tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81170045403683946702024-02-19T19:37:18.222-06:00NeuroticGoddessMiss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-82220951316999269022010-11-12T22:20:00.007-06:002010-11-12T22:30:25.287-06:00Life changing event? Probably not.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But this is still sort of awesome.<br /><br />So I tweeted this:<br /></span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijvukTPHrbRsaGgtMEyiJZjc0ifrln7c04WctRlvu4Gr87TUK3BvlOq3lSa44o5-uCxeX-UFmeOOPZf7qjkMVev1Xw336ylP1y5hgpa3cx0hVlWhJqC2iBStYtxo-Hr5Ls9fP-Ejb7d3Q/s1600/peter+facinelli+tweet.png"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 58px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijvukTPHrbRsaGgtMEyiJZjc0ifrln7c04WctRlvu4Gr87TUK3BvlOq3lSa44o5-uCxeX-UFmeOOPZf7qjkMVev1Xw336ylP1y5hgpa3cx0hVlWhJqC2iBStYtxo-Hr5Ls9fP-Ejb7d3Q/s400/peter+facinelli+tweet.png" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538884976024422050" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And then Peter Facinelli actually followed me! It was only for about a second, because I assume he re-read the message and was like "Screw this."</span><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; font-size: small; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i>But still,</i> it's pretty damn cool.</span></i></span><br /><br /><i style="font-size: small; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitjpxfDQf65yvurPFDdq3DqV9Pv3kn6QmBEyC1IXsFaDK5KdcEwrcoNPhbfZLdHNGohlTcbIvYTha4hYlQnklE56opEHMtxOcDhRr_D194uA0qOe_SGKf9SW0YPlVDMk-fsY74w-is8Rs/s400/Peter+Facinelli+followed+me+for+about+1+second.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 271px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538886320370030178" /></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; font-size: small; "><br /></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Here's a link to a larger version of the picture (because it's being a butt and won't work properly):<br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/neuroticgoddess/5171022054/">http://www.flickr.com/photos/neuroticgoddess/5171022054/</a></span></span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-42130726554451914092010-11-12T20:20:00.004-06:002010-11-12T20:36:55.127-06:00To the FB whiners-<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So, I'm thinking people need to be less ridiculous and caught up on themselves (says the girl with a personal blog that attempts to pander her life stories to an audience). I mean honestly, I remember high school pretty damn well. That's all I want - <i>to remember it</i>. I do not need daily reminders that people I went to high school with are <i>still </i>acting like they're in high school. Grow up? Move on? Stop crying like a whiny baby?</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Too much? Possibly. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Or perhaps not enough?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I know that considering people's feelings is very important, and that we live in an anal-retentive PC culture (I'm guilty as charged majourity of the time!), but when did it come to the point where we forgo honesty in favour of sugar-coating <i>every damn thing</i> in half-constructed lies to make people feel like they're deserving human beings?<br /><br />I don't think we should start telling kids that they'll end up failing at life, or that their greatest dream better be working as a gas station attendant, because there is no way that Timmy-the-glue-eater is getting into college.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But I am pretty sure that by the time you're in your early twenties that you should be able to handle criticism - and hell, even <i>realistic thinking</i>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i>Whoa, whoa, back up the reality-train,</i> right? </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Wrong. There is no reason that a college student that is failing every course they have ever attempted to take, should think that they're going to get into Harvard Law any time soon (unless they've got one hell of a rich uncle to buy their way in).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm just saying, let's work in at least a little honesty - and stop with all the whining over ever little thing that has ever happened to you. Buck up, and be an adult about some stuff, and the things that you<i> absolutely cannot bare to keep to yourself, </i>well post those in moderation on your FB and Twitter. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Because I guarantee you, there is about 1/60 people that give a damn that that one person you were seeing for roughly .5 seconds dumped you/did you wrong. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And that one person is probably one of your relatives. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">One of the nosy ones.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That wants to use the information to hurt you in some way.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That's all I've got to say about it for the moment, but I'm going to leave you with a comment that I put on my own FB that sums up my feelings on this subject quite well...</span><br /><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span style="line-height: 115%; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span></span></p><blockquote>This message goes out to people on FB who complain that they have such horrendous problems. You’re right that guy/girl/something-or-other WAS a total jerkface loser who totally did NOT deserve you after you spent that whole week with them! And you’re right your mom/dad/sister/brother/third-cousin-with-the-missing-eye IS being a real meanie to you all the time! Jeez. And that teacher? They are DEFINITELY out to get you! I bet you get 100% on tests, and they just go back and change your answers so that you’ll look like a failure! That way they get the chance to endure you *again* the next year, because they have an agenda! …So, to all you people who feel you have a real need to share your ‘issues’ with every single person who doesn’t care, I ask you to stop, because when an actual problem arises in your life – FB will be the last place you’ll want to express it.</blockquote><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><p></p></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-59979184020617737902010-09-29T18:08:00.005-05:002010-09-29T19:04:16.120-05:00Suicide Is Never The Answer.So, I started this post with some lofty ideas and some emotional disturbances, but then I began typing it out - and none of it made sense (outside of myself - and even I was having a hard time deciphering). Instead of trying to sound it out in a soft blanket of dictation, I'm just going to address that which is uncomfortable - and socially unacceptable to discuss aloud.<br /><br />But I have to discuss it, regularly. Because it has happened to me, to my family.<br /><br />I'm talking about suicide - the secret that isn't so secretive anymore these days. We're groomed to shy away from the term; the concept is unbearable to think about, therefore we don't discuss it.<br /><br />However, I am a suicide survivor.<br /><br />This does not mean that I, myself, have attempted to commit suicide and survived the attempt. Instead, this phrase refers to the fact that I have survived a loved one who has committed suicide.<br /><br />My father left us in June, and it is the hardest thing in the world to be the ones that are left behind - abandoned by someone that they loved so dearly.<br /><br />It is not fair, it is not logical. I wont sugarcoat that. I cant say that everyone experiences this sort of event the same - on the contrary, even within my own family, we've all been trying to deal with the loss of my dad differently. No two people grieve in the same way - so don't let anyone tell you differently.<br /><br />And really, this is not a topic that I rush to discuss, but I cant get the words out of myself verbally, so perhaps this is a venue in which I can try to unleash some of my confusion, resentment and outright rage.<br /><br />I have shied away from talking about my dad in the past few months, because I imagine that if I talk about him like he's gone, then it makes it all the more real to admit that he really <i>is</i> gone. And I get so angry to think that he's never going to walk through the door covered in mud (he was a dry waller, so I mean that sort of mud) and dust.<br /><br />It's even more complicated because I'm not an outright emotional person - at least, in expressing them. I feel things to an acute degree, but generally reserve emotional outbursts for the quiet solitude of my bedroom, or some other secluded spot. It worries people in my family, which is a just assumption - and perhaps I'm not dealing with this in the healthiest manner, but I <i>am</i> trying.<br /><br />Every day is lived moment to moment, breath to breath.<br /><br />It's exhausting to just exist, but add in a full course load, a part time job and the stress of ensuring that my mom is doing okay - and you get the heaviest stupor imaginable.<br /><br />I <i>have</i> made some time for me - I went to a Seether concert in August, I just attended the Renaissances Festival last weekend, and I try to read my favourite blogs for an uplifting twist to my week.<br /><br />I feel scrambled most of the time (something resembling this entire blog post, actually). And, of course, I still have to deal with new disappointments, endings, beginnings and pains that, while incomparable, only compile upon the constant stream of stress that I live within.<br /><br />I really have strayed away from my original message for this post - but I'm not sorry that I did, sometimes all that is needed is talking (verbally or nonverbally is really not that important).<br /><br />The main thing is: no one is alone - because there is <i><b>always</b></i> someone out there willing to listen. So please, if you learn nothing else from this rambling mess, please take away from this the message that <i><b>you are not alone</b></i>.<br /><br /><i>If you are feeling like you want to hurt yourself or are contemplating suicide, please call your local crisis center, because you are not alone in this.</i>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-12903979230912389712010-09-09T21:32:00.003-05:002010-09-09T21:42:45.048-05:00Loss.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So, it's been months (literally) since I've blogged. I would say I apologize, but I'm not at all sorry for the intervening months.<br /><br />On June 16, 2010 my dad passed away.<br /><br />I really haven't come to terms with that, nor do I think I can really comprehend that it really happened.<br /><br />I don't want to abandon my original goal for this blog however - to really get to a place, internally, where I'm happy with myself.<br /><br />Obviously, this has set me backwards - pushed me backwards is probably more accurate. - But more than that, it's like my entire world (and the world that every member of my family belongs to) has been plunged into darkness. I cannot honestly say I wake up glad to "just be alive" every morning - some days are more difficult, while others are almost bearable.<br /><br />I do know that I'm glad I</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> am</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> alive, because he isn't. He can't experience the warmth of the sun, the wet of the rain, or the cold of the wind anymore. It's hard to even wrap my head around. It doesn't make sense, none of this does - nothing that has happened in the past few months has any rhyme, or reason.<br /><br />I can't change what happened. There really is nothing else to do, but endure, survive, live.<br /><br />So that's my message today: </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Live</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.<br /><br />Live now, because you don't always have as much time as you imagine.</span>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-68887544933476727802010-05-30T13:21:00.005-05:002010-05-30T13:35:17.743-05:00Heat, cemeteries and hoses.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I think my tolerance to heat has gone down, dramatically.<br /><br />My parents, my nieces and I went to the cemeteries yesterday to put flowers on everyone's graves - which alone, is fine. But it was nearing the 90 degree weather from </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">hell</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. That coupled with two kids under the age of 6 makes life a little suckfestish. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Livy (3, youngest) is very intolerant of heat, so she was being carried by this point - because the little plastic wagon was </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> good enough to lay in. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Obviously</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. And Emma (5, eldest) is a whiner, who finds fault in all things - even if she is the one that dictated it. They're both adorable, generally well-behaved kids, but </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">sheesh</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> - can they whine.<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Also, unlike my sister and I - who went to the cemeteries every year - these two were unfamiliar with the custom of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">not walking on or kicking headstones</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. I nearly melted with embarrassment/over-heat-ment (?) by the time we left. I'm pretty sure some long-deceased people did a 180 in their graves yesterday. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Awesome</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">really</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> hope I don't get </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">haunted</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> because of this.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At least it was time to tan and relax after those exhausting three hours (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">was it only three hours? it felt like a whole day</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">). Of course, my nieces are in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">love </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">with the hose - and they sprayed everyone in the face at </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">least</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> once. </span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Always</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> a nice treat when you're on a chair, eyes closed, stretched out like a cat.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So, here's to hoping no ghosts show up and possess my body and/or do me mass amounts of damage over the whole grave-disrespects. Sorry dead people? ...</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">yeah</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-21776589118310918232010-05-23T15:53:00.006-05:002010-05-23T16:08:20.218-05:00Home, garage sale finds and Seether.<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So, I've officially been home for over a week now and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">wow</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm sort of ready to go somewhere else for just a little while. Don't get me wrong, I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">adore</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> being home - but it's sort of hard to not be able to make the decisions after having done so for around 10 months prior to now. Although, it does have it's advantages - like no rent, free food and better cable. So... I should stop complaining now (easier said than done?).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I totally went</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> garage saling</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> (total addict right here) yesterday </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">and</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Friday - and I made some remarkable finds: one red leather circa-late 90's Buffy-style jacket, gold Marie Antoinette heels and an </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">incredibly angry piggy bank</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div><div><br /></div></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWQQjEGeU_55GnMdZaa-00ywdPUmCeiWiAfWWqUJvfuY8Ncik8zJf8mZ5e5Vszx0d4A2JhZfwR1X_LSdI6EvF1l-D6rJZjOdHEb0IAQdnflFsJiwkTmkrMYYyeiSbJOKjaddrY7sxaII/s1600/DSCN5210.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYWQQjEGeU_55GnMdZaa-00ywdPUmCeiWiAfWWqUJvfuY8Ncik8zJf8mZ5e5Vszx0d4A2JhZfwR1X_LSdI6EvF1l-D6rJZjOdHEb0IAQdnflFsJiwkTmkrMYYyeiSbJOKjaddrY7sxaII/s320/DSCN5210.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474573227586043474" /></a><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm nearly certain that my finds are better than anyone else's from yesterday. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For real</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Besides finding a shit-ton of stuff (that I probably didn't need) at garage sales, I've been planning my end of summer adventures - and yes, I'm doing it already, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm a planner, y'all</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My friends and I are going to enjoy the festive nature of the Renaissance Festival at the end of August, </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">THEN</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> we're going to rock the State Fair - a</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">nd see Seether in concert</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. My life has been plagued with people </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">who have seen Seether in concert before</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> - and I have yet to be so lucky (woe be my life) - so now I will </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">finally get to say I have seen them, </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">finally</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Hinder and Black Stone Cherry shall be there as well, and they're both delicious in concert, people.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That's all I have to update about - now off to sort crap for my </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">own</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> garage sale. Huzzah.</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-50686505604368067102010-05-11T15:49:00.015-05:002010-05-11T16:40:32.443-05:00Supported, thankful and incredibly grateful.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So I'm taking a minute to count down my days till I'm done with this school year, and then I'll be back in the safe confines of my hometown.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Three</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Only three days. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm shocked, excited, nostalgic, perplexed and antsy all at the same time. I cannot believe this year has </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">finally</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> gotten over with - but I'm also </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">shocked</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> that it's over </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">already</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. It's like having a duel timeline living inside my brain.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This has been the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">hardest</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> year of my academic life, because coupled with a more challenging school environment - I was </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">also</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> faced with living alone for the first time ever, in a new city, where I knew so few people it was nearly ridiculous to have come at all.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">did</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> grow as a person. I found out I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">could</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> do it, and that I wasn't </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">helpless </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">on my own. I'm a capable person; I'm a resourceful person; I'm able to confront problems and deal with them. These are things that, while I had guessed at before, I'm certain of now. However, I could not have learned any of these things if it weren't for the amazing people in my life.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I really could not have accomplished </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">any</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> of this if it weren't for all of you who've helped me through it - my friends who put up with my whining, bitching and moaning constantly. Those are the people I cannot thank enough, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">can not adore enough</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">If it weren't for your willingness to put up with all my complaints and qualms, I would not have been able to keep (what's left of) my sanity during this extremely confusing time in my life. I know I could not have survived if it weren't for my friends who, even being miles away from me, stayed close to me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Whether you're a new friend or an old friend, nearby or far away, I say</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> thank you</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Everyone needs a support system, a group of people who they can turn to in times of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">need</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, in times of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">hardship</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> - and I found out who those people are in my life; even if we're not able to always be present in each other's lives in the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">flesh</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, we're still able to share our woes and joys via so many </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">other</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> means of communication - whether it's Facebook, Twitter or just old fashioned emails.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm so incredibly grateful to have you all in my life, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">you are absolutely wonderful</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> - each and every one of you.</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-23805499813912577612010-05-09T01:44:00.003-05:002010-05-11T16:30:09.153-05:00Lost causes, advice and some wisdom.<div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'll fight to the death to save a lost cause</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Of this, I'm quite sure. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It's a ridiculously bad flaw, and one that I'm </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">fully</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> aware of.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yet, if push came to shove, I'd still do it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Because I'm obviously </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">broken</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> and/or mentally deficient in other ways. Either way, I'm working on my very own lost cause at the moment. One that is sure to induce lots of metaphorical blood, maybe a little sweat and most assuredly tears of the very real variety.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My advice: never become involved with someone who is still in love with someone else.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It never ends well, and it </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">would</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> appear that it's rather an obvious situation. However, easy smiles and soft eyes can do a lot to dissuade even the strongest individual of the obvious. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And here's my follow up advice: never remain involved in that person's life, while continually fanning the flames of your own desires. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">always</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> backfires. You </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">will</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> betray your own feelings, and most likely that person will pity you rather than sweep you off your feet. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It will be humiliating. There are no other terms for it. Trust my own judgement. Of course, if you continue to foster your own feelings - eternally waiting around for some sort of justification - then </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">fine</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Your willing (almost too willing) interest in their lives and wellbeing will most likely be interpreted as the dedication of a great friend.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Which is exactly what you wanted, right? No? Then at least you've not lost someone who obviously meant something to you in the first place. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">That can be counted as a "win" in the eternal struggle between winning and losing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So, at length - don't let your heart lead your head, but don't cut yourself off from the situation either. Just use a little caution and reason before you open yourself up to that certain-someone.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Learn from me. I'm a fountain of painfully-begotten knowledge.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(reposted on my livejournal as well)</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-58347042115711413382010-05-06T03:40:00.006-05:002010-05-06T03:53:46.753-05:00Sexting, field-trip fun and ghosties.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, you ever have a really good sext-athon? </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Yeah, it's been one of those nights.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And somebody has </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">got</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> to take my phone away from me, because honestly, it is </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">not a safe place for it to be</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. I am pretty much willingly setting myself up to be crushed. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Again</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. By the same person. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Awesome</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">First off, I admit to knowingly starting the conversation - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">but I take no responsibility to where it has gone</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Well, I take some responsibility. Like halfish. </span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Okay</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. It's mainly my fault for nudging it in this direction.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But it's not my fault that my intentions got all distorted and sextish. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I just wanted him to admit that I was not the only one affected by last spring</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Things just went in the wrong direction is all. A very wrong, sexually promiscuous direction.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Up side? He </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">did</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> admit it. Albeit, in a slightly different manner than expected.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I think that sort of counts as a "win" in my book. That is, if I were keeping a winning/losing book. Thank gods I'm not, that beast would be heavy-handed in the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">lose</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> column. And that would just be depressing, y'all.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In another vein, I'm almost done with the semester! Huzzah! One week, one day. That's it baby, then </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">home sweet, pollen-infested home. </span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Also? Had an awesome two day field-trip for my Historical Geology class. It was filled with lots of rocks, minor woundings, awkward pool participants and, unbeknownst to us, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">a lot of haunted shit</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Yeah, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">so not in the tour guide</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, people. All sorts of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">mental asylum deaths</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">suicides</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> apparently occurred at the quarries we went to. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Comforting. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Really</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I just hope none of us brought home any paranormal hitchhikers, y'all, because I do not need that during finals. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You hear me ghosties</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">? Not right now. Just check back in a week or so. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It's called courtesy.</span></i></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-18671390701493127322010-04-26T11:12:00.011-05:002010-04-26T22:02:35.532-05:00Boobquake Day!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Hello all, today is National Boobquake Day! Huzzah. This means that it is time to show the ta-tas in an attempt to create scientific results... or to disprove the idea that women's promiscuous fashion styles can create earthquakes. I prefer to think we </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">can</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> create natural disasters with our bodies alone. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Because that's a freaking good story</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Not such a good story? </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We cannot create earthquakes with our boobs</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. That's just a disappointment for everyone involved, so let's stick with the first one.</span>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-52357411525329237332010-04-16T08:17:00.012-05:002010-04-16T08:38:21.759-05:00Worship, harbouring enemies and nocturnal-people.<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Worship me</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">people-who-waste-time-sleeping</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Damn right I'm talking to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">you</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. I didn't sleep a wink last night and I have gotten more done </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">before 8 this morning</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> than I have the r</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">est of the week combined</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I got an entire paper out of the way for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">next week</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, I got four boxes and two crates packed, I showered </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">and</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I shaved </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">everything</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> this morning. Not only did I get those menial tasks done, but I also found out I have an </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">amazing</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> ability to style myself when I've gotten no sleep. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">No joke</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. I look adorable today. And</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I was showered and dressed by 5.30 a.m.,</span></i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">time-wasters.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I am practically above and beyond human. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm pretty much </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">inhuman</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm like a Vampire, y'all</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Except, I get </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">super queasy</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> around blood, so keep that shit away from me. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">For real</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I've only had </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">one</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> more giant spider incident, and one pathetic little beetle (who was nothing after those </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">other beasts</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I think I might be getting past the whole situation entirely. Except I'm still carrying around my Home Defender spray like a life vest, and my flashlight is permanently stashed my pocket at all times - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">you never know when a dark shadowy area might be harbouring the enemy</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Oh, and the whole not-sleeping-thing of course. That's</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> probably</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> going to work forever, but I'm totally going home tomorrow. It's just when I come </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">back to finish out the semester</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> that I have a problem. Seriously, I'm going to have to forcibly throw myself into attempting sleep. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">What a waste of time</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I've obviously learned that I'm </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">nocturnal</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, or else I would not have gotten all this crap done. For real, people, society needs to make the world a little more </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">nocturnal-people-friendly</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">That way I can actually get shit done.</span></i></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-80656405055587063632010-04-15T05:55:00.005-05:002010-04-15T06:03:31.445-05:00Hell beasts, hyperventilation and greatest fears confirmed.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The morning from </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Hell</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I mean that quite literally. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">After having finally fallen asleep at </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">2 in-the-goddamn-A.M</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. I was awoken </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">three</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> minutes to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">5 in-the-holy-hell-A.M</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. by the sensation that something was </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">c-r-a-w-l-i-n-g</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> on me. Oh gods. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It turned out to be true!</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> I have never moved so fast in my whole </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">life</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">! I was up, I had my Home Defender spray in my hand in seconds and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I let loose on my couch like it was WWIII and that spider was the ENEMY</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">! It was no small pin-sized beast either! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am forever scarred. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Forever</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. And ever and ever and ever.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Now I'm up, showered and dressed and it's not even 6. Holy hell. I don't have to be to class until 9. I'm so fucking hyped up on fear and adrenaline right now, people. I'm pretty sure this must be my ultimate </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">fear/paranoia/scenario-where-I-die</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">At this point, I wish I was on Xanax. Because I can't stop hyperventilating and I</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> cannot pass out - </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I will not be unconscious again</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> - ever</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Holy HELL, PEOPLE</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-41255209263244507762010-04-11T14:47:00.008-05:002010-04-11T15:41:31.890-05:00Engagement-ring heist, abnormality and social convention.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I've decided that trying to get into </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">beach body</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> condition is </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">hard</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. I still feel flabtastic, but I also feel </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">healthier</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, so I guess that's </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">okay</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. And-</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Wait a second - hold on -</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">OKAY. That's </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">it</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> people. If </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">one more person I know gets engaged</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> I'm going to go on an </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">engagement-ring heist</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Understand? <i>For Pete's sake</i>. </span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Sigh</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Okay. I'm done raving over </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> tidbit. Really. Sort of.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But it </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">does</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> seem as if everyone keeps telling me how </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">natural</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, how </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">normal</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> it is for someone my age to be single. Then why, may I ask, is it that <i>everyone </i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">else</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> my age seems to be not only in a committed relationship, but also tying that </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">oh-so-sacred knot</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> as well? Are you honestly telling me that </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> the normal one and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">everyone else</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> is abnormal? That seems a bit far fetched. And trust me, I</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> love</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> far fetched tales, but this one seems a bit stretched even for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">my</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> tastes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So world, I'm pretty sure that it's mostly abnormal for someone my age to be single - and to have been, for the most part, single for two years </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">prior </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">to this moment. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Awesome</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Well, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I guess </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I never have been one for maintaining social conventions</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> So this isn't anything </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">terribly</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> new for me. I suppose I will survive - survive right into my grey-cat-years, that is.</span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(Take that, Grandma</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But seriously, it's not so bad being single. I have a </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">lot </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">more me time, which I adore - of course. Being </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">mildly</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> self-centered helps in that regard. Plus I get to peruse for cute people any time I want, without feeling any guilt afterwards. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Huzzah</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Also? I can do a</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">nything I want</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> for myself, and not have to consult with </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">anyone else</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> about it. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Chya</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. That's pretty fabulous if you ask me, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">which I know you were going to</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Of course</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, there are downsides too - like being lonely. But then I remember how </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">awesome</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> I am, and I just talk to myself. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Problem solved</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Overall, I'm still a little sleep deprived from the past few nights of insomnia, so I'm not entirely sure writing this was a wise decision. If you walk away from this with</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> anything</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> meaningful, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">congratulations</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-72872164780729746222010-04-09T17:44:00.008-05:002010-04-09T18:15:19.604-05:00Fall schedule, tons of crap and one month to go.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So earlier this week I decided on my schedule for this up-coming fall.</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Huzzah</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. It'll be a full 15-credits of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">pure delightful anthropology</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Be jealous, people. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I know you are</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(Schedule as follows for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">anyone who cares</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">... mwf The Aztecs 9.30-10.20, The Paleolithic Age 10.30-11.20, North American Archaeology 11.30-12.20, Intro to Physical Anthropology 12.30-1.20 & American Indian Ethnography online - </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>f</i></span></b><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">inally</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, a reason to be online that's legitimate</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.)<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I <i>also</i> realized that I have just days over </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">one month</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> to pack and get my ass out this apartment for the summer. I have a <i>lot</i> of stuff. I mean a</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> <b>lot lot</b></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> of stuff. Probably more than one apartment </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">should</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> have. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm practically a fire hazard, y'all</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>I am going to perish violently packing all of this stuff by myself</i>. That might possibly be an overreaction.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Maybe.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Then again, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>there is a lot of stuff</b>.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Some of this crap is coming home with me for the summer, but a ton of it is going to be put into storage. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm telling you this so you can lighten my load, people</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. - But not really. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Leave my crap alone</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Jeez, you're all a bunch of thieves.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">If this stuff was worth </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">anything at all</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, it'd probably make your time worth while to try to ransack. But it's all pretty much cheap stuff that I got at garage sales. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Because I'm eco-friendly</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. And modestly poor. I'm in college</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, stop judging me</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">One month to go. For real, people. I'm both </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">hyperventilating <b>and</b> doing the snoopy dance</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. I'm </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">pretty</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i> </i>sure that's not healthy, but </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm not a doctor</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I remember when the end of the school year meant that it was the dawning of the <i>coolest part of the year</i>. But now it's just a stressful situation that involves a lot of last minute papers, final exams and finding summer work. <i>Where did the fun go, universe?</i> I think we got jipped, y'all. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>So screw the limited-fun-of-summer thing</i>. I plan to lounge outside in the sun (with sunblock<i>, I burn like there's no tomorrow people</i>) like a goddamn <i><b>cat</b> </i>as much as possible this summer.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I will <i>also </i>probably hit up a <i>bunch</i> more garage sales too (<i>because I have a problem staying away from them</i>). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So look out next semester - <i>me and my cheap crap are coming to get you!</i></span></div></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-66003730130801680292010-04-02T00:14:00.008-05:002010-04-06T16:13:07.640-05:00Parents, homesickness and suffocating love.<span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Home sweet home. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><span></span><br /></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Right.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><span></span><br /></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Well, I've made it home for the big superficially 'religious' Easter celebrations (i.e. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">a four day weekend</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> woo!). I thought it'd at least take years, </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">if ever</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, to get over the homesickness when I'm away. But you know what? I now feel </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">claustrophobic</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> at home. I know they don't </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">mean</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> to suffocate me, but parents are just </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">always there</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> when you're home. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><span></span><br /></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">They're like that piece of furniture that you're almost </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">certain </span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">you had put outside to be picked up by the garbage man (</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">even if they keep telling you the city doesn't take old furniture</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">). Somehow, it's crept back into your </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">living room</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> with all the audacity of a </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">tacky orange ottoman</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><span></span><br /></span><span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Not that you hate that ottoman</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. In fact, that </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">particular</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> ottoman reminds you of all your good childhood moments, and makes you feel safe and protected. But it </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">really doesn't match anything you own anymore</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, and it can be such an eyesore - the way it looks in the big picture just </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">doesn't</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> suit your everyday needs anymore. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><span></span><br /></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But maybe you </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">could </span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">keep it around; revamp it with a new fabric - help it </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">try to fit in</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, even if the style is so out of date that it's practically </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">obsolete.</span></em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span></span></span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yeah, it's sort of nice to have it around - I mean, it keeps you </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">grounded.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> And that's a feeling that can be easily lost in a world where you're just another fresh (</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">haggard</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">) faced student in a sea of </span><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">forty</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> other similar faces. Sometimes you just </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">need</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> that old ottoman to remind you of your roots - </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">and to remind you of just how far you've really come</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /><span></span><br /></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Suffocation doesn't sound </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">so bad</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, not when you know it's </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">suffocation by love</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></span>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-13025330011690687132010-03-31T15:04:00.013-05:002010-04-02T00:48:48.640-05:00Growing up, growing apart, and one best friend.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So this is going to be a sappy / depressing / disparaging post - and yes I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">know</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, it's terribly uncool - but I've never really been</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> that </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">concerned about it, so deal with it. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Well, I've come to realize that my (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">previous? ex? once?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">) best friend has sort of given up on me, or on </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">us</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Years of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">mocking other people</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, taking masses of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">ridiculously</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> staged photographs and eating </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">tons</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> of junk food just couldn't save us from growing up and growing apart it seems. It's been this way for several months when I come to think of it, but at least several months ago </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">we were still talking</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Honestly, it's pretty ill-timed, since college is supposed to be </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">the most awesome time of your life</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> - or not, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">whatever</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Heck, I love my college - and I love what I'm going here for - but what good is all that when my once-upon-a-time best friend wants </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">nothing to really do with me</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">? Sure sure, I could just </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">go and pick out a new one</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> - maybe a slightly flashier one, with less mileage and a wicked wardrobe to borrow from. That'd be the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">easy</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> way out of this situation. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">However</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, it's come to my attention that </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm not the easiest person to get along with</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. And she sort of accepted all the dramatic flaws and insensible opinions with little, if any, complaint. That's pretty hard to come by, I'd say.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I had tried to persuade her to leave our small-town-roots for awhile, to come see what the</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> slightly-less-small-town life</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> was like. To no avail, of course. She couldn't </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">possibly</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> leave her boyfriend or family (despite how infrequently they see each other, due to schedule conflicts) to move in with me and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">enjoy our last years of young-adulthood before we have to become real grown-ups</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Of course not. How </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">selfish</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I was, to think of pulling her away from a monotonous job (that she's never cared for) and a mainly-weekend schedule of seeing her boyfriend (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">even though they live together</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It was complete </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">madness</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> on my part. I see that now. Because, honestly, after expressing </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">my explicit desire of having her here</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> - things fell apart. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Blame me or expunge me, I'm still minus one dearly sarcastic best friend.</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-50513898983606388012010-03-29T23:35:00.014-05:002010-03-30T00:20:04.195-05:00Lucky escapes, therapeutic-creeping and fat-free basking.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Holy crap. I just realized how </span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">glad</span></i></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I am that all those could-have-been relationship possibilities did </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> work out.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Seriously</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, I don't think I've ever realized how </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">lucky</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I am that those did </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> work out. I came to this glorious realization while perusing those specifically-left-unnamed-persons' Facebook pages. And </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">wow</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. They're complete </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">morons</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. I really think I might have some mismanaged poor-taste-in-potential-choices issues. Honestly, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I don't know what I was thinking</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. It appears I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">wasn't</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Thank the gods that those potentialities either fizzled or migrated away. Because I'd be </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">screwed in an uncomfortable way</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> if they'd actually taken root, and had ended up fostering </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">grossly ignorant illegitimate stupid infant attachment seedlings</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span> </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Even </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">thinking</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> of it makes me shudder. I was like </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">this close</span></b> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(on several occasions) to being <i>one half of an ugly </i>(hairy, cancerous, 3-dimensional)<i> mole on the face of global coupledom</i>. For real, people.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I don't think I've ever realized<i> just how reprehensible</i> most of the guys my age are. I mean, honestly, <i>what the hell guys</i>? And wow, I really <i>really</i> don't know how to pick them. Or I do. If by "pick them" I refer to choosing the most <i>dishonest</i>, <i>slovenly</i>, <i>two-faced future-alcoholics</i> known to humankind. If I mean <i>that</i>, then damn, <i><b>I'm good</b></i>. Be jealous, y'all.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I think I cherish my singlehood much more now. And I think <i>everyone</i> should put aside their actual responsibilities for an hour once in awhile, and engage in a session of <i>therapeutic-creeping</i>. It is most <i>definitely</i> worth it. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Seriously, just look up those snotty bitches you hated in school/at work/etc, or those losers who dumped you - and just <i><b>bask</b></i> in how <i>absolutely moronic</i> they are. It will lift your spirits like no better-than-sex-cake ever has. And this way you won't gain an ounce. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>You're welcome</i>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Relationships are really just <i>ridiculous</i> if you think about it. I mean, we all spend the first what - two months? - trying to be <i>exactly</i> what that special-somebody is looking for. <i>Then</i> we get comfortable and just give up trying at all. <i>Awesome.</i> What guy<i> doesn't</i> love his now hairy-legged girlfriend who no longer feels compelled to dress to impress? Or what girl <i>doesn't </i>want to be with her now paunch-stomached boyfriend who no long feels inhibited to hide his bodily functions in front of her? </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Fairytale romance, y'all</i>. </span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-56329953969346963932010-03-29T15:56:00.009-05:002010-03-29T16:41:50.661-05:00Projects, skull pants and academic hell.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Well, well. Life seems to have caught up to me and stolen all of my time recently. Life is a </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">bitch; </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">a thieving, conniving one at that</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></span></i><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, I was being such a purposeful grown-up today. I totally went </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">all the way to campus </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">and talked to my group member about our project. Like for real real. I put </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">effort</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> into questions and even decided to </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">retake</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> a test that I did horrendously on from weeks ago from </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">another</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> class. To add even </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">more</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> gold stars to my fabulously school-heavy day (</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">on a day when I have no school normally</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">!), I even went to the library to get articles printed off that </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I didn't even need yet</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm pretty sure a small planet just exploded somewhere in the solar system.</span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">However, now I'm sitting around in purple pj pants (with </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">freaking awesome skull details</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">), surfing the internet and avoiding studying for a test... that is tomorrow. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Afternoon</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Don't judge me, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I've got time people</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">School </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">is</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> hell right now though. I think </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Spring </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">is the official time of demon activity, and people are just bullshitting us in the Fall. Honestly, the last few weeks of the Spring semester </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">suck</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> royally, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">and not in the fun way either</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. It's like </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">cram-cram-cram</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Then guess what? Pass out, wake up and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">do it all again</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. And again. And again. The never-ending circle of academic sadism.</span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Tie me up and spank me with a textbook, universe</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">There are a lot of sexual innuendos in this post - I think I like it. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Rough</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-24053607529805220832010-03-13T00:57:00.008-06:002010-03-13T01:45:46.103-06:00Sex, lies and STI colonies.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, I was thinking about sex earlier - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">and that is meant in the least sexual way, honestly</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> - and how everyone is so afraid to talk about it - like, really talk about it, in a non-joking / sexual harassment sort of way. And yes, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">it really can be totally embarrassing to talk about</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, but isn't that the problem? We let ourselves get so caught up in our fears of being embarrassed, that we just push the subject to the periphery of topics </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">to never be discussed in a serious manner outside of health classes and/or hospitals</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I know that I personally would </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">never </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">discuss my sex life with my family, ever ever ever (times infinity). But I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">also</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> know that it's </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">hugely important</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> to discuss with one's lover/partner/random hook up/</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">etc-you-get-the-point-I'm-trying-to-make</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. I also know that it often</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> isn't</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> discussed enough, or very thoroughly. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So I'm </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> saying </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">anyone</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> should ever do a play-by-play of their sex history with the person they're with - because that's just</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> so uncalled for</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, and<i> will </i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">probably</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i> kill</i> your relationship (or on the flip-side totally turn your partner on, in which case - a</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">wesome for you ((I'd totally ask them first though - as to avoid the above noted problem.)</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">). For most of us, however, it'd be like having hot wax slowly and deliberately dripped onto our eyeballs, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">not fun. </span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i></i>I just think people should be honest about sexual things. For instance, if you've slept with several people, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">own up to it</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> - don't just bullshit your way past the point - because that </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">will</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> likely cause problems later, such as when you're all </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"No, I picked this up from a public toilet seat years ago, I swear." </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Nobody is buying it. I promise.</span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And really, what's that embarrassing about the whole thing? Honestly, if you've both had sex before, who are you trying to keep face for? Your opinion (and feelings) for that person shouldn't change if you find out they've been with someone else, I mean - unless it was <i>while you were dating</i> of course (then stab away at them) ((Honestly, I'm kidding.)). </span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And if your partner won't talk about their history or doesn't want to hear yours, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">then dump them</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> - because</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> they've obviously got an ulterior agenda</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Like infecting you with chlamydia - in order to ultimately sterilize you. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Those bastards.</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Sex is a really complicated issue, and maybe you shouldn't take my advice - I mean, I've only been in a couple </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">very failed relationships</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, so what would I know? (</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Except a lot about being lied to - </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">and how shitty it is, people</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.)</span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Sex can totally be amazing when it's with the </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">right person, at the right time in your life and when you trust that that person is being totally honest about where their privates have previously been</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. That last one </span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">really is</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> important - </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">because I doubt anyone wants to later find out they're growing an STI colony on their peep or in their vag</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. </span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, be safe - ask questions and use protection. Also? Get tested regularly, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">because people </span></i><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">do</span></i></b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> lie</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. A lot, and with great frequency. You may love them, they may be your best friend, you may have been dating them since you were in high school and you were eachothers firsts - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">but they may still be hiding something from you.</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Find out</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, because your first allegiance is always to yourself and your own health.</span></i></b></div><div><br /></div></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-20441026278880439992010-03-09T23:10:00.005-06:002010-03-09T23:24:21.036-06:00Tired, guestless and filled with pizza.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So, I am honestly too tired to be writing a post - but I cannot sleep. I'm being taunted by half-waking dreams of extremely attractive people, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">who are obviously out of my reach</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. It's kind of cruel of my own mind to play tricks on itself, but apparently even sleeping pills </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">are not helping</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Seriously, messed up.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Anywho, I just got an invitation to a dear friend's wedding for August 7th - and it's all "</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">you can bring a guest</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">" (insert swirly, cursive font and cherry-blossomy tree decoratives). Now I feel pressured to find somebody to go with - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">when I hadn't even planned to bring a date when I'd found out she was getting married in the first place</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. It's a little taunting as well (taking tips from my dreams?).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It was an odd day today though - I even broke down and ordered pizza (shame, shame on me). I'm</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> totally </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">going to do extra sit-ups and yogaing tomorrow to make up for it - and I'm going to do it </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">happily</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> (sort of). Exercise </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">does</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> make you feel good afterwards - but I think it's just the accelerated heart rate and light headedness, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">which I like</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. A lot. Probably in an unhealthy way, but whatever health-lover-people, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">screw you and your judgements</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm going to go pass out now, even though it's not really that late - however, my body thinks it's 4 am after a long night of dirty love making. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Night y'all.</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-66713555809403354802010-03-08T21:37:00.001-06:002010-03-08T21:52:35.644-06:00Mini-meltdowns, judgements and lessons learned<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So I'm having a mini-meltdown - the first one in several weeks, which is probably a huge step forward for me - but man, can a few words really bring a girl down.<br /><br />And this really teaches one about talking to their </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">loved ones</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, for sure. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">You know, I wasn't the most morally obligated teenager - so what? Who doesn't have regrets from that time in their lives? I have plenty. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Plenty</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. And yes, I dressed a little risqué. My tops were low, and I was proud to show off what I had - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">who doesn't do that in high school? </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">But you know what? I grew up. Ta-da. It happens, and for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">once</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> I wish that I got some credit for </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">doing so</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. I'm not running around practically falling out of my tops anymore, nor am I so desperate for attention - I'm just trying to live a life, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">my life</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. And for gods sake, I wish that my family would just get on board and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">stop bringing up the past</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. I am </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">not</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> that girl anymore, I'm not even a shadow of that girl.<br /><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I'm growing, I'm evolving - just like everyone else. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">So why is it that they can acknowledge everyone else's changes, but </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">mine</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I know that this was kind of a ranting/pathetic/ridiculous post, but so be it. I'm a little emotionally unstable right now, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">thanks mom</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Lesson: Nobody should have the right to judge you based on the person you were years ago, the person you no longer resemble inside (and to some extent, outside). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">And when they do - cry, get pissed and angry-blog. It's actually pretty relieving.</span></div></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-79583129932217929982010-03-05T23:11:00.000-06:002010-03-05T23:29:54.868-06:00Creepers, dating and nagging grannies.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Does anyone out there ever feel like they've got a </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">loser-magnet</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> hiding somewhere within their body? Because lately, I feel that way. Probably because loserish men keep hitting on me / relentlessly asking me out, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">even after direct negatives are given to them</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. It's really quite odd, because I've just recently decided to not date at all - and now the creepers are squirming out of the woodwork to annoy the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">living crap out of me.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> I decided to not date, not because I find all of humanity too vile to date or anything - but because I sort of need to focus on </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">me</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, and only me. It's not really fair to anyone if I date them when I'm still working on figuring myself out - I mean, it's kind of cruel to lead people on like that (I think). </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Although</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, it can be fun post-breakup (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">not that I would know</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, of course - </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">because I'm way above that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">).<br /><br />But seriously, has the creep population doubled? Is there a larva colony outside of the Fargo/Moorhead area just </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">breeding</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> these guys? I think so. I also think someone needs to get on this shit and go exterminate this place, because </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">honestly no one wants more creepers in the world. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Nobody</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. Even creepers are kind of tired of it - obviously because more of them means less creeper time per creeper, and that's uneconomical for everyone.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Now, if I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">were</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> going to date anyone, it'd have to be someone </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">super awesome</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">, because I'm super awesome (and the awesome always date the awesome, right?). No? Well, I'm at least sort of cool, by my standards (which are low in the cool department). However, I'm pretty content with the whole single-status, even if it means my grandmother is going to be on my back about being unmarried and childless </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">every damn time I see her</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Way to rub in my loneliness Grandma. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Seriously. Thanks. It doesn't make it </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">feel worse at all </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">being reminded </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">constantly</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">.<br /><br />/grumble.<br /><br />Anywho, dating. Yeah, it's </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">pretty sweet</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> when it's not </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">sucking the life out of you </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">or</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> devouring your soul</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">. I'm kind of more glad to be single after having written that sentence, for sure.<br /><br />Well, have a good next date with your creepers, people. Cheers.</span></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-33459420580038426002010-03-02T22:39:00.000-06:002010-03-02T23:39:32.908-06:00Friends, family and semi-useless knowledge.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So I was trying to come up with a super, trendy "cool" post earlier - and guess what happened? Nothing. Well, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">okay</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, I did write some stuff - some really </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">crappy</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> stuff, but it was writing still, right?</span><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Anywho</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, I saw the most beautiful sunset last night while I was traveling back from home. It was </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">unnaturally</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> pink. Most likely because I was still wearing my sunglasses. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You'd think someone would have told me it wasn't bright anymore. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">No one did, because they </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">obviously knew the sunset would be prettier for me in pink</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. Thoughtful. Presumptive, but thoughtful.<br /><br />Which leads me to more important things (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">well, the sun is super important...</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">). I just want to address some exemplary things in my life, and show that while it doesn't always </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">seem</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> like I care, that I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">do</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> - and I don't want to take all of it for granted all the time - just you know, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">when I'm being human and careless</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">.<br /><br />For me, in my life, I've got my (limited) cache of friends, my (dysfunctional) family and of course, my mass of (semi-useless) knowledge. These are the things that I think are most important to me - because I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">need</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> those specific people in my life. Those are the dear souls who keep me from permanently floating off into the never-never-land in the recesses of my chaotic mind - and trust me, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">you don't want to vacation in that black hole</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. And, Knowledge, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">you mysterious minx</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">, you keep me on my toes and ready for battle. I thank all the pretty green things on the plant that education has been available to me throughout my life, because honestly it's a precious gift. And when it comes to people who want to remain </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">completely</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> ignorant of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">everything</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> in life, I just want to jump off a cliff. Preferably with sharp rocks or something beneath them (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I don't want to suffer</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">). It just </span><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">kills</span></b></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> me that people take the journey for knowledge for granted </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">all the damned time</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> - and yes, I do blame you and your ignorance for homicidally trying to kill me as well (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">so knock it off</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">). </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(I didn't</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> want</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> to jump, y</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">ou made me</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, to the cosmos, I tip my glass in your honour for dealing me a starting hand consisting of a family that, while obnoxious and often defective, has been my rock and guiding light through all the pitfalls and hailstorms. And </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">thank the stars</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> that my friends have stuck by me, because I've been a real bitch to every single one of them at some point or another - and by gods, it's surprising they've not run far, far away from this mess. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I know I would have</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">. They're a tough lot.<br /><br /></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So, here's to being thankful for what you've got in life.</span></i></div>Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8117004540368394670.post-38305672158177641192010-03-01T22:26:00.000-06:002010-03-01T23:31:19.210-06:00Re-evaluations, Ohno and good-mojo.For the past several years I've let myself fall into not only a rut, but a self-pitying rut. I defined my entire being on the doom and gloom of my horrific 1 year 7 month relationship to a total douche bag. I not only defined myself thusly, but I let <i>others</i> define me that way - and define me they did. Of course, I wasn't exactly throwing out alternatives for them to bind to, now was I?<br /><br />Recently I've begun to re-evaluate my own identity - and boy, are there a lot of cobwebs in that attic. Honestly, the thing that seems to have stimulated my road to change has actually been, and I joke you not, the 2010 Olympic games. Now, I know what you're thinking - <i>what the f? </i>Well, the endurance and courage of the athletes is way impressive - but that had <i>so</i> very little to do with it. What did? Twitter. <a href="http://twitter.com/ApoloOhno"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#999999;">Apolo Ohno's twitter</span></a>, to be exact. And yes, we all know he <i>is</i> that cute - however, it was all the positive stuff that that guy posts that kind of drove it home (and his attractiveness certainly didn't <i>hurt</i> things). The good mojo that flows out of his tweets gave me a daily pick-up, and watching him & all the other Olympians compete proved to me that things <i>aren't</i> always a suckfest in the world - people can achieve <b>HUGE</b> things - and so could I, if I just <i>tried</i> to. Because honestly, <i>that's what matters most</i>. Winning is freaking <i>awesome</i>, no duh - but being ballsy enough to <i>try</i> - that takes real effort; good things won't just happen. And ta-da, I'm now a newly inducted good-mojo-convert.<br /><br />I won't guarantee constant pep - I'm no human-motivational-poster like Apolo is, but I damn sure am going to try to be at least a motivational-<i>button</i>.<br /><br />So, welcome to the new chapter in my life people. Hoorah.Miss Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16680204963065847460noreply@blogger.com0