed out, it seemed that he was destined to become one of the Fredeschays who was doomed to die young and before his time.  And so, having come nowhere NEAR being a Platinum level sim, Vincent passed into the great hereafter... even despite the fact that his precious Fiona pleaded with the great figure of Death not to take her dear husband from her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_d025ad85.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_d025ad85.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Fiona was devastated, and in the fog of her grief she spiraled into despair.  In that time, everything was a blur.  She recalled that Gabriella made some drastic changes to her look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_f025ae47.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_f025ae47.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;She had a fairly good recollection of Gwyneth (who looked strangely like an adopted Asian boy) growing into a very nicely rounded toddler with a 7/9/10/6/9 personality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_702595cf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5433/209/320/snapshot_cfb86687_702595cf.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;She also, in the haze of grief, remembered an incident that happened in the dead of night... many visitors had been there, and she wasn't quite sure what had happened.  But she suspected that she might soon be adding to the G-Generation in the Fredeschay household!  What was going to happen now!?!?!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112575985952573552?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112575985952573552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112575985952573552' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112575985952573552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112575985952573552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/09/whats-cookin.html' title='What&apos;s Cookin&apos;'/><author><name>Chris</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_32tZb6mmIsY/TEuQm3ujRTI/AAAAAAAAAAM/K4v4-PtyKog/S220/Chris+Head+Shot.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112310903806837238</id><published>2005-08-03T18:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-03T19:47:22.136-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Aaaand, scene!</title><content type='html'>[Anne: Fredeschays have been uploaded]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/1_snapshot_cfb86687_cffbe748.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/1_snapshot_cfb86687_cffbe748.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiona on the set of "How to Cook for Forty Humans"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/2_snapshot_cfb86687_6ffbdd4e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/2_snapshot_cfb86687_6ffbdd4e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eloise, still one sexy Evil Overlady!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The time just seemed to fly, and soon the Fredeschay's were welcoming their fifth generation. Fiona followed the family's alphabetical naming traidtion and dubbed the little girl Gabriella. The older members of the household loved to dote on the little tot a good thing since Fiona returned to work immediately.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/3_snapshot_cfb86687_4ffbe457.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/3_snapshot_cfb86687_4ffbe457.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112310903806837238?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112310903806837238/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112310903806837238' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112310903806837238'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112310903806837238'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/08/aaaand-scene.html' title='Aaaand, scene!'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112291862868384412</id><published>2005-08-01T13:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-02T17:47:26.390-04:00</updated><title type='text'>To Serve Man</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/1_snapshot_cfb86687_cff95728.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/1_snapshot_cfb86687_cff95728.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that her decision was made, Fiona popped the question to Vincent, who of course happily accepted. The two agreed, however, that there was plenty of time to start a family (I mean after all, Fiona's parents weren't even elders yet) Waiting would allow Vincent more time for his studies, plus Fiona had just scored a job as a sous chef at the Area 51 Grille. She knew that was a key step to getting her own Yummy Channel show, and a maternity leave would just delay the process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/2_snapshot_cfb86687_effa9b1c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/2_snapshot_cfb86687_effa9b1c.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Captain CJ was delighted to have another scholar in the house. He admired Vincent's conviction and agreed to train him in several disciplines. He refused, however, to teach him anything about the Prints Charming Fingerprint Scanner. It wasn't long until Vincent had earned sufficient skills to climb a few rungs of his medical career.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/3_snapshot_00000009_6ff94b1e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/3_snapshot_00000009_6ff94b1e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eloise and Knut were still dealing well with their opposing careers. In fact, they found all the danger and intrigue rather a turn on. For several days they gave the newleyweds a run for their money. A family trip into town to buy some new gym clothes resulted in changing room WooHoo for almost everyone. The passion must have done something for them, because both aged rather gracefully and decided against the traditional trip to the facelift machine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/4_snapshot_cfb86687_8ffaa55b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/4_snapshot_cfb86687_8ffaa55b.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Word had spread about Fiona's talents...her cooking talents that is, and one day she received a call from Kang and Kodos Productions. They wanted her to be the star of their new series "How to Cook for Forty Humans". It was Fiona's dream come true!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/5_snapshot_cfb86687_6ffa9ad1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/5_snapshot_cfb86687_6ffa9ad1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With her promition and Vincent well on his way to supreme knowledge, the couple decided to try for a child. It took a few turns (not that Fiona minded in the least) but soon the generation 5 bun was in the proverbial oven.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112291862868384412?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112291862868384412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112291862868384412' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112291862868384412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112291862868384412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/08/to-serve-man.html' title='To Serve Man'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112285640545856155</id><published>2005-07-31T20:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-31T20:43:51.983-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Let the games begin!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/1_snapshot_cfb86687_6ff9496b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/1_snapshot_cfb86687_6ff9496b.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Frustrated by the failure of her graduation party scheme, Fiona moves to Plan B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Plan B: Invite each of her boyfriends over for various WooHoo activities in order to observe them in a domestic setting (hey, she was a pyschology major after all)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;First up: Carl Tang&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Accepts WooHoo? Check. Hrm, not keen on the choice of underwear. Still slurps at the table, but no farting although he does not clear his own dish. Bathhroom habits, good. First stop after taking care of needs - TV. May be a tad on the inactive side. Public WooHoo? Check. Hot Tub WooHoo? Check.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/2_snapshot_cfb86687_cff94595.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/2_snapshot_cfb86687_cff94595.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next Subject: Vincent Kim&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Accepts WooHoo? Check. Not bad underwear. Hot Tub WooHoo? Check. Oh my - new hairdo while in swim trunks. Mmmm, nice. Eats first few bites neatly before beginning to slurp, that means middle of the road neatness. Shakes hands with Captain CJ on departure - a nice touch. Public WooHoo? Check (but dude, the do rag has got to go)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/3_snapshot_cfb86687_4ff94d4e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/3_snapshot_cfb86687_4ff94d4e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Final Subject: Parker Knight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shows up in graduation gown, at least it covers the bowl cut. Accepts WooHoo? Check. Never did sit down to eat, but flushes toilet spontaneously so that lends itself to neatness. HotTub WooHoo? Check. Suspiciously lazy  twirl when changing back into street clothes. Subject not tested for Public WooHoo due to potential laziness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/4_snapshot_cfb86687_6ff9517e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/4_snapshot_cfb86687_6ff9517e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiona analyzed all her data until late into the evening, finally she had to sleep before she dropped from exhaustion. She awoke a few hours later in a cold sweat thinking that nothing would scare her more than getting engaged to Parker or Carl! Strangely, her only other fear was that someone would reject her for public woohoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the winner is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;center&gt;&lt;b&gt;Vincent Kim!&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/center&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Announcer Voice-Over: Vincent Kim is a 5/3/7/3/7 Knowledge Sim with a degree in Drama. His ambitions include getting a job in the medical field and maxing out seven skills. Congratulations, Vincent!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/5_snapshot_cfb86687_cff956b3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/5_snapshot_cfb86687_cff956b3.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112285640545856155?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112285640545856155/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112285640545856155' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112285640545856155'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112285640545856155'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/let-games-begin.html' title='Let the games begin!'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112284153639767297</id><published>2005-07-31T16:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-31T18:16:10.086-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Decision Time</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/1_snapshot_eff80378_4ff8d65e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/1_snapshot_eff80378_4ff8d65e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alumni weekend, senior year. Fiona decides to throw a party, but then realizes her class schedule has changed and she had to abandon her guests right at the start. Eloise and Knut have stopped by the old dorm to relive some of their memories and end up making out in the middle of the common room. Apparently all of Fiona's friends think this is totally hot, because the party is a blow out, despite the absence of their hostess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiona has other things to worry about. She's the only heir to the Fredeschay Empire and she knows the family is going to expect her to settle down. She has three suitors, each with their own...ahem...talents, and it's going to be hard to choose. After her final class of the semester she plans a graduation party. Her motive: The first guy to put the moves on her is the winner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The contenders:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/2_snapshot_eff80378_6ff8d3fc.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/2_snapshot_eff80378_6ff8d3fc.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Vincent Kim&lt;/span&gt;: Hot, her first true love and so far the only one she's actually gone all the way with. He occasionally slurps his mac and cheese, but doesn't fart at the table. He's a bit serious, preferring to sit down at the chess table.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/3_snapshot_eff80378_8ff91610.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/3_snapshot_eff80378_8ff91610.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Parker Knight:&lt;/span&gt; Gorgeous green eyes and when he loses the bowl cut - Shazzam!. Good kisser, but bound to be a lazy ass given his tendancy to slouch around while waiting. She's known him the longest and he's friends with members of her family already&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/4_snapshot_eff80378_6ff91615.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/4_snapshot_eff80378_6ff91615.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;Carl Tang: &lt;/span&gt;The late entry. Hot and blonde, which is a plus because there's been a long line of black hair and redheads. Sometimes slurps, but flushes the toilet after use. Not slouchy at all, but prefers activities like watching TV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The plan doesn't pan out though and none of the boys tries anything. Vincent, however is the one to pose with Fiona in her graduation picture after the party so...we shall see.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112284153639767297?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112284153639767297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112284153639767297' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112284153639767297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112284153639767297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/decision-time.html' title='Decision Time'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112284042308948914</id><published>2005-07-31T15:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-01T11:30:05.983-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Fiona gets around</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/1_snapshot_eff80378_cff81c7e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/1_snapshot_eff80378_cff81c7e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things were heating up between Fiona and Vincent. One night he rented a double bed and invited Fiona to come take a look. Ignoring the fact that for some reason the bed had been placed in her best friend Allyn's room, Fiona figured she'd give it a test drive. Afterwards, she looked around and noticed some familiar posters on the wall, Why this had been her father's room when he was in college and likely where she'd been conceived! Awwww, Vincent was such a romantic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But life at college wasn't all WooHoo and Moonbeams. Fiona had an enemy in the form of that irritating cheerleader, Kay Bachman. She was always running in with her stupid pleated skirt and her Gooo Gerbits. She was even copying Fiona's hairdo. The final straw was when she pranked Vincent and made him cry. Oh no, you din't, bitch!     Fiona read Kay the riot act, making her cry and flee the dorm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/3_snapshot_eff80378_8ff8dc25.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/3_snapshot_eff80378_8ff8dc25.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despire her feelings towards Vincent, Fiona still wanted to experiment a little. She was still stringing along Parker Knight who really was a good kisser. If only he'd stop slouching. There had to be someone else, but not someone who lived in the dorm lest that cause complications. Fiona's solution came in the form of Llama Mascot Lee Patch. Yeah, he'd do and no worries about any entanglements - I mean he wears a costume for Anne's sake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/4_snapshot_eff80378_2ff8ddd4.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/4_snapshot_eff80378_2ff8ddd4.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dilemma still remained, Vincent or Parker. Fiona decided to go to the gym and see if working out would help bring her some clarity. What the gym did was bring her clearly into the sights of Carl Tang. Helloooo sailor!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/5_snapshot_eff80378_eff90cc8.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/5_snapshot_eff80378_eff90cc8.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112284042308948914?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112284042308948914/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112284042308948914' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112284042308948914'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112284042308948914'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/fiona-gets-around.html' title='Fiona gets around'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112283946113669071</id><published>2005-07-31T15:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-08-01T11:25:20.323-04:00</updated><title type='text'>And then there were three</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/1_snapshot_cfb86687_8ff8d03c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/1_snapshot_cfb86687_8ff8d03c.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back at stately Fredeschay manor, Dervish was nearing the end of his life. He was completely at peace with that fact, given that he had recently earned his one hundred thousandth Simoleon, fulfilling his lifelong ambition. Plus, he and his father had reconciled since he'd aged and the two were the best of friends now. Dervish spent his last morning shooting some pool with the "old man".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/2_snapshot_cfb86687_aff8d136.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/2_snapshot_cfb86687_aff8d136.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Eloise and Knut came home from work, he prepared a delicious supper of hamburgers (always his favorite) and the four shared a pleasant final meal. There was a little awkward spot when Eloise started discussing her latest crime and Knut, still in his Captain Hero uniform, was a little tense, but soon the moment passed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/3_snapshot_cfb86687_6ff8d256.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/3_snapshot_cfb86687_6ff8d256.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so did Dervish. &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Good night sweet prince: And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112283946113669071?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112283946113669071/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112283946113669071' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112283946113669071'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112283946113669071'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/and-then-there-were-three.html' title='And then there were three'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112277588822100591</id><published>2005-07-30T21:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-30T22:14:26.520-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Paging Mr. Gacy, Mr. John Wayne Gacy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/1_snapshot_eff80378_2ff8037b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/1_snapshot_eff80378_2ff8037b.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiona moved into her mom's old dorm at La Fiesta tech and was surprised to find some familar faces. There was Blake "The Sucker" Hamilton and LaShanda "BigNose" Carr. Plus, Eloise's paintings were still on the wall, really making Fiona feel at home. Her friend Parker Knight came by to make sure she was getting settled nicely. Fiona always thought there was something more to Parker than his bowl cut, so she decided to flirt with him a little. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/2_snapshot_eff80378_6ff80418.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/2_snapshot_eff80378_6ff80418.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then some new students started moving into the dorm and oh my, who is that hottie under the do-rag? Fiona wasted no time greeting Vincent Kim (who despite his surname was not in the least bit Asian).  They chatted for a while but Fiona was interrupted by the phone, it was Parker. "Well...I'm a little busy..." Parker may have given Fiona her first kiss but he always had that lazy slouch. Still, it wouldn't hurt to keep him on the line, never can have too many guys calling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/5_snapshot_eff80378_aff80bf2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/5_snapshot_eff80378_aff80bf2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiona kept up with her schoolwork, choosing a psychology major since La Fiesta Tech didn't offer Culinary Arts. Things with Vincent were going well too, she suspected he might have a crush on her. Some people from back home would call too, the most frequent being Marsha Bruenig. Marsha had come home from school with Fiona a couple times but Fiona never really befriended her. Still, every night Marsha would call...and call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It started getting annoying. Everytime Fiona finally got her schedule in sync with Vincent *ringring* Fiona tried pre-empting Marsha and calling her first, but no sooner would she hang up the phone then Marsha would call back, whining about how Fiona didn't spend enough time with her. Marsha, Marsha, Marsha! &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;I'll fix that little pre-teen stalker&lt;/span&gt;, thought Fiona.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/3_snapshot_eff80378_2ff80d5f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/3_snapshot_eff80378_2ff80d5f.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next time Marsha called Fiona was sweet as pie. "Ohhh Marsha, hiii. No I haven't been abducted by aliens. In fact I was &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;just&lt;/span&gt; going to call you. Let's hang out, I know this great place with a pool and everything. No, no need to come by the dorm, I'll meet you there, here are the directions..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/4_snapshot_afe55269_aff8168e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/4_snapshot_afe55269_aff8168e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112277588822100591?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112277588822100591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112277588822100591' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112277588822100591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112277588822100591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/paging-mr-gacy-mr-john-wayne-gacy.html' title='Paging Mr. Gacy, Mr. John Wayne Gacy'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112276738875702756</id><published>2005-07-30T19:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-30T19:52:34.696-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Mr &amp; Mrs Smith</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/4_snapshot_cfb86687_eff7cf47.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/4_snapshot_cfb86687_eff7cf47.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the mopping paid off, and the very next day Knut was promoted to Captain Hero. Unfortunately, that meant he could no longer ignore Eloise's nightime activities. Still, their conflicting work schedules meant he never actually had to fight her directly. At least that's what he prayed every morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/6_snapshot_cfb86687_4ff7d877.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/6_snapshot_cfb86687_4ff7d877.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After a while they settled into a nice routine, despite being on oppsite sides of the law. It went a little something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hi baby, have a good, I mean bad, night?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course. I released a proto-toxin into the water supply of Regulus 5!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah shit, I guess I know what I'm doing today. I might be late for dinner - make sure Fiona does her homework.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*kiss*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/8_snapshot_cfb86687_8ff7da9e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/8_snapshot_cfb86687_8ff7da9e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of Fiona, she had grown into a lovely teenager with her grandmother Tristen's penchant for passion...but that passion seemed to be channeled towards cooking. She would constantyly beg Captain C.J. for just one more hour training on the Chokolade machine. (not that he minded, in fact he rather enjoyed his little sessions in the energizer judging by the look of rapture on his face). Finally she broke down and confessed - she wanted to be a Celebrity Chef - because everyone knows the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach. Plus, Iron Chef Grawl was a hottie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/7_snapshot_cfb86687_cff7d976.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/7_snapshot_cfb86687_cff7d976.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day Fiona brought a friend home from school. She wasn't sure what his real name was but all the kids at school called him UTIT (ugliest teen in town) and word was he had an older brother at some Off-Grawl Univeristy. He was a nice enough guy, and Fiona wanted to be friends with him - but alas it was time to head off to college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/5_snapshot_cfb86687_eff7d679.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/5_snapshot_cfb86687_eff7d679.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112276738875702756?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112276738875702756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112276738875702756' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112276738875702756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112276738875702756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/mr-mrs-smith.html' title='Mr &amp; Mrs Smith'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112276644003607268</id><published>2005-07-30T19:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-30T19:54:36.560-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tristen's Revenge</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/1_snapshot_cfb86687_0ff7aff0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/1_snapshot_cfb86687_0ff7aff0.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since no one really gave a crap about Tristen, no one mourned her, so it was only a matter of time before she started haunting the Fredeschays. Oh yes, she would make them pay for their shitty treatment of her when she was alive. Her vengence was wet and terrible - both floors of the house were flooded with her liquid wrath. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/2_snapshot_cfb86687_4ff7b295.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/2_snapshot_cfb86687_4ff7b295.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But even in death, Tristen couldn't catch a break. Knut was delighted by all the mopping that needed to be done. By the time he was finished he had earned two cleaning points and was well positioned to become Fredeschay's next Captain Hero!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/3_snapshot_cfb86687_cff7b76c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/3_snapshot_cfb86687_cff7b76c.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112276644003607268?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112276644003607268/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112276644003607268' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112276644003607268'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112276644003607268'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/tristens-revenge.html' title='Tristen&apos;s Revenge'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112273705676971262</id><published>2005-07-30T11:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-30T12:35:15.683-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Death cleans house</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/tristen_fry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/tristen_fry.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when the family thought all was well, Tristen tried to fix the TV again. No matter how much Dervish begged her to just let him call a repair man (Dervish loved calling repair people - it gave him a sort of high) she wanted to prove her worth. One screwdriver in a redonculator later and Tristen was electrified. Eloise was slightly distressed at the event, but Brandi, ever the bitch simply pointed and laughed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/laugh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/laugh.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once again Tristen survived her little mishap, but it seemed fate conspired against her. She was toiling away at her job as a soil identifier, often returning home exhausted and badly in need of a shower. On one such occasion, Dervish suggested the two of them take a nice bubble bath together and head to bed. Tristen agreed, but first she wanted to take "one last swim" before bed. Tragically, Tristen was so tired she fell passed out almost as soon as she hit the water and before anyone could react she sank like a stone to the bottom of the pool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you know, life goes on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/f_K.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/f_K.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knut was working hard on getting that next promotion. His body was ripped to studly perfection and hours of playing chess with his in-laws had certainly made him logically inclined. All that remained was brushing up on his cleaning skills. The only one home or awake was Brandi, so he thought he'd ask her what she knew. [I can hear Rachel screaming "Nooooooo!!!" from here] Knut didn't know if it was the sunspots or the way Brandi held the fingerprint scanner, but suddenly he felt a rush of attraction. Apparently Brandi felt the same way because she kissed him tenderly. This was so wrong (but it feels so right)! Knut thought, and he immediately picked a fight with Brandi and she picked one right back. He tried a prank, hoping to piss her off even more, but it turned out Brandi had a sick sense of humor and thought the joy buzzer was the funniest thing she ever saw. Ooooh crap. The two vowed to stay away from each other from now on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/br_die.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/br_die.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They didn't have long to worry though. Brandi was getting on in years and died a few days later. Poor Captain CJ was devestated - but just the memory of becoming a Criminal Mastermind was enough to keep him in a good mood, despite his sorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/cj_cry.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/cj_cry.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Anne: Yes, I forgot the stupid fingerprint scanner bug  (in my defense I had been Simming for like 4 hours at that point). Their daily relationship was &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;just&lt;/span&gt; high enough to develop a crush. Thankfully, time took care of that problem before it got any worse]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112273705676971262?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112273705676971262/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112273705676971262' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112273705676971262'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112273705676971262'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/death-cleans-house.html' title='Death cleans house'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112273617323321334</id><published>2005-07-30T10:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-30T12:42:49.033-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Generation 4</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/cj_baby.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/cj_baby.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Dervish spent several months at the Federated Intergalactic Center for Facelift Malfunctions. He was at last able to take the bandages off and greet his new grandchild Fiona without scaring the baby into years of therapy with Dr. Simshrink. Rumor had it Dervish had his jaw touched up a little as long as he was being reconstructed, but he denied it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/cj_f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/cj_f.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fiona was a happy enough toddler with a sparkling 10/8/6/4/7 personality. She loved to while  away her days playing with her learning toys, often with Captain CJ at her side.  In fact, CJ enjoyed being a doting great-grandfather so much he decided it was time to turn the reins of the Fredeschay Fiends to Eloise. It was a proud day when she donned her mom's old Evil Overlady jumpsuit. So proud that Eloise realized she would never be unhappy again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/evil_e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/evil_e.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knut, who had worked his way up to the Vice Squad, looked the other way and never asked where his wife was going some evenings. In his mind he decided that Eloise was simply a Grawl Trek enthusiast and was spending all those late hours at conventions attending panel discussions such as "Just what was the combination of the lock in episode 326 and how did it affect the Crimonlian Empire?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/e_k.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/e_k.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little Fiona was growing fast, and soon was ready for school. Captain CJ phoned his old friend BJ and used his connections to get Fiona into private school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/f_grow.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/f_grow.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Anne: I'm not sure what happened when Fiona grew into a child - it's like she sprouted out of Knut's chest.]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112273617323321334?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112273617323321334/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112273617323321334' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112273617323321334'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112273617323321334'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/generation-4.html' title='Generation 4'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112268453279492473</id><published>2005-07-29T20:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-29T20:48:52.800-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A lovely wedding and an about face</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/wedding.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/wedding.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Knut had always been a friend of Tristen and it pained him to see her so unhappy. He hoped that his wedding to Eloise would help heal the pain of the family. They decided to do things up right, no hasty vows by the mailbox for them - no they would have the wedding arch, a cake and the whole nine yards! All their college friends came, and if they happened to notice a bump under the midsection of Eloise's gown, they politely said nothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/guests.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/guests.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much to the happy couple's relief, there were no fisticuffs and everyone remained civil. As they were cutting the cake, Dervish suddenly realized it was his birthday, but he quietly aged in the back row so as to not drawn attention away from his daughter's big day (but couldn't resist the little shower of confetti).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/dervish.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/dervish.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the ceremony, the party kicked into high gear and Tristen, desperate for someone to talk to that wouldn't then spit in her face chatted with as many of Eloise's friends as possible. Eloise ended up begging off the honeymoon because she "had a stomache" so Knut went to the Fredeschay Spaceport by himself for the evening. Hanging out with college students got Tristen feeling young and vital again, so when she saw that Dervish had made his transition into old age, she convinced him to try a facelift as well. He had actually been secretly wanting one, so he agreed readily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It did not go well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/OMGWTF.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/OMGWTF.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112268453279492473?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112268453279492473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112268453279492473' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112268453279492473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112268453279492473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/lovely-wedding-and-about-face.html' title='A lovely wedding and an about face'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112268374704338432</id><published>2005-07-29T20:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-29T20:36:36.133-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Jerr-y! Jerr-y! Jerr-y!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/fire.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/fire.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/flirt.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/flirt.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile, Tristen's bids for attention were getting more and more dangerous. She'd spend hours watching the clouds, until she was at the brink of starvation, then she'd set the stove on fire while cooking just so some hot fireman would come and accept her flirtatious advances. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/forgive1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/forgive1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To make things even worse, CJ had apparently decided to forgive Dervish for whatever imagined slight was causing the familial rift. The two spent hours playing pool and chatting it up. One evening, Captain CJ broke down and hugged his eldest son, determined to put aside their differences.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/hag.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/hag.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the stress finally got to Tristen, and she began showing her age. I mean &lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;really&lt;/span&gt; showing her age. Hag, was the term most often muttered by Brandi, often with a malicious giggle. It's no wonder Tristen rushed off to get a face lift at the first opportunity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/anger.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/anger.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't only Brandi. Captain CJ was becoming less and less subtle with his abuses as he got older. He would sometimes just up and shove Tristen for no reason, even when she hadn't been near Dervish all day. It was a bitter, bitter life. What the family needed was a happy event.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112268374704338432?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112268374704338432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112268374704338432' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112268374704338432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112268374704338432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/jerr-y-jerr-y-jerr-y.html' title='Jerr-y! Jerr-y! Jerr-y!'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112268306701056402</id><published>2005-07-29T20:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-29T20:24:27.013-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Meet the Parents</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/knut.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/knut.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eloise returned home to find the situation still as tense as ever. Her grandparents still had a serious hate on for Tristen, and frankly, Eloise wasn't bothered by that. The few phone calls she and her mother shared at school had ended badly and their own relationship was worse than ever. Tristen seemed oddly pleased when she found out that Eloise was dating Knut...oddly pleased. Since Grandpa CJ was still fitting in his evil suit, Eloise decided to fulfill her minor dream of being a doctor for a little while until she was really needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/propose.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/propose.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days later, Knut arrived with a new, more conservative haircut, though he was still sporting some bad boy stubble. "It's part of the new dress code, baby" he told Eloise, "I've joined the police academy." Ooooh, this could be a little awkward, she thought, what with the whole Fredeschay Fiends for World Domination thing and all. Well, let's jump off that bridge when we get to it Eloise shrugged and she got down on one knee and proposed. She then ran to spend some quality time with the toilet while Knut bonded with her family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/puke.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/puke.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112268306701056402?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112268306701056402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112268306701056402' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112268306701056402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112268306701056402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/meet-parents.html' title='Meet the Parents'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112264463471094996</id><published>2005-07-29T09:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-29T20:11:44.400-04:00</updated><title type='text'>An offer you can't refuse</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About halfway through her Sophomore year, Eloise started getting daily phone calls from her grandfather. Captain CJ spent hours stressing the importance of knowing everything and its impact on World Domination&amp;trade;. Plus, he added, now that he'd gone gray he was going to need someone to take over his Intergalactic Crime Syndicate. At last, Eloise agreed to study even harder and one day take over the "family business".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even with the added burden of honing her intelligence, Eloise still breezed through the rest of her college career. She and Knut were closer than ever and she'd become best friends with everyone else in the dorm (including the slightly homely Blake who was easily persuaded to do term papers and clean the men's bathroom). She even managed to find time to throw a sports themed party, where losing her virginity to Knut raised the affair from a mere Not Bad to Good Time. Ahhh, college.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/3.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At last it was time for her to graduate, with honors and a wall full of portraiture. She clutched her literature degree, changed into a truly hideous outfit of ripped shorts and magenta fishnets then caught a taxi back to Fredeschay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112264463471094996?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112264463471094996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112264463471094996' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112264463471094996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112264463471094996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/offer-you-cant-refuse.html' title='An offer you can&apos;t refuse'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112256063537211972</id><published>2005-07-28T10:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-28T18:18:43.810-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The times, they are a changin'</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_4ff3faa6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_4ff3faa6.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Despite daily meditation and an active career plotting and scheming, Captain CJ could no longer keep time at bay. He awoke one evening, looked in the mirror and saw a silver fox staring back at him. Although he still looked fine (particularly with his grey stubble and blusher) he had a niggling desire to be absolutely perfect. After a slight shot of collagen to plump out his thinnish upper lip, he was happy. After all, he had the secret to a long life in his back pocket, why not spend it as a hot old man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cff3fbb5_eff3fef91.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cff3fbb5_eff3fef91.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As for Eloise, she was more than ready to leave home and escape the family strife and her crazy bunny-talking mother. She scored a few more scholarships and then headed out to La Fiesta Tech. Much to her delight, she was assigned the same dorm as Knut. He greeted her warmly, and Eloise suspected that maybe her crush wasn't so one sided anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cff3fbb5_2ff403a9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cff3fbb5_2ff403a9.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eloise took to college life like a Martian takes to a Fungo. She cut off her girlish braids and opted for a spunky hew short 'do. She excelled in her classes, finishing off her required work well in advance of her final exams. In fact, she had plenty of time to finish off Knut's assignments (which he was in the habit of leaving on the table) as well as start painting portraits of her dormmates. It seemed like only the blink of an eye until she began her Sophomore year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112256063537211972?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112256063537211972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112256063537211972' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112256063537211972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112256063537211972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/times-they-are-changin.html' title='The times, they are a changin&apos;'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112255812829731223</id><published>2005-07-28T09:30:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-28T18:13:46.490-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It ain't easy being Tristen</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_8ff3f2381.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_8ff3f2381.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With Eloise's fresh determination to earn several scholarships to La Fiesta Tech, Brandi and Captain CJ found themselves much in demand for training. The two could often be found meditating to center their chi. There was still a lot of animosity towards Tristen. Hoping to garner some respect, Tristen quit her fluffy job as a professional party guest and joined the ranks at the Fredeschay Medical Center. She earned a promotion her very first day on the job and proudly presented her in-laws with a state of the art TraumaTime "Incision Precision" Surgical Training Station.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were not impressed, and despite a few more career changes the atmosphere remained chilly. Even Eloise didn't have much care for her own mother. Only Dervish still gave a crap whether she lived or died, but any time she tried to show him some affection there were repercussions. Tristen began a slow spiral into a lonely depr&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_cff3f91f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_cff3f91f.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;ession. It wasn't long before she was talking to herself, claiming she was actually talking to a large pink bunny. Then came the fateful evening when she tried to fix the computer...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1000 volts shot through her and her clothes burned right off her body. It wasn't quite enough, and all she was left with was a desperate need to go to the bathroom while the rest of the family blithely went about their business. Poor Tristen, even her suicide attempt went unnoticed.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_6ff3f32b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/5042/768/320/snapshot_cfb86687_6ff3f32b.jpg" alt="" 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/13951437-112255812829731223?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112255812829731223/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112255812829731223' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112255812829731223'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112255812829731223'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/it-aint-easy-being-tristen.html' title='It ain&apos;t easy being Tristen'/><author><name>Anne</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04284625371032246926</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-13951437.post-112247343163582927</id><published>2005-07-27T10:04:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-27T10:12:08.920-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It Must Be the Hair</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_6ff113c9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_6ff113c9.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Eloise spent more time with Knut when she became a teen, but he was still a college guy and out of her league. Eloise was more determined than ever to study extra hard and leave for La Fiesta Tech as soon as she possibly could. Would Knut be waiting for her when she got there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_8ff11463.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_8ff11463.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_cff11416.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_cff11416.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_4ff113b1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_4ff113b1.jpg" alt="" 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/13951437-112247343163582927?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112247343163582927/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112247343163582927' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112247343163582927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112247343163582927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/it-must-be-hair.html' title='It Must Be the Hair'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112247300701508967</id><published>2005-07-27T09:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-27T10:03:27.016-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's About Time</title><content type='html'>Eloise wasn't the only one with a birthday; Brandi was getting older too, a fact that made CJ sad. Here his whole family would age and die while, thanks to his years of space travel and the Fredeschay Bluebells, he aged at a much slower rate. Brandi apparently wasn't too keen on getting old either, as she decided right then and there that she wanted to get a facelift. A trip to the plastic surgery machine not only made her look more youthful, but also gave her the lovely nose and normal-looking lips she'd always dreamed of having. Brandi wished she'd thought to do it sooner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_aff1045c.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_aff1045c.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_4ff105f9.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_4ff105f9.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_0ff10995.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_0ff10995.jpg" alt="" 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/13951437-112247300701508967?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112247300701508967/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112247300701508967' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112247300701508967'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112247300701508967'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/its-about-time.html' title='It&apos;s About Time'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112247247831545346</id><published>2005-07-27T09:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-27T09:57:44.556-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't Forget Your Towel</title><content type='html'>Having inexplicably made up with Tristen, Dervish went back to his goal of getting promoted in the Show Business career. More than fame, Dervish wanted to be rich—really, really rich. So burning was his desire that he tended to do things like sneak in and sell the paintings his talented parents had painted, just so he could get the money for himself (and bask in the memory of having sold his first masterpiece, despite the fact that it was CJ who created it). Perhaps in the back of his mind, Dervish wanted to keep Tristen around rather than have to send part of his ever-growing paycheck to her in a nasty divorce settlement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_aff109201.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_aff109201.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;After considerable work, Dervish made it to Blockbuster Director, a behind- the-camera career that his colleagues thought was well-suited to both his directorial talents and his substantial, scene-stealing jawline. He finally came home from a late shoot to soak his weary bones in the tub, but he was interrupted when he realized it was Eloise's birthday. Dervish was so excited to see his little girl grow up that he rushed out for the celebration in the nude. His parents looked scandalized. Tristen looked mildly amused. Eloise, casting an eye over the landscape of parental dysfunction, decided then and there to devote herself to raising her own family one day. CJ was a bit disappointed, as he'd spent quite a lot of time teaching Eloise almost everything he knew and had hoped she would follow in his footsteps as a seeker of knowledge. But, having encouraged his stellar granddaughter to an even more stellar 10/8/10/5/10 personality, CJ was confident she would be a smashing success regardless. With a new spring in his step thanks to Eloise's growing up well, CJ went to work in the wee hours and shook up the underworld, emerging the next morning as the Grawl's reigning Criminal Mastermind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112247247831545346?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112247247831545346/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112247247831545346' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112247247831545346'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112247247831545346'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/dont-forget-your-towel.html' title='Don&apos;t Forget Your Towel'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-112247192000190855</id><published>2005-07-27T09:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-27T09:45:20.006-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Is Always Having to Say You're Sorry</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_cff0366b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_cff0366b.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It wasn't long before Tristen started flipping through her little black book in the hopes of finding some interesting friends for Eloise, who tended to spend too much time studying and, in Tristen's opinion, not enough time in the company of hot guys to properly develop her feminine wiles. She dimly remembered meeting a mohawked guy named Knut at La Fiesta Tech and, though she could only bring to mind a small, generic view of what he looked like, she seemed to remember he was not too shabby. Tristen spent several days chatting up Knut until she was finally able to invite him over, conveniently while Eloise was coming home from school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_6ff1920d.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_6ff1920d.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Her efforts to introduce her preteen daughter to college guys scored her no points with her in-laws, who had made a valiant effort to like Tristen again but were both unequivocally horrified whenever she and Dervish made any sort of romantic advance toward one another. It was never clear whether they were outraged on Dash's behalf--which was really unnecessary, since Dash wanted nothing to do with either Dervish or Tristen at that point and was really no favorite of his parents either-—or whether they just couldn't believe that Dervish would actually make up with the skanky ho. At any rate, CJ and Brandi's opinions of both Dervish and Tristen dropped further every time they so much as held hands, leading to a fun and lighthearted family dynamic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112247192000190855?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112247192000190855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112247192000190855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112247192000190855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112247192000190855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/love-is-always-having-to-say-youre.html' title='Love Is Always Having to Say You&apos;re Sorry'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112209367428081286</id><published>2005-07-23T00:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-27T09:46:33.636-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No, Not the Wabbit!!</title><content type='html'>Tristen tried to stay out of Brandi's way the next day, which was difficult because Brandi spent most of her time puttering around the house. At one point Brandi noticed a pile of bills that some careless person had pulled out of the mailbox but never paid. On her way to pay them, they suddenly disappeared…and a grungy truck pulled up, expelling an even grungier guy with a giant Supersoaker. The Repo Man! Brandi could only sigh and go about her daily regimen of pool playing while the Repo Man maniacally death-rayed the family computer and, for good measure, sucked up the Rip Co. Wobbly Wabbit Head from the nursery before taking off in his Grungemobile. "Ah well," thought Brandi. "We needed a better computer anyway."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_efed9362.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_efed9362.jpg" alt="" 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/13951437-112209367428081286?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112209367428081286/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112209367428081286' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112209367428081286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112209367428081286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/no-not-wabbit.html' title='No, Not the Wabbit!!'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112209353185590550</id><published>2005-07-23T00:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-23T00:44:52.053-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Amnesia</title><content type='html'>[Rachel: Tristen got a chance card when she went to work Saturday night, and before I had decided what to do, dinner was ready and I left the game with the chance card up, thinking it would wait for me. Apparently the chance cards cancel out at some point! Ha ha! Who knew? So when I returned to the game, it was &lt;i&gt;Sunday&lt;/i&gt; night, and apparently quite normal—Tristen and Dervish were at work, CJ was reading a book to Eloise, Brandi was sacked out on the couch—but I had evidently missed some great drama in the interceding 24 hours.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tristen came home from work in the wee hours of Sunday morning tired, but horny. And nothing could satisfy her craving like some fun with Dervish, who had just been promoted to Leading Man that night and had an aura of success about him that made him even more irresistible than usual. She went to relax on their bed upstairs and hoped he would take the hint.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sure enough, Dervish came upstairs and, after some lengthy soliloquizing to the mirror in preparation for his upcoming role in &lt;i&gt;Sim Like It Hot&lt;/i&gt;, flopped down on the bed next to her. Tristen cuddled up to Dervish and started to purr suggestive things in his ear, but he shrugged her off and pulled away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Honey!  What's wrong?"&lt;br /&gt;"How can you even ask that?  Were you not &lt;b&gt;there&lt;/b&gt; yesterday when Dash came by?  Did you not &lt;b&gt;notice&lt;/b&gt; when I caught you and him making googly eyes at one another, or when we got in a big fight over it? Gosh, what could be wrong? I realized my wife has been cheating on me, my own brother hates me, I'm not really interested in seeing &lt;i&gt;him&lt;/i&gt; again either, and—god, Tristen, how could you fall for someone with &lt;i&gt;hair&lt;/i&gt; like that?"  Dervish was visibly upset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, oh honey, it isn't like that…it was just a little crush, such a long time ago, we were young, it doesn't mean anything now…and he was definitely, DEFinitely the only other one…I mean, if you could even &lt;i&gt;call&lt;/i&gt; him ANOTHER one, if he meant anything to me at all, which of course he doesn't. And—come on, honey, don't you want to jump in my arms and give me a big &lt;i&gt;hug?&lt;/i&gt;" And oddly, Dervish kind of did. Once he had done it, his anger with Tristen had subsided considerably. He hated how she could do that. In no time, Tristen had wheedled her way back into Dervish's good graces in a way he was at a loss to explain. Was it her drop-dead gorgeous body? The way lust practically oozed from her every perfect pore? Perhaps it was some complicated science thing involving pheromones or some other word that was difficult to spell. At any rate, Dervish found Tristen very hard to stay mad at. "She'll have a harder time getting &lt;i&gt;Mom&lt;/i&gt; to forgive her," he thought. Brandi had seen the whole thing, and, though her lukewarm relationship with her sons caused her to be more annoyed than furious with Tristen's transgressions, Brandi was one to hold a grudge.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112209353185590550?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112209353185590550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112209353185590550' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112209353185590550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112209353185590550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/amnesia.html' title='Amnesia'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112209324453693115</id><published>2005-07-23T00:24:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-23T00:34:48.233-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Learning Curve</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_efed7002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_efed7002.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The next day was a big one for the Fredeschay family. Brandi the over- overachiever reached the top of her second career, which was really just a hobby for her in her permanently blissful state, while Tristen the over-underachiever, after just a few days of work in her entire life, reached her life goal of becoming a professional party guest. Now it was only the men of the house who were not in a perpetually good mood, a sort of reverse PMS among the Fredechays. CJ and Dervish redoubled their efforts to climb the ladder of success, while Brandi and Tristen took to playing a lot of pool and napping on the couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_efeae43e.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_efeae43e.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Eloise became a toddler with an unbelievable 10/8/2/5/10 personality and learned all the relevant skills in no time, thanks to her doting grandfather. Once she turned into a child, CJ spent even more time with her, encouraging her to be more active and coaching her to earn skills. Eloise became the only child on the block who had a notorious counterfeiter helping her with her homework ("And see, honey, if you touch up that F with just the right ink, you can make it into an A—but don't get greedy and go for the plus, that &lt;i&gt;always&lt;/i&gt; gives it away!").&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_2feaeeb3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_2feaeeb3.jpg" alt="" 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/13951437-112209324453693115?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112209324453693115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112209324453693115' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112209324453693115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112209324453693115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/learning-curve.html' title='Learning Curve'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112195447045682741</id><published>2005-07-21T09:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-21T13:24:53.913-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Grawl Trek: The Next Generation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_4fe5b69f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_4fe5b69f.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There was to be a leisurely start to Tristen's working days, because she wasted no time in marrying Dervish and going on maternity leave. The break gave her time to chat up her friends from college and anyone interesting who wandered by the house in the hopes of fattening her address book. She also took up prenatal kickboxing under the tutelage of her father-in-law, hoping to get her figure back as soon as possible after the baby came. A second floor appeared on the Fredeschay home for the newlyweds, and the house's crib was vacated by little D'oh, who aged into a fairly cute child and moved in with his brothers Dylan and Dash so he could, um, go to a special magnet school right by their house. Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally the Fredeschay family gathered round to welcome baby Eloise, who Tristen was relieved to find looked a bit like Dervish, rather than, say, a guy at Fiesta Tech named Vince. No, baby Eloise had Tristen's gray eyes and CJ's red hair. Only time would tell if she inherited the big lips that her grandmother Brandi bequeathed to all her sons.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112195447045682741?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112195447045682741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112195447045682741' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112195447045682741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112195447045682741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/grawl-trek-next-generation.html' title='Grawl Trek: The Next Generation'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112195414618468993</id><published>2005-07-21T09:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-21T12:38:05.216-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Workaday Life</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_cfeae3bf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_cfeae3bf.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Dervish Fredeschay had his eye on a life of riches, not only for his own goal of becoming a very wealthy man, but also to provide the best for his lovely bride-to-be, Tristen, who was nearing the end of her college days and was almost ready to move into the Fredeschay household. For some reason, Tristen never wanted Dervish to come visit her unannounced in the dorms at La Fiesta Tech, but Dervish understood.  She had a lot of work ahead of her to finish her degree in philosophy, which was apparent from the number of guys she seemed to have around to tutor her.  Dervish thought it best to stay out of her hair.  He visited Monster.com and got a job as a Broadway star, which sounded like an interesting entry-level position.  Unfortunately, a bad decision at work got him busted down to cartoon voice actor, but then at least he got to go to work in sweats.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His father CJ was inspired by seeing Dervish strike out in a new direction with his career.  Though he had become an intergalactically-acclaimed sports star, CJ had always had a bit of a dark side that he'd secretly wanted to indulge.  Plus, Brandi's devotion of her life to science had left a gaping hole at the head of her carefully cultivated crime family, not to mention a dearth of cool work attire around the house.  CJ took the plunge and got a gig as a bank robber, setting his sights on his own spandex costume and army of minions.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a style="font-family: trebuchet ms;" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_6fe6f2632.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_cfb86687_6fe6f2632.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tristen finally finished her philosophy degree and was able to rejoin her beloved Dervish.  She had graduated Summa Cum Laude, a fact that their college friends loved to point out, though not without dissolving into fits of giggles for a reason totally opaque to Dervish.  Tristen was now ready to put her degree to use fulfilling her dream of being a professional party guest.  In fact, she had practiced jumping out of giant cakes in a negligee for weeks.  However, she didn't have quite enough connections in the Grawl yet, so she was stuck working her way up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112195414618468993?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112195414618468993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112195414618468993' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112195414618468993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112195414618468993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/workaday-life.html' title='The Workaday Life'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-112188378555252288</id><published>2005-07-20T14:05:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-07-20T14:27:26.966-04:00</updated><title type='text'>There's a New Kid in Town</title><content type='html'>A strange fellow had moved into the Grawl.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;It was surprising he had made it past the colonist screening process, really, because there was just something odd about John Wayne Gacy.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Maybe it was his clown makeup.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Maybe it was his propensity for wearing a kilt with a flowered beach hat, or his vaguely menacing teenage daughter Joshua.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Perhaps it was the home he made, which was, as far as anyone could tell, merely a generously-sized swimming pool, a telephone, and a stereo.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Still, the colonists of Fredeschay wanted to be welcoming to everyone in this new land, so they didn't let the peculiarity of their new neighbors stop them from coming over to visit.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;In fact, it seemed like Joshua suddenly knew everyone in town, even though no one remembered meeting her, and they all somehow felt like she was actually a pretty cool person.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;   &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_afe55269_6fe5526a1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_afe55269_6fe5526a1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;Joshua invited many of Fredeschay's better-known denizens to visit the Gacy lot.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;There wasn't much to do besides swim in the gigantic pool or listen to John Wayne rap to the radio, so the choice was easy—the pool was always packed with people while John Wayne gave shout-outs to his homies from the deck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_afe55269_6fe562052.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_afe55269_6fe562052.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;The Gacys' parties were apparently really a hit, and Fredeschayans started to notice long absences of the people who dropped by his place.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Luckily, they soon put it out of their minds when whole new batches of colonists appeared to fill the gaps.&lt;span style=""&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;Though the whole affair was shrouded in a certain enigmatic mystery, that didn't stop this little ditty from hitting the pop charts in Fredeschay around Christmastime: &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;We had &lt;st1:city&gt;&lt;st1:place&gt;Brandon&lt;/st1:place&gt;&lt;/st1:city&gt; and Ivy and Amin and Goopy&lt;br /&gt;Kennedy Cox and that ho Sandy Bruty&lt;br /&gt;But one sunny day&lt;br /&gt;Those old Townies all went away&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Psychopath John Wayne Gacy (Gacy)&lt;br /&gt;Had a really nice deep pool (with a diving board!)&lt;br /&gt;And, since it had no ladder (ladder),&lt;br /&gt;Swimming in it's not so cool (rather deadly!)&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;All of the old stale Townies (Townies)&lt;br /&gt;Came on by to take a swim (ker-splash!)&lt;br /&gt;They didn't know old John Wayne (John Wayne)&lt;br /&gt;Took the ladder out with him (What a meanie!)&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;            &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Then one morbid Wednesday night,&lt;br /&gt;There was quite a scene (Glug glug glug)&lt;br /&gt;John Wayne freestyled like a big white fool&lt;br /&gt;While the Grim Reaper beamed down to empty his pool&lt;/p&gt;   &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;         &lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;Now there are all new Townies (Townies)&lt;br /&gt;And they wander by each day (thanks boolprop!)&lt;br /&gt;But if they look like monkeys (monkeys)&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;John Wayne's there to taaaake themmmm awayyy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/1600/snapshot_afe55269_efe5641f2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/3742/1249/320/snapshot_afe55269_efe5641f2.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p style="font-style: italic;" class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-112188378555252288?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/112188378555252288/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=112188378555252288' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112188378555252288'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/112188378555252288'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/07/theres-new-kid-in-town.html' title='There&apos;s a New Kid in Town'/><author><name>Rachel</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10948073519021777031</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-13951437.post-111985227065747380</id><published>2005-06-27T01:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-27T02:08:37.806-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Infinite possibilities - well, ok, two possibilities.</title><content type='html'>[From Elynn: I decided (at least initially) to try and update every day or two as I go, That's because I find I'm generating so much text from such a small amount of gameplay. Apparently I was sim-starved. Or something. Enjoy!]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dervish arrived home in good spirits, with one thing on his mind.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1265/492/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_cfcb65e1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1265/492/400/snapshot_cfb86687_cfcb65e1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, TWO things. The first one was making money - LOTS of money.&lt;br /&gt;The second was beautiful, adorable, blonde haired vixen Tristen. Oh, he'd heard the stories about her wild romances with other guys - but did it really matter? He loved her. And besides, EVERY wealthy guy needed a trophy wife - preferably blonde. With this in mind he called her and begged her to come over. She hesitated only a moment before agreeing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While he waited for the love of his life to arrive, he checked online want ads. He wasn't going to settle for just any career - oh no. He'd seen how much moolah dad brought home, and had his heart set on being a pro athlete too. Unfortunately, none of the big pro teams were hiring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, bother. Guess he'd have to work his way to the top. But what was that? A knock at the door?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He swept her into his arms, and delivered a passionate kiss. "Darling, there is something I must ask you..." he breathed into her ear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1265/492/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_2fcb660f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1265/492/400/snapshot_cfb86687_2fcb660f.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;"Yes - oh YES!" She cried. the engagement was official!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;"We will marry as soon as I can find a job in the athletic career," he promised. "Be strong, and wait for me. Our wedding day will be the most magical day of your life!" She kissed him and left to shop for the wedding dress, while he resumed the job hunt. The next day, after all, was little Doh's birthday - and he still didn't have a present for his much-younger brother.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1265/492/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_efcb7930.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1265/492/400/snapshot_cfb86687_efcb7930.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It wasn't until after dinner that the family noticed the strange behavior of the nanny, Cassandra. She's wandered into the guest bathroom nd was standing there muttering to herself, neither showering nor eating - in fact the few times he peeked inside, Dervish was almost positive the woman was asleep on her feet. Well into the night, Cassandra's descent into senility was the elephant in the room none of the family members wanted to talk about. Brandi watched the baby, and everyone simply used the other bathroom. However, as it grew later and later, it became clear something had to be done. CJ took charge. He walked over to Cassandra, hoisted her on his shoulders, and carried her outside to the garden. "Maybe the nanny service will come pick her up," he told Dervish. "Either way, having her talking to herself was creeping me out - who knows what she might have done with all of us asleep and vulnerable?" With that, the Fredeschays went to sleep, while the Nanny stood silent motionless vigil outside in the tulips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as he drowsed, CJ dreamed.. dreamed about the sexy super villain outfit Brandi wore.. dreamed about becoming a super villain himself.. was the time finally right? Could he too achieve that permanent state of bliss in which Brandi found herself - a "platinum" level, as it were? With his enemy old age on the run, there was time for many things - many pursuits which he had not previously considered... so musing, he dropped off to sleep...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tune in next post...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[Elynn again: Yup, the nanny got royally stuck. I was forced to use the moveobjects cheat to get her out of the house, and if she doesn't get unstuck after a reboot I'll probably delete her and let her re-materialize by the mailbox.]&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/13951437-111985227065747380?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111985227065747380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111985227065747380' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111985227065747380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111985227065747380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/infinite-possibilities-well-ok-two.html' title='Infinite possibilities - well, ok, two possibilities.'/><author><name>Elynn</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02173124198376147192</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>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-111981778671377813</id><published>2005-06-26T16:26:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-26T16:29:46.713-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Second Gen Non-Heirs find some land.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_8fcaf663_0fcaf68f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_8fcaf663_0fcaf68f.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since Dervish was clearly the heir apparent, his brothers Dylan and Dash chose to find some land of their own. Together they purchased a plot of land in Fredeschay and there they set about moving towards their dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With their respective amours still at University, the brothers were lonely however they knew that they had time to develop their land and their fortunes so that they'd be ready when love came to town.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111981778671377813?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111981778671377813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111981778671377813' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111981778671377813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111981778671377813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/second-gen-non-heirs-find-some-land.html' title='Second Gen Non-Heirs find some land.'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13951437.post-111981754169148762</id><published>2005-06-26T16:21:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-26T16:25:41.693-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Return of Dervish</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_cfcaf9a61.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_cfcaf9a61.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, young Dervish moved back to the Fredeschay homestead so that he could seek his fortune.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With Tristen still in school, Dervish was saddened.  However, he knew that it would allow him to focus on his career so that he could eventually give her the home of her dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dervish didn't know what career he wanted to pursue... but he did know that he wanted to be VERY, VERY rich.  With that goal in mind, he set out into the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111981754169148762?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111981754169148762/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111981754169148762' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111981754169148762'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111981754169148762'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/return-of-dervish.html' title='The Return of Dervish'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111981706736017831</id><published>2005-06-26T16:10:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-26T16:21:04.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Late News Update:  Eldest Fredeschay Son falls for co-ed.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_efca9ed1_6fcaaccc.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_efca9ed1_6fcaaccc.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In his last year at University, Dervish Fredeschay, firstborn scion of the Fredeschay clan, met a starry-eyed young lady named Tristen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They became friends, and eventually Tristen moved into the dorm with the brothers. There, she and Dervish fell in love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In due time Dylan and Dash also found love hiding in the corridors of La Fiesta Tech.  Their love blossomed as well and soon the dorm was full of the Fredeschays and their various love interests.  The dorm was getting crowded, but it was very close to graduation for the Fredeschay boys...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111981706736017831?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111981706736017831/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111981706736017831' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111981706736017831'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111981706736017831'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/late-news-update-eldest-fredeschay-son.html' title='Late News Update:  Eldest Fredeschay Son falls for co-ed.'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111975945424693124</id><published>2005-06-26T00:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-26T00:29:37.900-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Oops!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_efc9ff7b1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_efc9ff7b1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day Brandi went to call Fredeschay Gardening services. Somehow she called the wrong location and ended up talking with the Fredeschay Adoption Service. In a series of accidents Brandi agreed to adopt a child! She tried to back out of the contract, but nothing she did would alter the plan. The Social Worker would bring the child by the house the very next morning!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upset for a while, all that changed for CJ and Brandi when their new son D'oh arrived. While he wasn't their biological child, he was still cute, cuddly and would help develop Fredeschay along with their other children. So, as a rejuvenated young family with excellent jobs, a nice nest egg and a newly renovated home, CJ and Brandi set out on the next stage of leaving a legacy for their family.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111975945424693124?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111975945424693124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111975945424693124' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111975945424693124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111975945424693124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/oops.html' title='Oops!'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111975862254429070</id><published>2005-06-25T23:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-26T00:04:27.880-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Movin' on up.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_cfca1782.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_cfca1782.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_efc9ff7b.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;With the kids off to college, CJ and Brandi had time to focus on their careers. Having reached the pinnacle of organized crime, Brandi retired and began a new career in science. While CJ, now at the peak of his athletic career continued to bring home the big Simoleons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a great sweep of luck, CJ won $60,000 simoleons. With the windfall, CJ and Brandi upgraded their house into something better for the generations that would develop when their sons came home from University.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111975862254429070?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111975862254429070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111975862254429070' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111975862254429070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111975862254429070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/movin-on-up.html' title='Movin&apos; on up.'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111974325677554451</id><published>2005-06-25T19:50:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T19:48:37.226-04:00</updated><title type='text'>University Bound</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_0fc9d642_4fc9d645.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_0fc9d642_4fc9d645.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the boys moved away to go to University they were placed in suspended animation. When Dash was ready to go to school, his elder brothers were removed from their cryogenic suspension and so they were able to go to school together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once there, they began their studies and proved their family genetics by ending up on the Dean's list. CJ and Brandi were SO proud.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111974325677554451?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111974325677554451/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111974325677554451' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111974325677554451'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111974325677554451'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/university-bound.html' title='University Bound'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111975760600297296</id><published>2005-06-25T19:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T23:47:54.720-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Who's the boss?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_afca0f1f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_afca0f1f.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now Brandi was at the top of the criminal organization that exported Fredeschay Bluebells. Not only that, she took to wearing a special "evil criminal" outfit that intimidated her minions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The costume was also a HUGE turn-on for CJ.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111975760600297296?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111975760600297296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111975760600297296' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111975760600297296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111975760600297296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/whos-boss.html' title='Who&apos;s the boss?'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111975747451623180</id><published>2005-06-25T19:41:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T23:49:15.043-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Drink it up!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_4fc97e5f1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_4fc97e5f1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; So, Brandi found a niche as she began to export Fredeschay Bluebells out into the galaxy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as a beneficial side effect, she and CJ were able to rejuvenate themselves many times. Soon, their effective age was not so far above that of their children. Feeling young and free, CJ and Brandi encouraged their boys to go to University so that CJ and Brandi could continue the development of Fredeschay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111975747451623180?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111975747451623180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111975747451623180' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111975747451623180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111975747451623180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/drink-it-up.html' title='Drink it up!'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111974474388211871</id><published>2005-06-25T18:57:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T23:41:39.190-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Newsflash: Xeno Flora Can Increase Life of Humans!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_00000009_8fc9e240.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_00000009_8fc9e240.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CJ and Brandi continued in their careers, all while raising the three boys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, after a tragic demotion resulting from supposedly "poor" decision making in the arena of law enforcement, Brandi became embittered with the system and took on a life of crime. She worked hard to develop her skills and finally brought herself to the point where she was one of the most talented people on the planet. And so, within the dark walls of organized crime, she discovered that she had a talent for smuggling xeno-biotics from Fredeschay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oddly, around that time a bloom of the original biota of Fredeschay surfaced near their home. This area threatened to overrun the valley however it soon achieved a balance with the Earth and Altair III lifeforms which enabled it to stabilize. The blue biota of Fredeschay proved to be very important. It seemed that a special distillation of the blue flower-analogs resulted in a special formula that extended people's lives.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111974474388211871?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111974474388211871/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111974474388211871' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111974474388211871'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111974474388211871'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/newsflash-xeno-flora-can-increase-life.html' title='Newsflash: Xeno Flora Can Increase Life of Humans!'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111974355406072388</id><published>2005-06-25T15:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-26T22:25:55.020-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Memory Loss</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_4fc9ba88.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_4fc9ba88.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;CJ and Brandi continued to develop their family. Two more sons were born - Dylan and Dash. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the boys did well in school, and they had many hijinks while growing up. Unfortunately, in a tragic accident resulting from the repair lady being electrocuted while repairing the dishwasher &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;(she lived - although she was a bit toasted and smelled of natural gas for quite some time)&lt;/span&gt;, all of the boys' childhood photos were lost.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;With the family growing, CJ and Brandi took much of their precious funds to updrade the house and to purchase more furniture for their boys. They were slowly making progress as they did their part to improve Fredeschay.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111974355406072388?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111974355406072388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111974355406072388' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111974355406072388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111974355406072388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/memory-loss.html' title='Memory Loss'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111972325844929982</id><published>2005-06-25T14:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T23:52:02.606-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Boom goes the dynamite!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_2fc97e1d2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_2fc97e1d2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And all that Woohoo resulted in the birth of Dervish, first son of the Fredeschays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;Dervish was the pride and joy of his parents and, as eldest child was established as the heir to the fortunes of the family.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111972325844929982?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111972325844929982/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111972325844929982' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972325844929982'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972325844929982'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/boom-goes-dynamite.html' title='Boom goes the dynamite!'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111972317674677041</id><published>2005-06-25T14:11:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T19:54:57.206-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Consummation</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_cfb89513.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_cfb89513.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;strong&gt; Plenty of Woohoo followed!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;and&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Plenty more followed that!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111972317674677041?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111972317674677041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111972317674677041' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972317674677041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972317674677041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/consummation.html' title='Consummation'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111972310864486701</id><published>2005-06-25T14:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T19:53:07.306-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tie that knot!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_0fb87b8a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_0fb87b8a.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Within a few short days CJ and Brandi had a small civil ceremony and in doing so, had the first wedding on Fredeschay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111972310864486701?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111972310864486701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111972310864486701' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972310864486701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972310864486701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/tie-that-knot.html' title='Tie that knot!'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111972275185925722</id><published>2005-06-25T13:37:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T14:05:51.863-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pop goes the Question</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_8fb8756d1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_8fb8756d1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After working together for some time, CJ finally got the nerve and asked Brandi to marry him.  She immediately said "Yes, yes, yes and again I say: YES!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a glorious time happiness and joy.  They worked together on their home and made small improvements.  Brandi was working as a law enforcement official and CJ was growing in his athletic career.  Despite the night air, the future looked bright.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111972275185925722?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111972275185925722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111972275185925722' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972275185925722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972275185925722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/pop-goes-question.html' title='Pop goes the Question'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111972089295851799</id><published>2005-06-25T13:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T13:35:37.920-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Meeting</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_0fc97d2f.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_0fc97d2f.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As Captain CJ was settling into his new location, other colonists noticed the activity and came over to greet him. Little did they know that the famed founder of Fredeschay had chosen to move into the area. They were thrilled, and spent several hours making him feel welcome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On that first day, CJ met Brandi LeTourneau. She was intriguing, beautiful and shared many similar interests. She also understood the Fredeschay colony's need for increasing the population which is something that continued to draw CJ to her. Over time they became friends and eventually Brandi moved in so that they could pool resources and improve the land and surrounding valley together. In that time, love blossomed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111972089295851799?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111972089295851799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111972089295851799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972089295851799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972089295851799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/meeting.html' title='The Meeting'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111972043645212566</id><published>2005-06-25T13:17:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T23:39:28.623-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Squatter's Rights</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_afb868b0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_afb868b0.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the settlers moved into the valley,  Fleem Inc. chose to assist by landing a supply pod nearby. With the Fredeschay Supply Company ready to provide the colonists with their every need, Captain CJ felt comfortable settling on nearby land. Although is resources were low, he was able to cobble together a small campsite that would enable him to survive as he worked to make a home for future generations.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111972043645212566?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111972043645212566/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111972043645212566' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972043645212566'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111972043645212566'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/squatters-rights.html' title='Squatter&apos;s Rights'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111971985265135108</id><published>2005-06-25T12:35:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-25T23:38:26.686-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Story Begins</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_00000009_4fc97aa6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_00000009_4fc97aa6.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; As the people of Sol began to colonize the stars many planets required a lengthy terraforming process. In an attempt to speed up that process, genetic engineering was performed on a small &lt;a href="http://spore.ea.com/"&gt;Spore&lt;/a&gt; that was found in a tidepool on the third planet from Altair. The resulting small, insect-like creature was called a "Ground Crawler" which was eventually shortened to"Grawler". By consuming various minerals this mighty biotic converted dead, airless planets into lush, verdant worlds, ready for colonization.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worlds converted in this way were called "Grawls". In late 2105, Captain CJ Fredeschay was surveying a Grawl that was nearly ready for colonization. As he passed over a gorgeous valley his one-man survey probe crash-landed in the hills, forcing him to take refuge in the valley. During the rescue attempt, all of the Captain's rescuers realized the valley was perfect for carving out a new life. So they all stayed in order to make the Grawl their own. This Grawl...is Fredeschay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111971985265135108?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111971985265135108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111971985265135108' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111971985265135108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111971985265135108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/our-story-begins.html' title='Our Story Begins'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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-13951437.post-111971696844720151</id><published>2005-06-25T12:29:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2005-06-26T00:33:09.500-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Über-Story</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/snapshot_cfb86687_0fb866881.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/320/snapshot_cfb86687_0fb866881.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2457/1247/1600/thumbnail_cfb86687_0fb86688.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://fredeschay.blogspot.com"&gt;Fredeschay&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; is a blog about a family in &lt;a href="http://thesims2.ea.com/"&gt;Sims 2&lt;/a&gt;. This will be written by a group of friends who met in the beta stages of &lt;a href="http://www.eagames.com/official/thesims/thesimsonline/us/nai/index.jsp"&gt;The Sims Online&lt;/a&gt;.  This group has created a couple of Sims 2 neighborhoods to share with each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, while following the rules of the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legacy_Challenge_(The_Sims_2)"&gt;Legacy Challenge&lt;/a&gt;, they are rotating the neighborhood on a bi-weekly basis. Two neighborhoods are in rotation. One is &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;Fredeschay&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; and the other is &lt;span style="color:#009900;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Flarg&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This blog will focus on the family of CJ Fredeschay and his descendants as they work, live, love and play in the grawl of Fredeschay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/13951437-111971696844720151?l=fredeschay.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/feeds/111971696844720151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=13951437&amp;postID=111971696844720151' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111971696844720151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/13951437/posts/default/111971696844720151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://fredeschay.blogspot.com/2005/06/ber-story.html' title='The Über-Story'/><author><name>Fredeschay</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12794653451225021746</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>
