<?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-6475360071245605</id><updated>2011-08-02T03:14:24.351-03:00</updated><category term='Turma da Monica'/><category term='education'/><category term='Diet'/><category term='Contemplation'/><category term='Family'/><category term='God'/><category term='Social Network'/><category term='Fashion'/><category term='BHU'/><category term='what I think about'/><category term='10 coisas/things'/><category term='Humor'/><category term='Love to God'/><category term='India'/><title type='text'>Sapatilha de Ouro - Golden Sneaker</title><subtitle type='html'>De tudo um pouco.                                
A little bit of everything.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>22</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-5534103002876624144</id><published>2011-04-01T14:25:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2011-04-02T00:43:51.984-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='India'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>Nombre</title><content type='html'>My memory is not the greatest. I took seven years to memorize my six names. Just after one year I could remember my own celphone number. &lt;br /&gt;But the worst thing for my memory is NAMES. In Brazil I had this little problem, specially with "creative" names. But when I came to India I became hopeless.&lt;br /&gt;Rajeev, Shveta, Sikandar, Ashutosh, Anuragh and the list keeps. My classmates had their names changed, by me of course. Teachers are called by their characteristics, we have Yelling Teacher, Chuncky Sir, Awesome Ma'am, Sir Jee...&lt;br /&gt;Trying to find a reason for such a short memory I remebered (hironically) that since my childhood I hear my mom calling me by my sibilins names and it got the extreme of one day calling me Maraiza (our dog's name).&lt;br /&gt;I realize that maybe this is genetic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-5534103002876624144?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/5534103002876624144/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=5534103002876624144&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/5534103002876624144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/5534103002876624144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2011/04/nombre.html' title='Nombre'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-6799622879326268843</id><published>2011-03-27T01:20:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-27T02:10:52.007-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='BHU'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='India'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='education'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Contemplation'/><title type='text'>Present Sir! - Presente 'fessor</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_wWWQClVSO0/TY67TmwB0KI/AAAAAAAAAO0/7rHC7MO0RFY/s1600/PRESENT%2BSIR.bmp"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 350px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_wWWQClVSO0/TY67TmwB0KI/AAAAAAAAAO0/7rHC7MO0RFY/s400/PRESENT%2BSIR.bmp" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588610133107265698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here in India is quite different from Brazil. Not only by the horns above 365 decibels or the monkeys walking in the street. Inside the classroom it is also unlike the largest country in South America. &lt;br /&gt;When I did my under graduation, teachers made us all feel as students who had to give blood to become great professionals and would soon be market colleagues. The result of that behavior was and motivation admiration. Today, doing the second semester of my Masters I realize how much I miss Vanice, Lu Oliveira, Renata Feldman among other masters. True Masters say it in passing. &lt;br /&gt;Here, inside the classroom, students are massacred and unmotivated to try. To try to challenge themselves, to try something new, try a suggestion. The teacher, who is the Divine and Supreme Being, can not ever be contradicted. Nobody in the whole galaxy in absolutely nothing knows more than him &lt;br /&gt;DISCUSS an issue? No way, discussion leads to thinking. It is forbidden! It is from devil!&lt;br /&gt;Student who is a good student has no opinion, agree with the error and prostrate themselves in worship before Guru ji (master). &lt;br /&gt;I do not know and I'm afraid to ask. How it works? I’m forbidden to understand, I have to memorize. &lt;br /&gt;I told the head of the department that I was considering doing a PhD here in India. The answer: Leave communication and open a restaurant! &lt;br /&gt;So stimulating! &lt;br /&gt;The same head, and the only professor who does a some justice to the title, do not get tired of saying that all students are worthless and never will be employed. They’ll end peeling potatoes in a corner shop across the street. &lt;br /&gt;They are monsters creating monsters. People who were offended by the authorities and to “pay back” they offend others who are going to “pay back” offending whoever comes ahead. &lt;br /&gt;Students do not attend classes to gain knowledge. Attend to gain attendance. Learning comes from books and books alone. &lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile I go to my class, usually in Hindi, to raise my hand and say "Present Sir" a present that is absent from my thoughts, my opinions or my intelligence. &lt;br /&gt;Oh how I love my India!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aqui na India e bem diferente do Brasil. Nao so pelas buzinas acima de 365 decibeis ou pelos macacos andando na rua. Dentro da sala de aula tambem.&lt;br /&gt;Quando fiz minha graduacao todos os professores nos faziam sentir estudantes que tinham que dar o sangue e em breve seriam colegas de mercado. O resultado desse tipo de atitude era admiracao e motivacao. Hoje, no segundo semestre do meu mestrado percebo o quanto sinto falta da Vanice, Lu Oliveira, Renata Feldman entre outros mestres. Verdadeiros mestres diga-se de passagem.&lt;br /&gt;Aqui, dentro da sala de aula, alunos sao massacrados e desmotivados a TENTAREM. A tentar se desafiar, a tentar algo novo, a tentar uma sugestao. O professor, ser Divino e Supremo, nao pode jamais ser contradito. Ninguem em toda a galaxia, em absolutamente nada, sabe mais do que Ele.&lt;br /&gt;DISCUTIR um assunto? De jeito nenhum, discussao leva a pensar. E proibido! E do capeta!&lt;br /&gt;Aluno que e aluno nao tem opiniao, concorda com  o erro e se prostra em adoracao diante do Guru ji (Mestre).&lt;br /&gt;Eu nao sei e tenho medo de perguntar. Como e que funciona? Eu nao posso entender, eu tenho que decorar.&lt;br /&gt;Comentei com o diretor do departamento que estava pensando em fazer doutorado aqui na India. A resposta: Larga comunicacao e abre um restaurante!&lt;br /&gt;Que estimulo gostoso!&lt;br /&gt;Esse mesmo diretor, que e o unico professor que faz um pouquinho de juz ao titulo, nao se cansa de dizer que todos os alunos sao imprestaveis e nunca serao empregados. Vao terminar descascando batatas em algum buteco de esquina.&lt;br /&gt;Eles sao monstros gerando monstros. Pessoas que foram ofendidas por autoridades e para descontar ofendem outros que para descontar vao ofender quem vier pela frente.&lt;br /&gt;Alunos nao frequentam as aulas para ganhar conhecimento. Frequentam para ganhar presenca. Aprendizado mesmo vem dos livros e dos livros apenas.&lt;br /&gt;Enquanto isso vou pra minha aula, geralmente em hindi, pra levantar a minha mao e dizer "Present Sir" um present ausente dos meus pensamentos, minhas opinioes ou minha inteligencia.&lt;br /&gt;Ah como eu amo a minha India!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-6799622879326268843?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/6799622879326268843/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=6799622879326268843&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/6799622879326268843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/6799622879326268843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2011/03/present-sir-presente-fessor.html' title='Present Sir! - Presente &apos;fessor'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_wWWQClVSO0/TY67TmwB0KI/AAAAAAAAAO0/7rHC7MO0RFY/s72-c/PRESENT%2BSIR.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-8041188923164375036</id><published>2011-03-23T10:11:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T10:21:33.708-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='BHU'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Social Network'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='what I think about'/><title type='text'>Social Network</title><content type='html'>We have seminars and all the students have to give a short speach about a chosen topic.&lt;br /&gt;One of the topics were social network, and I was suppost to take part on it, which I didn't.&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, something that really bothers me about this "new" way to relate to the external world is the fact that more you get into it more you close yourself in the internal world.&lt;br /&gt;How many youngsters we have today that can not spend an hour without "twitting" but can't talk to their parents for five minutes? &lt;br /&gt;How is the relationship inside of a household after facebook/myspace/twitter...&lt;br /&gt;How easy a person spend ours talking with a stranger on a online chat but can't say hello to the people that surounds them daily.&lt;br /&gt;I saw this video and it made me wonder even more about this "social" network.&lt;br /&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l-84anmYGv4&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-8041188923164375036?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/8041188923164375036/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=8041188923164375036&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/8041188923164375036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/8041188923164375036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2011/03/we-have-seminars-and-all-students-have.html' title='Social Network'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-1652776077136415927</id><published>2011-03-23T08:57:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T10:33:37.154-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Contemplation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Turma da Monica'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>Paciencia - um dom supremo / Pacience - a supreme gift</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nl0XZfckrRc/TYnggoc4NzI/AAAAAAAAAOs/J__XlGH4XUs/s1600/t055-04.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 127px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nl0XZfckrRc/TYnggoc4NzI/AAAAAAAAAOs/J__XlGH4XUs/s400/t055-04.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587243663948789554" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-1652776077136415927?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/1652776077136415927/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=1652776077136415927&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/1652776077136415927'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/1652776077136415927'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2011/03/paciencia-um-dom-supremo-pacience.html' title='Paciencia - um dom supremo / Pacience - a supreme gift'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Nl0XZfckrRc/TYnggoc4NzI/AAAAAAAAAOs/J__XlGH4XUs/s72-c/t055-04.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-1141470818350015930</id><published>2011-03-23T06:25:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T10:35:55.633-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love to God'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Contemplation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God'/><title type='text'>Nostalgia... ooooold posts from my oooooold blogs</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;Complete Surrender&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My beloved is mine, and I am his. Song of Solomon 2:16 a&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a Someone who even before the world was made loved me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before enyone He loved me with such a deep, intense and beautiful love that the only answer I could give was the complete surrender of my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my Beloved, thank you. I love you and I say YES to Your love.&lt;br /&gt;Forever I am totally and completely Yours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Entrega total&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;O meu amado é meu, e eu sou dele. Cantares 2:16a&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Existe um Alguém que antes mesmo do mundo existir já me amava.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Antes de todos Ele me amava com um amor tão profundo, intenso e lindo, que a única resposta que eu poderia dar era a entrega total do meu coração.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah meu Amado, obrigada. Eu te amo e digo SIM para o Seu amor. Para sempre sou totalmente e inteiramente Tua.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Breath over me&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's interesting how life (at least mine) works. When everything is still and there tree’s leaves don’t clap and there is lack of wind I want a hurricane, I want the intensity of the divine breath. When the breeze starts to come, on tiptoe, want no more typhoon but dancing under the palm trees that rhythmic claps the Creator.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point everything seems to fit. Everything calms down and sits in its place. Ah, how good is to rest in the Lord.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come Spirit and pour out Your sweet fragrance, I want to dance at your own pace, want to be kissed by Your breeze.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Sopra sobre mim&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;É interessante como a vida (pelo menos a minha) funciona. Quando tudo está parado e nenhuma folha se balança pela falta do vento eu quero um furacão, quero a intensidade do sopro divino. Quando a brisa começa a vir, pé ante pé, não quero mais o tufão e sim dançar de acordo com as palmas rítmicas das árvores que aplaudem o Criador. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nesse momento tudo parece encaixar. Tudo se acalma e repousa no seu devido lugar. Ah, como é bom descansar no SENHOR.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vem Espírito e derrama a Tua doce fragância, quero dançar no Teu rítmo, quero ser beijada pela Tua brisa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Nothing = Everything&lt;/strong&gt;Nothing can stop me from singing, nothing can cover my mouth and stop me to rejoice your name and prophesy. Yes, I prophesy that even though I failed I’ll get up and obey, even if it hurts me I'll obey You because in a place where my eyes can not reach the realization of each dream every plan that the Lord has for me will be fulfilled.&lt;br /&gt;I will not keep silent. Nothing will stop me from moving forward towards the prize that is Your fullness.&lt;br /&gt;Oh Lord, here is my heart, I'll give it all, even if it do not seem want to be given. I offer You my recional service. Yes, I want to give it to You. Take my heart, Jesus take it and make it what the Lord wishes. &lt;br /&gt;I am yours, only yours, I take myself out of my own hands surender to You and you alone, for the Lord and worthy of trustworth.&lt;br /&gt;I trust in You, so I say that I will obey. I say YES.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Nada = Tudo&lt;/strong&gt;Nada podera me fazer parar de cantar, nada podera tampar a minha boca e me impedir de exultar o Teu nome e profetizar. Sim, eu profetizarei que mesmo sendo falha eu vou obedecer, mesmo que me doa eu vou Te obedecer porque la na frente, num lugar onde meus olhos nao alcancam, esta a concretizacao de cada sonho e plano que o Senhor tem pra mim. &lt;br /&gt;Eu nao vou calar, nada vai me fazer parar de seguir em frente rumo ao premio que e a Tua plenitude. &lt;br /&gt;Ah Senhor, aqui esta o meu coracao, eu te entrego ele todo, mesmo que pareca que nao quero entregar, eu te ofereco o meu culto racional, eu quero sim te entregar, receba o meu coracao, toma ele Jesus e faz dele o que o Senhor quiser. Eu sou tua, somente tua, eu me tiro das minhas maos para me render a Ti, e somente a Ti, porque o Senhor e digno de confianca, de entrega. Eu confio em Ti, por isso digo que vou obedecer. Eu digo SIM&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-1141470818350015930?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/1141470818350015930/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=1141470818350015930&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/1141470818350015930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/1141470818350015930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2011/03/nostalgia-ooooold-posts-from-my.html' title='Nostalgia... ooooold posts from my oooooold blogs'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-8407104547900684886</id><published>2011-03-23T06:09:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T10:36:51.872-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Love to God'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Contemplation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God'/><title type='text'>The burden of love</title><content type='html'>This post was made in 2009 at another blog that I had. I was just rerading it now and it is speaking more then ever in my heart! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l7Hha8cm-kU/TYm6Upc9sTI/AAAAAAAAANs/P2G4kK2JoeI/s1600/baby%2Bdaddy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 287px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l7Hha8cm-kU/TYm6Upc9sTI/AAAAAAAAANs/P2G4kK2JoeI/s400/baby%2Bdaddy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587201676617298226" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is very funny how some desires comes strongly in my heart and I think that this or that will fill what, in my mind, is missing. For example: family, friends, companion. &lt;br /&gt;What I don`t realize is that all this things will not be complete by a marriage, communion with brothers and sisters or facebook. What I really need I can only find in only one place: Jesus. “You are a fountain in the gardens, a well of living waters, Which stream from Lebanon.” Song of Solomon 4:15.&lt;br /&gt;Jesus don`t want me to run before nothing, including His work. &lt;br /&gt;I find everything in Him: love, admiration, kindness, companion and care.EVERYTHING. And the only thing I need to do is simply to answer to His presence and participation in my life and not carrying a pain or a burden. &lt;br /&gt;He didn`t call me for pain, He called me for love. &lt;br /&gt;Don`t hurt to a river to run to the ocean, although it will cost to the river a lost of its essence (sweet water). In the same way to love and serve Jesus doesn't hurt, even though I'll need deny myself and carry my cross.&lt;br /&gt;Jesus ask me to read Joshua 23:9-11: “For the LORD hath driven out from before you great nations and strong: but as for you, no man hath been able to stand before you to this day. One man of you shall chase a thousand: for the LORD your God, he it is that fighteth for you, as he hath promised you. Take good heed therefore to yourselves, that ye love the LORD your God”. And He said to me “Carol, everything I promised you happened, are happening and will happen. You will pass through wars but I promised that I`ll fight for you, I don`t want you to fight, just to love Me.” So I realize that fighting for the Lord is empty because the only thing He asks me is to love Him. I am aware that for myself I can do nothing.&lt;br /&gt;The only thing I have, and it`s what I want to give Him is my heart with all my affections. &lt;br /&gt;"Jesus, Daddy and Holy Spirit, teach me how to Love You. Take me to that place in You where the only thing I can do is to be fascinate for You. Please help me to do only what You ask me, nothing more and nothing less.&lt;br /&gt;With love,&lt;br /&gt;Your Carol"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-8407104547900684886?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/8407104547900684886/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=8407104547900684886&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/8407104547900684886'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/8407104547900684886'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2011/03/burden-of-love.html' title='The burden of love'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l7Hha8cm-kU/TYm6Upc9sTI/AAAAAAAAANs/P2G4kK2JoeI/s72-c/baby%2Bdaddy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-3438941980901482500</id><published>2009-09-16T08:16:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T10:40:21.201-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family'/><title type='text'>Visita no morro!</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="353" height="132"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.goear.com/files/external.swf?file=dfd8159" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" quality="high" width="353" height="132"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mamae ta vindo me visitar!!!&lt;br /&gt;Ela chega daqui algumas horas!&lt;br /&gt;Mais um motivo para emagrecer!&lt;br /&gt;Bjuuus&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-3438941980901482500?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/3438941980901482500/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=3438941980901482500&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/3438941980901482500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/3438941980901482500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2009/09/visita-no-morro.html' title='Visita no morro!'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-8438732093809327760</id><published>2009-09-14T09:39:00.014-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T10:43:51.096-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Contemplation'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='God'/><title type='text'>Uma sombra que passa pela vida ou momento filosofico para a existencia das jacadas</title><content type='html'>Ps: liga a musica ali em baixo antes de comecar a ler (pra dar clima ne!)&lt;br /&gt;Eu sempre amei conhecer mais sobre a Asia, especialmente o oriente medio. Uma das minhas autoras favoritas e Jean Sesson , escritora da trilogia Princesa Sultana. A forma como Jean descreve as mulheres na Arabia Saudita e como uma "sombra que passa pela vida". Sempre achei essa definicao muito triste. Mulheres sem autonomia que so existiam para o prazer de outros. Mulheres sem expressao, donas de nada, a nao ser seus sentimentos.&lt;br /&gt;Esta semana comecei a perceber, para minha grande tristeza, que tambem sou uma sombra, um vulto passando pela minha propria vida. Alguem sem autonomia, sem controle de si mesma. &lt;br /&gt;Tenho vivido a "liberdade" pregada pela nossa sociedade de consumo que acabou me aprisionando, me tornando uma dependente, uma viciada: "Voce pode comer/transar/comprar/jogar... o quanto quiser, o que quiser, quando quiser" ela diz. "Voce e livre para comer/transar/comprar/jogar.... Coma/transe/compre/jogue. VOCE QUER. VOCE PODE" Ela berra. Mas isso na verdade e uma isca. Um pensamento comeca a surgir: "Eu estou no controle. Afinal de contas sou eu quem decide aqui. Eu mereco, eu quero e eu vou comer este doce (isso e um exemplo, o meu mais especificamente. Aqui pode ser colocado o sexo, compras, jogo...)". E assim comeco a exercer meu "livre" arbitrio ate o momento que percebo que o que eu "controlava" esta me controlando. Agora nao sou mais eu quem diz "Quero um doce" mas eu comeco a PRECISAR de um doce senao... Eu nao consigo mais me limintar. Nao consigo nao fazer. Nao consigo parar. EU PERDI O CONTROLE.&lt;br /&gt;Eu posso? Posso realmente ser livre a ponto de dizer NAO a essas coisas? Livre mesmo era quando nao as fazia. Por que me deixei convencer? Por que ME convenci que naquele tempo que conseguia dizer NAO a aprisionada era eu e eles que eram livres?&lt;br /&gt;Hoje, sem controle, percebi que ofereciam uma liberdade falsa. Me deixei seduzir do belo ar livre para uma cela fria e sem cor. Quero voltar. Preciso de ar. Quero e preciso da real liberdade.&lt;br /&gt;Estou saindo. Estou saindo para a VERDADEIRA LIBERDADE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="353" height="132"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.goear.com/files/external.swf?file=26628ac" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" quality="high" width="353" height="132"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Com meu "ingleisinho" vou tentar traduzir essa musica que esta tocando e diz tudo e mais um pouco!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Weight Of The World / Peso do mundo - Chantal Kreviazuk&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to carry the weight of the world / Eu estava acostumada a carregar o peso do mundo&lt;br /&gt;And now all I wanna do is spread my wings and fly / E agora quero abrir as minhas asas e voar&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I was so afraid... all the time / Eu nao sei o por que eu estava com tanto medo... todo o tempo&lt;br /&gt;Memories seemed to bother me... my whole life / Memorias parecem me incomodar... Minha vida toda&lt;br /&gt;I used to carry the weight of the world / Eu estava acostumada a carregar o peso do mundo&lt;br /&gt;And now all I wanna do is spread my wings and fly / E agora quero abrir as minhas asas e voar&lt;br /&gt;I used to carry the weight of the world / Eu estava acostumada a carregar o peso do mundo&lt;br /&gt;And now all I wanna do is spread my wings and fly / E agora quero abrir as minhas asas e voar&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I was so ashamed / Eu nao sei por que tinha tanta vergonha&lt;br /&gt;Such a waste of time / Quanta perda de tempo&lt;br /&gt;And I don't know who I was trying to be / E eu nao sei quem estava tentando ser&lt;br /&gt;All those lies / Todas aquelas mentiras&lt;br /&gt;I used to carry the weight of the world / Eu estava acostumada a carregar o peso do mundo&lt;br /&gt;And now all I wanna do is spread my wings and fly / E agora quero abrir as minhas asas e voar&lt;br /&gt;I used to carry the weight of the world/ Eu estava acostumada a carregar o peso do mundo&lt;br /&gt;And now all I wanna do is spread my wings and fly / E agora quero abrir as minhas asas e voar&lt;br /&gt;Oh and there's always something / Oh e sempre existe algo&lt;br /&gt;Or somebody right behind / Ou alguem bem atras&lt;br /&gt;Well we're not meant to be everything / Bem, supostamente nos nao somos feitos para ser tudo&lt;br /&gt;We're just a piece / Nos somos apenas um pedaco&lt;br /&gt;So spread your wings / Entao abra as suas asas &lt;br /&gt;Oh I don't know why I was so afraid all the time / Oh eu nao sei por que eu estava com tanto medo todo o tempo&lt;br /&gt;I used to carry the weight of the world / Eu estava acostumada a carregar o peso do mundo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Gente o post ficou gigante, mas essa e a razao do meu descontrole e jacadas: a perda de mim mesma. Mas estou "me retomando, me reconquistando"!&lt;br /&gt;Bjus e uma linda semana!&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-8438732093809327760?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/8438732093809327760/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=8438732093809327760&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/8438732093809327760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/8438732093809327760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2009/09/uma-sombra-que-passa-pela-vida.html' title='Uma sombra que passa pela vida ou momento filosofico para a existencia das jacadas'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-6892804632194837128</id><published>2009-09-12T11:27:00.002-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T10:51:54.233-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><title type='text'>Eh so cortar</title><content type='html'>É só cortar: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9aCR52zDag/Squxvw4mV2I/AAAAAAAAAMI/dZfcFIszgWY/s1600-h/0041-0605-2522-1152_illustration_mad_woman_with_a_knife.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9aCR52zDag/Squxvw4mV2I/AAAAAAAAAMI/dZfcFIszgWY/s400/0041-0605-2522-1152_illustration_mad_woman_with_a_knife.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5380589613958453090" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;as massas... os bolos... os molhos… os sorvetes... as pizzas... os doces… a cervejinha...... o pão... as batatas fritas… os biscoitos… o chocolate... a caipirinha...&lt;br /&gt;e... &lt;br /&gt;os pulsos!!!...&lt;br /&gt;Contribuicao da minha irma! HAUahUha&lt;br /&gt;Tenho que postar mais! E eu vou!!!&lt;br /&gt;To jacando feito doida, mas eh ate bom pra eu poder me conhecer! De verdade que estou me desconhecendo, estou muito mais descontrolada do que imaginava!&lt;br /&gt;Depois conto aqui!&lt;br /&gt;Bjus&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-6892804632194837128?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/6892804632194837128/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=6892804632194837128&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/6892804632194837128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/6892804632194837128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2009/09/eh-so-cortar.html' title='Eh so cortar'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_o9aCR52zDag/Squxvw4mV2I/AAAAAAAAAMI/dZfcFIszgWY/s72-c/0041-0605-2522-1152_illustration_mad_woman_with_a_knife.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-5639420804641603649</id><published>2009-09-05T14:01:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T10:59:23.687-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><title type='text'>Tudo depende</title><content type='html'>Sim, tudo depende de mim. E claro que se tiver apoio e mais facil e melhor, mas a escolha e minha. Tudo na vida e uma escolha ja diria meu querido pastor Marcio. Pois bem, quero mudar, quero mesmo, e se esse querer nao e super mega maxi forte pelo menos quero querer essa super mega maxi forte vontade e alcancar o objetivo de ter um corpo pp. Eu tenho lido blog de outras meninas e que forca de vontade!!! Elas sairam de um XXG3 e estao em M! E tenho certeza de que chegarao no PP! E eu tenho andado na contra-mao, sai do M, passei pelo G, GG, XG e agora estou no XXG. Que triste... e a unica responsavel sou eu. Mais triste ainda...&lt;br /&gt;Quero lembrar o que e sentir bem comigo mesma, sentir aquele prazer de olhar pra mim que supera o prazer beeeem momentaneo que o acucar da, ou que qualquer outro alimento da. Aqui na Tailandia eu descobri comidas nao apimentadas e beeem verdes, tem barraquinha de frutas a cada esquina e eu quero. Quero mesmo mudar.&lt;br /&gt;Hoje eu e mamae fizemos um desafio de em um ano emagrecermos 20 Kilos.  Ela esta com 90 e eu estou com 104 e no dia 5 de setembro ela estara com 70 e eu com 84 (NO MINIMO).&lt;br /&gt;QUERO DISCIPLINA NA MINHA VIDA.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-5639420804641603649?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/5639420804641603649/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=5639420804641603649&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/5639420804641603649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/5639420804641603649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2009/09/tudo-depende.html' title='Tudo depende'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-9009648894426630367</id><published>2008-06-21T09:01:00.018-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T15:27:02.008-03:00</updated><title type='text'>O tempo tá curto mas tô chegando</title><content type='html'>Meninas e afins!&lt;br /&gt;Desculpe a demora em postar. Estou numa fase em que só trabalho e não vivo, e não sei até que ponto isso é bom... Mas, vamos ao que interessa.&lt;br /&gt;Eu estou indo super bem! na última pesagem foram embora mais 1,4kg!!! Yuhuuuu! Cheguei a 1 saco de arroz mais 3 de farinha fora do meu corpitcho! Aiaiaia, é de ficar feliz até né!&lt;br /&gt;Coloquei essas fotinhos pra vocês verem a evolução da guria. Como eu moro sozinha as únicas fotos que consigo fazer são de rosto da câmera do meu laptop, então aqui vai....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzw5EVypjI/AAAAAAAAAHI/jvBayRuYHzk/s1600-h/Picture0434.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzw5EVypjI/AAAAAAAAAHI/jvBayRuYHzk/s320/Picture0434.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214307331796543026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzxckrBKEI/AAAAAAAAAHY/Rl_A5dTm3LQ/s1600-h/Picture0556.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzxckrBKEI/AAAAAAAAAHY/Rl_A5dTm3LQ/s320/Picture0556.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214307941770930242" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzxuMHTQeI/AAAAAAAAAHg/jOs-85fh0aU/s1600-h/Picture0980.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzxuMHTQeI/AAAAAAAAAHg/jOs-85fh0aU/s320/Picture0980.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214308244416315874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzyN8awAQI/AAAAAAAAAHw/FTUsrj0Wt_0/s1600-h/Picture1270.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzyN8awAQI/AAAAAAAAAHw/FTUsrj0Wt_0/s320/Picture1270.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214308789958738178" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzyjq2cXaI/AAAAAAAAAH4/ErYUNVrHqJw/s1600-h/Picture1293.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzyjq2cXaI/AAAAAAAAAH4/ErYUNVrHqJw/s320/Picture1293.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214309163200175522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzzHO2gMNI/AAAAAAAAAIA/yifJy_Jn0m4/s1600-h/Picture1468.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzzHO2gMNI/AAAAAAAAAIA/yifJy_Jn0m4/s320/Picture1468.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214309774159524050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFz1iodILbI/AAAAAAAAAIY/vIhvThUOqjk/s1600-h/Picture1533.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFz1iodILbI/AAAAAAAAAIY/vIhvThUOqjk/s320/Picture1533.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5214312443912138162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;E esta foto foi tirada agora.&lt;br /&gt;Vocês sentiram diferença?&lt;br /&gt;Bjokas em todas (os)!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-9009648894426630367?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/9009648894426630367/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=9009648894426630367&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/9009648894426630367'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/9009648894426630367'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/06/o-tempo-t-curto-mas-t-chegando.html' title='O tempo tá curto mas tô chegando'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/SFzw5EVypjI/AAAAAAAAAHI/jvBayRuYHzk/s72-c/Picture0434.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-3536361656387566746</id><published>2008-04-04T20:25:00.011-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T10:58:08.556-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>O ataque da boca nervosa.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_bCZcIgNyI/AAAAAAAAAFk/9p7ukMDVKCc/s1600-h/come-come.png"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5185545763268081442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_bCZcIgNyI/AAAAAAAAAFk/9p7ukMDVKCc/s320/come-come.png" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hoje eu estava ansiosa.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Não entendi o motivo, até tentei procurá-lo, mas nem sinal dele. Deixei, então, a Anssiedade vir fazer uma festa, até sem apresentar o motivo da visita.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mesmo sendo raras ultimamente, essas visitas trazem consigo o que eu chamo de (SBN) síndrome da boca nervosa. Os sintomas são claros, e se você estiver apresentando qualquer um deles FIQUE LONGE DE QUALQUER COISA A BASE DE CACAU OU AÇUCAR, são eles: irritação, têmporas latejantes, vontade desesperada de exercitar seu maxilar e mãos inquietas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Querida GG, eu falo sério, se segure que o trem é feio. Você, cara PP, pode se descontrolar a vontade.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tinha que resolver algumas pendências em um bairro longe, e como todas sabem ainda não tirei carteira. Como boa aconomista (primeira matéria na vida que tirei 70 redondo) que sou, pensei em andar um pouquinho para pegar um ônibus só. Repita comigo: "O barato, muitas vezes, sai mais caro".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Por queeee, por que, alguém me responda, eu fui fazer isso?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eu parecia cachorro macho que pára em todo poste. A cada padaria ia um chocolatezinho, um refrizinho light, um salgadinho... (aqui deveria entrar bem mais que três pontinhos) O diminutivo é uma coisinha insignificante quando falada, mas BEM significante quando pesada (total frase de impacto, vou fazer uma camisa com isso!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enfim, hoje a ansiedade trouxe consigo a boca nervosa, mas estou me lembrando sobre a palestra de liberdade, e que a real liberdade é quando digo NÃO para tudo o que me faz mal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ei você, sim, você mesma Dona Ansiedade, mesmo depois de tudo hoje, eu escolho dizer NÃO pra você. Xispa, xô...xô, num volta mais não, e leva a boca nervosa contigo, nenhuma de vocês são bem-vindas aqui. SAI, AGORA!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Lição de hoje: sempre pegar dois ônibus, me lembrar que sou humana e não um cachorrinho tentando marcar território em cada padaria e praticar esse despejo da Dona ansiedade e sua cria Boca Nervosa todos os dias. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&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/6475360071245605-3536361656387566746?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/3536361656387566746/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=3536361656387566746&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/3536361656387566746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/3536361656387566746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/04/o-ataque-da-boca-nervosa.html' title='O ataque da boca nervosa.'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_bCZcIgNyI/AAAAAAAAAFk/9p7ukMDVKCc/s72-c/come-come.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-5640926182692989918</id><published>2008-04-01T12:41:00.009-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T11:01:32.140-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fashion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Family'/><title type='text'>Tudo foi lindo....</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JeScIgNvI/AAAAAAAAAFM/wbReDyfVPkw/s1600-h/1.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184309791939376882" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JeScIgNvI/AAAAAAAAAFM/wbReDyfVPkw/s320/1.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JcncIgNtI/AAAAAAAAAE8/EEHD3ojzQuo/s1600-h/DSCF0423.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184307953693374162" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JcncIgNtI/AAAAAAAAAE8/EEHD3ojzQuo/s320/DSCF0423.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JaMMIgNqI/AAAAAAAAAEk/9S2xEJOCwR0/s1600-h/DSCF0024.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184305286518683298" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JaMMIgNqI/AAAAAAAAAEk/9S2xEJOCwR0/s320/DSCF0024.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JbWMIgNsI/AAAAAAAAAE0/kJ-LYkPP7P0/s1600-h/DSCF0146.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184306557829002946" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JbWMIgNsI/AAAAAAAAAE0/kJ-LYkPP7P0/s320/DSCF0146.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JavcIgNrI/AAAAAAAAAEs/RdrVnd1qFLU/s1600-h/DSCF0065.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184305892109072050" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JavcIgNrI/AAAAAAAAAEs/RdrVnd1qFLU/s320/DSCF0065.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ei gente!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hoje tá cheio de fotinhos para justificar meu desaparecimento. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Semana passada minha linda irmã veio de longe e acabamos não ficando em casa momento algum, além da formatura que foi linda mas não deixou de ser uma loucura.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Infelizmente não consegui tirar uma foto igual a cinderela porque eu já tava caindo de sono, mas lembrei de vocês o tempo todo!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;O vestido usado na colação foi o marrom (quarta foto), além da beca (quinta foto), o cinza foi na missa (terceira foto). Eu gosto muito de coisas discretas mas diferentes e ambos tinham essas duas caracteristicas. Agora a sandália que usei com o vestido marrom é linda demais! Tudo presente da minha mana!!! HAuahUA. Esse é o melhor ponto em ser a caçula.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Eu não fui ao baile porque escolhi um ir a congresso com a minha irmã (duas primeiras fotos), mas fui comemorar com um almoço no Xapuri (restaurante super gostosinho daqui. Quando visitar Beagá não deixe de passar nesse restaurante) . Mas só estávamos com a mega camera analógica e vai demorar um pouquinho, mas o vestido é lindo também!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fiquei tão feliz de acabar saindo mais pra cinderela do que para abóbora.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Obrigada pela torcida!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&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/6475360071245605-5640926182692989918?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/5640926182692989918/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=5640926182692989918&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/5640926182692989918'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/5640926182692989918'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/04/tudo-foi-lindo.html' title='Tudo foi lindo....'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R_JeScIgNvI/AAAAAAAAAFM/wbReDyfVPkw/s72-c/1.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-393625892473350368</id><published>2008-03-19T18:48:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T11:04:00.471-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='10 coisas/things'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>10 coisas</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R-GONMIgNpI/AAAAAAAAAEc/_442kzCDPYU/s1600-h/Picture0572.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5179577403699115666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R-GONMIgNpI/AAAAAAAAAEc/_442kzCDPYU/s320/Picture0572.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R-GN_cIgNoI/AAAAAAAAAEU/KdaTmFh-xhQ/s1600-h/Picture0596.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Eu sou uma apaixonada pela blogosfera. Infelizmente ainda não aprendi a colocar links dos blogs que visito diariamente, mas isso definitivamente não quer dizer que deixo de visitá-los todos os dias. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Durante essa viagem pelo fantástico mundo virtual percebi que todos sempre colocam aqueles posts fofinhos sobre 10 coisas que mais (odeio, amo, admiro, falo, acontecem sempre e mais uma infinidade). Como o sapatilha de ouro é um blog todo fofucho não poderia ficar de fora da onda.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Então aqui vai as 10 coisas que mais detesto em estar gorda (não necessariamente nesta ordem):&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1- Não conseguir encontrar roupas GG bacanas por $, somente por $$$$&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2- Ser ponto de referência (ali do lado daquela fortinha)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;3- Ser chamada de fortinha&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;4- Me cederem lugar no ônibus ou na fila do supermercado anunciando pra todo mundo quão absurdo é deixar uma grávida em pé (Ok, essa algumas vezes pode ser conveniente)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;5- Só receber cantadas vindas de contruções &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;6- Dessas cantadas apenas ouvir coisas como "Mas que saúde, hein!" ou "Mas essa aí tem carne!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;7- Me sentir uma maçã argentina quando visto vermelho&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;8- Não poder usar biquini sem no mínimo fazer a mágica de desaparecer a alça no meio das costas&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;9- Não poder usar calça skinny sem parecer um sorvetão&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;10- Achar que dá pra passar entre mesas e cadeiras e na hora H tudo acaba no chão&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/6475360071245605-393625892473350368?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/393625892473350368/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=393625892473350368&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/393625892473350368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/393625892473350368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/03/10-coisas.html' title='10 coisas'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R-GONMIgNpI/AAAAAAAAAEc/_442kzCDPYU/s72-c/Picture0572.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-3987274130587562636</id><published>2008-03-14T16:58:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T11:05:45.113-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>Dá tchau pra vaquinha...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R9rbtD4FezI/AAAAAAAAAEA/o9JkH5XW-ak/s1600-h/curr_veggies.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177692288796949298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R9rbtD4FezI/AAAAAAAAAEA/o9JkH5XW-ak/s320/curr_veggies.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ontem eu estava conversando com a minha &lt;a href="http://www.growup.com.br/"&gt;chefe&lt;/a&gt; sobre ser vegeteriana ou não. Mesmo com tantos prós e contras continuo na dúvida. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mas enquanto não me decido definitivamente eu me divirto com o &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anN4dO6jB4M"&gt;Veggietales&lt;/a&gt;. É tão legal ver um pepino &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wRW40gtcp2I&amp;amp;NR=1"&gt;cantando&lt;/a&gt; músicas dos Alpes tipo Yodeley. Dá uma olhada, se você entende inglês vai entender o quero dizer, se não você ainda vai curtir um tanto de vegetal dançando e cantando. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Aí sim realmente dá vontade de ser vegetariana de vez. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-3987274130587562636?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/3987274130587562636/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=3987274130587562636&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/3987274130587562636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/3987274130587562636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/03/d-tchau-pra-vaquinha.html' title='Dá tchau pra vaquinha...'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R9rbtD4FezI/AAAAAAAAAEA/o9JkH5XW-ak/s72-c/curr_veggies.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-1533561774734428435</id><published>2008-03-13T17:03:00.005-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T11:06:58.718-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Fashion'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>Abóbora ou Cinderella?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R9mSsz4FexI/AAAAAAAAADs/7ccDxFfb6yA/s1600-h/blog.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R9mSsz4FexI/AAAAAAAAADs/7ccDxFfb6yA/s320/blog.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177330545176443666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As solenidades da minha formatura se aproximam. Em exatos 12 dias tudo começa: missa, colação, comemoração... E então surge o desespero: COM QUE ROUPA EU VOU?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Na busca pelo vestido perfeito passei por um momento-constrangimento-total.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fui a loja de roupas de festa, encontrei uma atendente EXTREMAMENTE atenciosa. Primeira pergunta: Vocês tem vestidos GG? Resposta EXTREMAMENTE atenciosa: Ah querida, mas você não veste GG não, com este corpo liiiiiiiindo! Ego inchado, vou para o provador me sentindo A PP. MENTIRAAAAA. Amigas GGs não caiam nessa, seja sincera com você. A vendedora se convenceu que, SIM, eu vestia GG e pegou o único GG do lugar. Entrei no vestido, fechar já é outra história. A vendedora já com olhar desesperado me pergunta: Vamos tirar? Na minha mente eu digo: Não idiota, vou sair correndo com o vestido aberto e nunca mais vou voltar, na boca simplesmente sai: Claro. Ahá. 5 minutos depois, eu já suando igual panela de pressão ouvimos um alto e grande RAAAAASG. Os olhinhos assustados da vendedora me fitam e ela fala com a pouca voz que lhe resta: Tem problema não, a culpa foi minha.  Ainda bem, porque ela me iludiu dizendo que o vestido caberia.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Graças a Deus minha fada-madrirmã mora na terra dos obesos e trará um belo vestido GG para mim. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Pode deixar que eu vou colocar uma foto minha igual a da cinderella, quem sabe até rola um príncipe encantado?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Moral da história, se você não quer parecer uma abóbora tenha uma fada-madrinha. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-1533561774734428435?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/1533561774734428435/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=1533561774734428435&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/1533561774734428435'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/1533561774734428435'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/03/abbora-ou-cinderella.html' title='Abóbora ou Cinderella?'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R9mSsz4FexI/AAAAAAAAADs/7ccDxFfb6yA/s72-c/blog.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-2975234902383903845</id><published>2008-03-10T19:48:00.003-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T11:07:30.535-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><title type='text'>Um pacote de farinha</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R9W9Az4FesI/AAAAAAAAACM/so2lqon2xMI/s1600-h/Picture0434.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5176251168355351234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R9W9Az4FesI/AAAAAAAAACM/so2lqon2xMI/s320/Picture0434.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Antes de tudo, desculpa pela demora em fazer uma nova postagem. Eu tô mega ocupada.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Passou quase uma semana desde a última pesagem no VP, e SIM eu estou rindo a toa. Um pacote de farinha foi embora do meu corpo, ou 4 potes de 250gr de margarina, como você preferir.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;É amigas GGs, agora não tem mais volta, é caminhar para frente rumo a um corpo L-I-N-D-O.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sorriam comigo e vamos nos alegrar porque mais um quilo foi para o espaço (eu ia colocar pro ar mas a rima ficou bobinha...). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-2975234902383903845?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/2975234902383903845/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=2975234902383903845&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/2975234902383903845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/2975234902383903845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/03/um-pacote-de-farinha.html' title='Um pacote de farinha'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R9W9Az4FesI/AAAAAAAAACM/so2lqon2xMI/s72-c/Picture0434.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-7036051077464472859</id><published>2008-03-04T18:49:00.008-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T11:10:46.080-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>Você quer ficar assim?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R83G4A5MJiI/AAAAAAAAACE/_h2IL1mvYJM/s1600-h/leite.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174010212533413410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R83G4A5MJiI/AAAAAAAAACE/_h2IL1mvYJM/s320/leite.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R83GjQ5MJhI/AAAAAAAAAB8/_5mhro7SFyA/s1600-h/leite.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Estava fazendo meu passeio pelo supermercado quando vi duas Ms comprando ingredientes para um pudim de leite moça (como sei que eram ingredientes para fazer um pudim? Eu ouvi elas falando).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ao se depararem com várias marcas (sim, pudim de leite moça pode ser feito com leite condensado parmalat, cotochés etc, menos camponesa, aquele trem é horrível) decidiram que o pudim seria original.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A 42 pegou a lata com curvas (normal, doce e muito calórico) e a reta (desnatado, doce e menos calórico) perguntando para a 44: qual das duas levar? A resposta veio em forma de pergunta enquanto a 44 pegava a moça normal e mostrava para 42: "Cê qué ficássim?".&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/6475360071245605-7036051077464472859?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/7036051077464472859/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=7036051077464472859&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/7036051077464472859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/7036051077464472859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/03/voc-quer-ficar-assim_04.html' title='Você quer ficar assim?'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R83G4A5MJiI/AAAAAAAAACE/_h2IL1mvYJM/s72-c/leite.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-5264837336006622337</id><published>2008-02-29T21:46:00.007-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T11:11:33.316-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>Sexta-feira à noite, não é 13, mas têm corredor da morte.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8ixfow8zOI/AAAAAAAAAAs/9z1tLnS5pqE/s1600-h/coelho.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172579329111805154" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8ixfow8zOI/AAAAAAAAAAs/9z1tLnS5pqE/s400/coelho.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sexta-feira a noite. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Uma belíssima e fresca noite de verão. Saí da agência e fui para.... o supermercado. Trabalhar de segunda a segunda dá nisso.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mesmo assim sempre tento fazer das idas ao supermercado uma aventura: conhecer novos produtos, novas disposições nas gôndolas, outras maneiras de comunicar nos PDVs. Hoje, porém, enquanto desbravava os corredores do Extra visualizei no horizonte algo horrível: um extenso e colorido corredor da morte. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Faltando 24 dias para o domingo de páscoa e ter todos aqueles ovos dispostos em corredor é algo, no mínimo, tentador para mim. Comecei a olhar para todas as embalagens reluzentes e brilhantes feito joias de 30cm com o interior recheado de chocolate. Tudo tão bonito, porém tão terrível. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Por que não fazer coelhinhos de cenoura? Ou deixar a casca ovos cozidos totalmente coloridas e divertidas? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Vamos lá GGs, corramos do corredor da morte direto para o setor de hortifruti.&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/6475360071245605-5264837336006622337?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/5264837336006622337/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=5264837336006622337&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/5264837336006622337'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/5264837336006622337'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/02/sexta-feira-noite-no-13-mas-tm-corredor.html' title='Sexta-feira à noite, não é 13, mas têm corredor da morte.'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8ixfow8zOI/AAAAAAAAAAs/9z1tLnS5pqE/s72-c/coelho.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-320308745293519695</id><published>2008-02-28T19:33:00.006-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T11:12:40.073-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Humor'/><title type='text'>Pobres palhas italianas.... Pobre sou eu!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8c5zAvStMI/AAAAAAAAAAc/uFQeNtVRhkQ/s1600-h/eu13.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5172166245592773826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8c5zAvStMI/AAAAAAAAAAc/uFQeNtVRhkQ/s400/eu13.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hoje saí, teoricamente, atrasada. Quando estava na esquina vi meu ônibus passar (sim, eu ainda não tirei carteira, que feio eu sei!). Fiquei me remoendo de raiva até que comecei a ouvir alguém chamando meu nome. Começou bem baixinho mas foi aumentando até se tornar um grito. Vi que a voz vinha da padaria da esquina, mais especificamente das palhas italianas que acabaram de chegar. Quando me aproximei, todas começaram a implorar que as tirassem dali, me senti na obrigação de salvar pelo menos 100gr, e foi o que fiz. Quando as peguei me pediram para irem a um lugar quentinho, prontamente as levei para o meu estômago. Dois milésimos de segundo depois bateu a culpa juntamente com o remorso. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Qual a real necessidade de comer 120gr de palha italiana? A Resposta veio na hora: descontar a raiva de ter perdido o ônibus. Agora além da raiva tinha o remorso.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lição de hoje: Não descontar nada na comida porque isso piora a situação.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-320308745293519695?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/320308745293519695/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=320308745293519695&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/320308745293519695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/320308745293519695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/02/pobres-palhas-italianas-pobre-sou-eu.html' title='Pobres palhas italianas.... Pobre sou eu!'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8c5zAvStMI/AAAAAAAAAAc/uFQeNtVRhkQ/s72-c/eu13.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-6931344567095680668</id><published>2008-02-27T21:44:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2011-03-23T11:13:30.270-03:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='what I think about'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Diet'/><title type='text'>Mandar para o espaço toda massa que não me pertence</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8YIjAvStLI/AAAAAAAAAAU/IU6ihaqOoz4/s1600-h/Picture0590.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171830619668395186" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8YIjAvStLI/AAAAAAAAAAU/IU6ihaqOoz4/s400/Picture0590.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hoje tive reunião do VP (parece muito AA), e a orientadora falou sobre os medos que nos impedem de alcançar o objetivo de ter um corpo saudável e bonito: não ter mais onde colocar a culpa (a gordura é sempre um bom motivo), deixar de chamar a atenção, ou passar a chamar a atenção, e assim por diante. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Eu comecei a pensar e vi que carrego vários medos que preciso abrir mão. Sem esses medos eu posso ter real liberdade, que é conseguir dizer NÃO para aquilo que me faz mal, é lançar para o espaço toda carga extra que levo.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hoje eu escolho jogar no espaço vários medos para conquistar a liberdade de dizer NÃO.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-6931344567095680668?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/6931344567095680668/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=6931344567095680668&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/6931344567095680668'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/6931344567095680668'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/02/mandar-para-o-espao-toda-massa-que-no.html' title='Mandar para o espaço toda massa que não me pertence'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8YIjAvStLI/AAAAAAAAAAU/IU6ihaqOoz4/s72-c/Picture0590.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6475360071245605.post-1658288378698905372</id><published>2008-02-27T10:51:00.004-03:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T11:16:55.130-03:00</updated><title type='text'>Primeira blogada: como estou</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8VvBgvStKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/ZpnMvafJ0yw/s1600-h/eu+realmente+cheia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5171661818863727778" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8VvBgvStKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/ZpnMvafJ0yw/s400/eu+realmente+cheia.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Desde os meus 13 anos eu fui cheinha, mas em novembro de 2007, aos 21 anos, cheguei ao ápice: 96,2kg em 1,68m, e só percebi isso quando vi essa foto. Horror dos horrores!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Decidi emagrecer. Entrei no VP e já se foram 5,2kg em exatos 76 dias. Então na verdade não ESTOU assim, estou um pouquinho menos.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Agora é caminhar para frente, e retroceder: JAMAIS. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Simbora!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6475360071245605-1658288378698905372?l=sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/feeds/1658288378698905372/comments/default' title='Postar comentários'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6475360071245605&amp;postID=1658288378698905372&amp;isPopup=true' title='12 Comentários'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/1658288378698905372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6475360071245605/posts/default/1658288378698905372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sapatilhadeouro.blogspot.com/2008/02/primeira-blogada-como-eu-era.html' title='Primeira blogada: como estou'/><author><name>Carol Martins</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15727895675045049873</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a3WWcaR4xL0/TYnXjXJ2q8I/AAAAAAAAAOM/62KrgfQOsa0/s220/Picture1609%2B-%2BC%25C3%25B3pia.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_o9aCR52zDag/R8VvBgvStKI/AAAAAAAAAAM/ZpnMvafJ0yw/s72-c/eu+realmente+cheia.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry></feed>
