<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741</id><updated>2011-08-01T18:21:17.688-07:00</updated><category term='stupid drama friends life'/><category term='first entry'/><title type='text'>Wish You Were Here</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>12</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-5745197738270422270</id><published>2009-07-09T03:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T03:00:00.772-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't look so frightened this is just a passing phase, one of my bad days</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;It's biblical how fucked up my sleep can be.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I have no idea where that's from, but I saw it on an icon, and because I can't think of anything that true on my own, I stole it and am now using it for my own fucked-up sleep purposes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Seriously folks, I woke up crying. Not only did I have one freaky-ass dream, I had THREE of them. THREE.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Dream One: I'm on a boat with my brother, and a freak storm knocks the boat over, throwing us into the ocean. I cling onto a piece of wood next to my brother, and wait for survivors/rescuers/sharks to start gnawing on our legs. I fall asleep in the water, and I wake up on a boat, my brother no where in sight. I ask the people who save me where he is; they tell me that I was the only one in the water when they sailed up. (That was an excellent use of a semicolon, by the way) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;This dream transitions right into the next terror inducing one:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dream Two: I'm leading Elton John (and why the hell wouldn't he be in my house? We're on a first-name basis, me and Elton) up to my room to show him how kick-ass it is. (READER'S NOTE: My walls are each a different color, and all my hubcaps are hung up. I have a HUGE Pink Floyd poster up on one of the walls, and the rest of them are covered with pictures, posters, notes and comic strips.) I get to my room, and my mom is there, ripping everything down and painting the walls white. My therapist told me that this means I'm afraid of conformity. Why can't I be afraid of normal things, like clowns or Canadians?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;This dream ends with me crying in front of Elton John and goes right into me standing in a courtyard at my school.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Dream Three (The totally fucked up one): I'm walking to meet Andrew, and I see him across the courtyard. He waves half-heartedly and kind of smiles in that way that you smile at people you don't like. Confused, I walk over over to him to ask him what's wrong. Then I see that he has his arms wrapped around Shayna (my best friend, for those of you who are new to this blog) I ask him (shout at him) what the hell he's doing. Shayna turns to me and sneers, "I told you I could get any guy in the school. Even the one who supposedly "likes" you. He's been mine from the beginning". &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Being the reasonable and calm person that I am, I punch her in the face. Then I curb-stomp him (this is from too much time playing video-games) and shout every single time that Shayna has treated me like dirt. A crowd gathers. Andrew stands up behind me and I whirl around and punch him in the face. I storm away, crying, and I finally wake up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;WTF. What is wrong with me??? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Anyways, I hope you all noticed my lovely new layout. It took me damn well three hours to get it all sorted out, so I'm expecting lots of marvelous and wonderful comments singing glorious praise for it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I was going to continue this entry with a gushing fountain of affection for Andrew, but I'm a bit tired. So maybe tomorrow. Oh, and I'll also post my story that I've been writing up. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;"You are not special. You are not a beautiful or unique snowflake. You're the same decaying organic matter as everything else."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;~Brad Pitt in "Fight Club"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-5745197738270422270?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/5745197738270422270/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=5745197738270422270' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/5745197738270422270'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/5745197738270422270'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/07/dont-look-so-frightened-this-is-just.html' title='Don&apos;t look so frightened this is just a passing phase, one of my bad days'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-7656063464247108183</id><published>2009-06-25T19:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-26T22:48:51.312-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I don't want realism. I want magic!"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Things are not boding well in the house of Molly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Yes, summer is finally here, but with that comes with the never ending playing of "School's Out" by Alice Cooper on the radio, which as much as I tolerate Alice Cooper, becomes a bit grating after awhile.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;In addition to this disgusting heat that The Devil brings with him in the summer time, there has also been a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bitchload&lt;/span&gt; of humidity. I bet you didn't even know that humidity was measured in &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bitchloads&lt;/span&gt;. There, you've learned enough for the summer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;My dearest and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;darlingest&lt;/span&gt; friend Shayna has forayed into the world of men, and by that I mean she slept with her boyfriend of 3 and 1/2 weeks. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my best friend. Let's give her a round of applause. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Anyways, on the opposite end of the Guy Spectrum, my friend Ebony has been complaining about how she doesn't have a boyfriend. Our conversation last night:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Ebony: What is with all of the jerks in our schools??? Why are all the good-looking ones such bastards???&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: What about the ones that aren't good looking?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Ebony: What do you mean?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: I mean, why do you only flirt with the cute guys? Why don't you give the other ones a chance? They're usually the nicest.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Ebony: *slowly* ...because they're ugly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: Okay, listen to me very carefully. Let's say that there was this SUPER nice guy who really liked you, and he was ridiculously smart, very funny, and a great kisser...would you date him?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Ebony: Is he good looking?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: No.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Ebony: Then no.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: *strangles her through phone* Ebony...you need to give non-cute guys a chance. The attractive ones are assholes. Just talk to some ugly guys and get to know them. You'll have a boyfriend soon enough.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;*Ebony's head explodes at my logic*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;That's LITERALLY how it went down.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Wow, I just took a three day break from that last sentence to this one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;There is a perfectly good reason for that, too. I was grounded. Impounded against my will, if you please. And it's not even like...a &lt;em&gt;cool &lt;/em&gt;reason why I was grounded, not like I snuck out and partied with college kids, or stole a car or held up an ice cream stand or anything like that. I was late for my curfew by TEN minutes. Sheesh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;If you must know, I was with Andrew at his sister's house, and we were just cuddling and arguing over which Dumbledore is better, the one from the first two movies or the new one (NOTE: THE NEW ONE) and I lost track of time and got in trouble for it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I haven't really talked to any of my friends except for Andrew since summer started. Let's see if I can keep it up.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Holy hell, did you hear that Michael Jackson just died? I will go listen to Billie Jean in his honor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-7656063464247108183?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/7656063464247108183/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=7656063464247108183' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/7656063464247108183'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/7656063464247108183'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-dont-want-realism-i-want-magic.html' title='&quot;I don&apos;t want realism. I want magic!&quot;'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-869467729408375710</id><published>2009-06-12T20:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-15T14:36:48.445-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't tell me there's no hope at all</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SjMgkRpYUyI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/hOp8cAsCZNU/s1600-h/7596474.png"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 100px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 100px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346652990203253538" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SjMgkRpYUyI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/hOp8cAsCZNU/s200/7596474.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;[Eddie ~ The Rocky Horror Picture Show]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look children! ANOTHER entry in THE SAME MONTH. This should be documented. Go on, take a picture. Pick up a t-shirt at the gift-shop, tell your friends, Tweet it or whatever the hell you kids do nowadays.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[Eight Days A Week ~ The Beatles]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyways, I just got back from an awesome time with Andrew. I was with Danielle and Jonathan too, BUT MOSTLY ANDREW. He's sick, so my plan to tackle, tie up, and make out with him was a bit foiled. Oh, and I'm sure that Danielle and Jonathan would have minded. Maybe. I don't know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[Eleanor Rigby ~ The Beatles]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We went to Danielle's house to work on our history project, but ended up just playing capitalism and hearts AND GETTING THEIR ASS KICKED BY ME. Hahaha, I'm so good at cards. Plus, it was helping that Andrew was going easy on me...*giggles*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[Elephant Love Medly ~ from Moulin Rouge]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We drove him home and my parents were being all awkward like they are. My dad especially. He gets weird when he sees Andrew holding my hand. I like to imagine that he reaches for his gun at his hip, but he doesn't carry it when he's not in uniform. Obviously. (He's a cop, for those of you that are a bit slow on the uptake.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next week is the last week of school, which is ridiculous. School should have ended about two weeks ago, because we haven't learned ANYTHING since AP exams. Plus, we're already HALFWAY through June...or we will be when the school year is over.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[Fall to Pieces ~ Avril Lavigne (yes, I still listen to Avril Lavigne. Shut your mouth.)]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In Trevor and Shayna news (My favorite kind!!!), I hung out with them last Saturday. Biggest mistake of my life. Honestly. They didn't even talk to me ONCE while I was there! We went for a walk, and I was about eight feet in front of them the whole time. They were behind me, giggling, kissing, giving my lunch an encore...you know the way. It was SO obnoxious. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First off, I can't stand seeing anything all cutesy like that ANYWHERE. Not in movies, not in books, not in reality, which unfortuneately, is where I was. We passed people walking their dogs/toddlers on leashes and they all gave me that sympathetic "Oh, look who the third wheel is... I bet she doesn't even have a boyfriend...probably why she hangs out with them all the time". I hate that look. And I do have a boyfriend kind of!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;[Fat Bottomed Girls ~ Queen]&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had therapy on Monday ("A check-up from the neck-up!" as I like to say), and this is how it went. (Actually, I happen to like my therapist very much, she's just very blunt.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Hi Sharon!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sharon: Hello, Molly. Where did we leave off last time?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: I think we were talking about my insecurity, emotional masochism, inability to say 'no' and severe depression. By the way, am I paying you by the hour, or by the problem?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sharon: Oh, you're a quick one! Technically, YOU'RE not paying anything, your parents are.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Touche.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sharon: So, do you think that you can't refuse people because you are completely unsatisfied with your life and you want your friends to like you?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: *stunned silence*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sharon: I have that effect on people.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: And modest too! Wow, you're everything!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She's really nice. I might not shank her with a rolled-up piece of paper. (Seriously though, my brother rolled up a program to one of his concerts, stabbed me with it, and drew blood.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm going to go watch Star Wars now. Number 4, not any of the wimpy ass new ones.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I should really not have a CAPS LOCK key. I'm an addict.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Oh look, we have created enchantment"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;~ Vivien Leigh in "A Streetcar Named Desire"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-869467729408375710?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/869467729408375710/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=869467729408375710' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/869467729408375710'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/869467729408375710'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/06/dont-tell-me-theres-no-hope-at-all.html' title='Don&apos;t tell me there&apos;s no hope at all'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SjMgkRpYUyI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/hOp8cAsCZNU/s72-c/7596474.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-18615985986268056</id><published>2009-06-04T14:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-04T16:14:51.852-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Dammit, I'm eating pretzels!"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/Sig67smyMjI/AAAAAAAAAFY/9_2qAXhfukg/s1600-h/tub.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343585755135619634" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/Sig67smyMjI/AAAAAAAAAFY/9_2qAXhfukg/s200/tub.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; My eye won't stop twitching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thought that would be a good way to get the ball rolling, since I haven't been on here in forever.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now that I've successfully broken the ice, you might wonder: what is up with me? Probably not, but I'll tell you anyways. I swore I wouldn't blog until Andrew kissed me, so I'd have something to talk about, but since that seems unlikely in the near future, I broke down and ran to my computer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me and Andrew hang out almost every weekend now, in case you wanted to know. Even if you didn't, you just did because you already read it. Hah. Anyways, we hold hands and cuddle, but nothing more than that, much to my hormones' dismay. We're working on a history project now, but whenever he comes over to my house to work on it, we end up watching "The Great Mouse Detective" and cuddling. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I would be angrier about not getting anything done if he wasn't so damn cute.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Shayna has successfully broken another boy's heart (Michael) and gotten a new boy toy that goes by the name of Trevor. To appreciate how fast she works, she broke up with Michael on a Friday, and had Trevor wrapped around her finger by Tuesday morning. My best friend, ladies and gentlemen.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Unfortunately for me, Michael has my phone number. I know, trust me. So this is how our conversations go: (for the best effect, picture Michael drunk, because that's usually how he is when he calls me)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Hello?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael: *slurring* Hey Molly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Are you drunk?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;*sounds of puking*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael: A bit...she did this to me, you know.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Michael, everyone knows. You've told the whole school.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael: *indignant* Well she did!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: I realize this. What do you want me to do about it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael: Talk to her. Tell her how awful she treated me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Yeah, sure. Then I'll go carve my heart out with a wooden spoon.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Michael: *hangs up phone*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's tons of fun, especially when he calls me back 15 minutes later, because he doesn't remember that he just called me! Can't you just see how &lt;em&gt;exciting&lt;/em&gt; this is?!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To add to all this joy and love, Shayna has decided to become friends with her ex, Alex, again. I don't know if you know this, but Alex is the biggest bastard in the history of the world. I hate him. HATE. And she expects me to be friends with him, too! She wants me to hang out with her, Trevor, and Alex this weekend! And I probably will, because I have no spine!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alex was standing with Shayna in the hallway this morning when Andrew and I walked by. This is a snippet of the conversation we had:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Hi Shayna!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Shayna: Hi Molly-best-friend-ever! And look Alex, she's with Andrew! He hates me. *frowny face*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Andrew: *quietly, thoroughly embarrassed* No I don't.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Shayna: Yes you do. Anyways, Molly, I want you to be friends with Alex again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alex: Yeah, you should be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: *without thinking* I would be, but you're too busy date-raping freshman girls. Sorry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Andrew: *grins, then drags me out of there*&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So that's how that shit went down. I can't believe her sometimes. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have to go get Quinci a birthday present, so I'll respond to comments later.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"As Mr. Sloan always says, there is no "I" in team, but there is an "I" in pie. And there's an "I" in meat pie. Anagram of meat is team... I don't know what he's talking about."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;~ Simon Pegg in "Shawn of the Dead"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-18615985986268056?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/18615985986268056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=18615985986268056' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/18615985986268056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/18615985986268056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/06/dammit-im-eating-pretzels.html' title='&quot;Dammit, I&apos;m eating pretzels!&quot;'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/Sig67smyMjI/AAAAAAAAAFY/9_2qAXhfukg/s72-c/tub.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-3579189743773337955</id><published>2009-05-12T17:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T17:46:21.363-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Does anybody else in here feel the way I do?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SgoXnwVdgxI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Sp4qawDESjQ/s1600-h/haircut.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5335102680331027218" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 145px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SgoXnwVdgxI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Sp4qawDESjQ/s200/haircut.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://croz.fm/img/the_wall_being.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;[I Am The Walrus ~ The Beatles]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I saw Star Trek this weekend with Andrew, and let me tell you, IT KICKED SERIOUS ASS. SERIOUS. The movie, not the date with Andrew, although that was enjoyable too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Nothing happened between me and Andrew; nothing physical at least. Well, because we both sit like sluts: with our legs wide open, our knees touched during the movie. And that's it. What a fail.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;[I Don't Like Mondays ~ The Boomtown Rats]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;After our little rendez-vous, I went home and had a dream about him. In my dream, we were sitting on my couch in the basement and watching Lord of the Rings, because we're awesome. All of sudden he's sitting next to me (That's what's great about my dreams: I can just fast forward through the awkward parts) and he has his arms wrapped around me and I'm leaning against him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Then he starts kissing my head and my forehead and pulling my closer to him (since I'm still leaning against him and not actually facing him) and I'm totally jazzed about it. I try to turn around to kiss him on the mouth, but he keeps turning be back around and laughing, and telling me to be patient. I get angry and start swearing, which he finds adorable.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;[I Don't Love You ~ My Chemical Romance]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I finally get my lower back twisted enough so that I can kiss him, but I can't seem to reach him. Something is blocking my mouth, and I can't breathe. I wake up face down in my pillow, with half of the accursed thing down my throat.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I have drawn two conclusions from this:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;1.) My subconscious has been unsuccessful in its attempts to kill me, so it finally planted a dream in my mind that would keep me occupied enough so I wouldn't wake up and notice that I was slowly choking myself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;2.) Even in my dreams, I CAN'T GET ANY FUCKING ACTION!!! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;What is this?! MY dreams, the ones that are supposed to reflect MY desires, the ones that are supposed to let me play out MY scenarios, won't let me kiss him. This is not good.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;[I Should Have Known Better ~ The Beatles]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I got a haircut, and to imagine it, picture Spock. Now give him about four inch choppy extensions and make it red. That's me, in a nutshell. "But Molly, shouldn't you have also said 'make the bangs longer'?" And I would answer with "No, because THEY ARE TOO DAMN SHORT! LIKE SPOCK'S!". And then I'd go and cry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;[I Want to Hold Your Hand ~ The Beatles]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;My hair actually looks quite disgusting, so I try to pin it up, but no one is fooled. You can't hide an ugly haircut. It's like trying to hide Sarah Conner from the Terminator; you just can't do it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;[I Won't Say I'm in Love ~ from Hercules]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I have my AP World History exam at 8 in the morning on Thursday, and this has not quite registered with me, since I can barely function at even 10 in the morning, and taking an EXAM seems like a really obnoxious thing to do to someone. However, Friday I get to go with AOS to KING'S DOMINION!!! WOO.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;[If I Fell ~ The Beatles]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;However, this is a downside to this, since this girl I HATE, I mean, I &lt;em&gt;loathe &lt;/em&gt;her, is in our group for the field trip. How does this happen, you say? And I say sit down and shut the hell up and let me finish the story.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;So, this girl is completely bonkers; not playing with a full deck; a few screws loose; ABSOLUTELY FUCKING MENTAL; etc., and I don't like to talk with her. Anyways, I'm the only one polite enough to fake listen to her when she goes on and on. She has dreams about Naruto characters, and then she draws out the stories in her notebook. I don't care who you are, if you have dreams about Naruto characters, you seek help IMMEDIATELY.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;So she was blabbing away about this and about how her alternate ego slays vampires and shit, and then OUT OF NOWHERE, she casually slips in, "So, I'm going to be in your group for the field trip, right?" And me, not catching the way this conversation suddenly turned, kept nodding and saying "sure", which I had been doing for quite some time beforehand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;[Imagine ~ John Lennon]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Not realizing my mistake, I had just inadvertantly agreed to six hours of the most horrendous torture. Dammit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I better go study for my exam now. If I survive, I'll write more later.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-3579189743773337955?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/3579189743773337955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=3579189743773337955' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/3579189743773337955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/3579189743773337955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/05/does-anybody-else-in-here-feel-way-i-do.html' title='Does anybody else in here feel the way I do?'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SgoXnwVdgxI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/Sp4qawDESjQ/s72-c/haircut.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-6312171039623082186</id><published>2009-04-29T21:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-03T15:53:02.284-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Reincarnation is my only hope"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;The longer I kept the picture of myself up there, the less I liked it. I didn't really like it that much to begin with, but that was the only one of me that I can find that doesn't make me look like an unfortunate case of inbreeding. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I haven't been online in about forever and a day, so that's why I haven't responded to any comments that I have received, even though I'm sure there are THOUSANDS of them to get to.  Yeah, uh-huh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Because I am the one supreme master of Youtube, I managed to watch almost all of Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street online.  I must say, I was quite let down, because I have had multitudes of Tim Burton fans tell me how utterly spectacular this movie was.  I realized later that Tim Burton could film the capture and gutting of a kitten and call it a movie, but as long as he showed Helena Bonham Carter and/or Johnny Depp partaking in this act, Tim Burton fans would hail it as the greatest film of all time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Anyways, my computer wouldn't load one of the scenes, so I went from that stupid ass hammerhead shark boy Anthony saving that blonde alien from the asylum to Alan Rickman lying dead on the floor (!!!) and Johnny Depp leaning over his newly-dead (?) wife.  If someone could explain to me what I missed, I would be very grateful.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I pulled an all-nighter on Thursday night, so I was dead Friday.  Not that anyone really noticed, because I'm usually grumpy and resemble death warmed over at school.  I had an English research paper and a science research paper due the next day, and I didn't start any of them until about 11 that night.  The English paper took my until three in the morning (with an hour and a half break to watch Sweeny Todd).  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;At three, I decided to take another break, and was searching Youtube for more videos for me to enjoy.  My friend Holly (who's in my science class) was staying up all night on her paper, so I texted her the whole night.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;When I decided that I needed a break at three, I texted her and said "Holly, tell me not to watch all of Sense and Sensibility online tonight, because if I do, I will have to go on an all-out Alan Rickman binge".  She didn't text me back because she fell asleep (weakling!) so I was forced to spend and hour going on an all-out Alan Rickman binge because no one told me not to.  God how I love that man.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Andrew asked me to hang out with him last night, so of course I was at his house in about three and half seconds (I would have been there in three, but some old woman DARED get in the way of my car).  We actually hung out at his sister's house which is about three doors down from his.  His sister and her husband are SO FREAKIN' FUNNY, and Andrew is even funnier when he's with them.  We watched "True Lies" on TV and then "The Uninvited" on DVD, which we made fun of mercilessly.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;When we were watching True Lies, we saw a commercial for a realty agency, and it said "Let our agents talk to you".  I misheard and thought they said "Let our Asians talk to you" which made me laugh like the horrible racist I am.  I told Andrew and he said "Please buy our houses...if you don't, they take our shoes away".  That caused my soda to make a second appearance out through my nose.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;He asked me to go for a walk with him today, but my parents were being completely sadistic and made me clean my room and do homework instead.  I'm sure that if I HAD gone out with him, he would have held my hand and asked me out officially.  *fury*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;When I was on the bus to AOS one day, my friend Jonathan told me that ever since Andrew found out that I liked him, his artwork has gotten a lot better.  "Maybe you're his muse!" said Jonathan.  "I hope you weren't the muse for that giant spider he was drawing in Spanish class" said Quinci, always the beacon of support.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Philip drew a giant Dark Mark on my arm and his, but he made it adorable, so now the skull looks like a friendly Hello Kitty skull and the snake coming out of the mouth is quite the cutie.  We touched pencils to each other's mark and made our arms wriggle like they do in the movie.  My math teacher looked at us for a second, then sighed.  She doesn't understand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0670408/"&gt;Nicholas Angel&lt;/a&gt;: All right, what about this guy? Ask yourself, why has he got his hat pulled down like that? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0296545/"&gt;Danny Butterman&lt;/a&gt;: He's fuck-ugly. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0670408/"&gt;Nicholas Angel&lt;/a&gt;: Or, he doesn't want you to see his face. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0296545/"&gt;Danny Butterman&lt;/a&gt;: 'Cause he's fuck-ugly. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;~ From "Hot Fuzz"  (my new favorite movie)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-6312171039623082186?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/6312171039623082186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=6312171039623082186' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/6312171039623082186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/6312171039623082186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/04/reincarnation-is-my-only-hope.html' title='&quot;Reincarnation is my only hope&quot;'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-5873835735222987575</id><published>2009-04-23T15:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T15:56:09.874-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SfDnwvZarZI/AAAAAAAAAEc/Y6DshFJVmw8/s1600-h/at+project,+chicago,+naturalist+center,+scouts+163.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5328013183722106258" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SfDnwvZarZI/AAAAAAAAAEc/Y6DshFJVmw8/s400/at+project,+chicago,+naturalist+center,+scouts+163.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Picture time!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I hope you all appreciate that it took me a half hour to figure out to put this picture up. I spent twenty minutes just copy/pasting. This is what I was like : "What?! How DARE it not work! I'll just copy it AGAIN! See how you like THAT, computer! THE NERVE YOU HAVE!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Dammit, I just noticed that the title makes it sound like I'm totally cocky and a bitch about how I look. Oh well. I like the song that I got it from.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Anyways, that's me. Up there, in the picture, that is. I guess the red hair and the Luna Lovegood look might have tipped you off.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;In AOS, we just finished with chemical equilibrium and now we're diving into the fascinating topic of ROCKS. OH BOY. Of course, my partner is Kale, who if you all remember is the one whose first words to me were "What type of gaming system do you prefer? I'm a nintendo boy myself". &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: "So you like to play with your Wii?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Ah, yes, I'm sure you all remember him. As luck would have it, I was partnered with him, and we had to test the hardness of minerals.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: *after some deliberation* This one's hardness is a 4.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Kale: Give it to me. *snatches* *does some tests* ...It's a 4.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: I JUST told you that.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Kale: You know what's stupid?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: I can't even imagine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Kale: The name Molly.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: Yeah? Isn't kale a type of lettuce or something? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;This goes on for an hour until I just grab the box of the stupid rocks and hit him over the head with it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Andrew asked me to hang out with him this weekend, but alas! I am going out of town to some wedding reception. Not the wedding, no. The wedding PARTY. They got married in November, and the party is NOW? Christ on a cracker. This means a six hour car ride with my little brother, who always wants to play the "Ow Game". The rules are simple: whoever can make the other one say "ow" first wins. This means that you are allowed to use a variety of weapons, such as fists, feet, and frozen fishes if you have them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Also, I have to share the fold out bed in the hotel with him, and my brother fights ninjas when he sleeps. I was drifting in and out of sleep when I heard him go "Welcome to the karate state championships!" in his sleep. I didn't think much of it until I got a karate chop across my stomach, followed by a knee kick to my ribs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I'm going to go update my profile now. Go have a look!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;"It's a Zen thing...like how many babies fit in a tire. You know that old joke?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;~Christopher Guest in "Waiting for Guffman"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-5873835735222987575?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/5873835735222987575/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=5873835735222987575' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/5873835735222987575'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/5873835735222987575'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/04/how-does-it-feel-to-be-one-of-beautiful.html' title='How does it feel to be one of the beautiful people?'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SfDnwvZarZI/AAAAAAAAAEc/Y6DshFJVmw8/s72-c/at+project,+chicago,+naturalist+center,+scouts+163.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-1162856896773883563</id><published>2009-04-16T15:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-16T15:47:16.779-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Maggots, Michael.  You're eating maggots.  How do they taste?"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I apologize for my last entry that was made of fail.  I will try not to drown this one in waves upon waves of self pity.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I know that I commented some of you and told you that Andrew is my boyfriend.  He is.......&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;....he just doesn't know it yet.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Alright, so he said that he doesn't want people to be putting a label on "this special thing that we have".  Whatever the hell that means.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Anyways, he came over on Saturday, and we watched movies and giggled like a bunch of sixth grade girls at a sleepover.  He stayed for dinner and I'm surprised that he didn't go running for the hills when he actually sat down with my family.  He had to meet my aunt, who I absolutely LOATHE with every fiber of my being.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;No one told me that she was coming over on the day that Andrew was coming!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;*the doorbell rings*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;"I'll get it!" I shout, as I bound down the stairs, hoping it's my book that I ordered.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;*opens the door*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;"&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH&lt;/span&gt;!!!!!!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;That was pretty much how I was informed of her visit.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;She has these two little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ratdogs&lt;/span&gt; that my hamsters could take in a fight and she carries them everywhere with her, occasionally stopping to tongue kiss them and tell them how special they are.  Also, she has achieved the elusive status of being wider than she is tall.  It's actually quite impressive.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;My spring break was pretty uneventful.  No meteors hit my house, no convicted felons tried to take me hostage, no animals escaped from the zoo and mauled my arm... pretty much a boring break.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Then I got back to school and realized that I would much rather take boring than the stupidity at my school.  There's this girl Bailey who thinks that we have this deep psychological connection because we both have red hair and own the exact same necklace that our mom gave to us from the 70's.  Every health class she asks me to come smoke dope with her, so we can "totally connect on a whole new plane...it'll be awesome, sister".  I politely declined and told her that I was busy that day shoving rusty tweezers into my eye.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Speaking of health class, I hate it.  Every day, this is what happens.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Stupid person next to me: Hey, Molly!  Give me the answers, now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Me: No.  Do it yourself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;SPNTM&lt;/span&gt;: You're a bitch!&lt;br /&gt;Me: Well, you're an idiot!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;So that's fun.  Plus, my teacher lectures us on the evil of caffeine and how drinking it will DESTROY OUR BODIES.  It's only because he's a Mormon and he's bitter at the world because he's not allowed to drink caffeine.  Or maybe it's just that he's an asshole.  I don't know.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I have to go to an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;AOS&lt;/span&gt; orientation thing today for the 8&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; graders who got into the school, and I get to be a guide for the little peons.  Can you believe that my math teacher had the audacity to tell me to behave myself?  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I get such a power rush &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;wielding&lt;/span&gt; my superior knowledge of the inner-workings of the Academy over the underlings.  I could become addicted to it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;My new favorite word:  Vapid.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-1162856896773883563?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/1162856896773883563/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=1162856896773883563' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/1162856896773883563'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/1162856896773883563'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/04/maggots-michael-youre-eating-maggots.html' title='&quot;Maggots, Michael.  You&apos;re eating maggots.  How do they taste?&quot;'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-1571745820058942218</id><published>2009-04-14T19:15:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T19:39:11.597-07:00</updated><title type='text'>These asphixiated, self medicated, take the white pill, you'll feel alright</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Much apologies for my long and uneventful absence. The sharp claws of spring break had pulled me brutally into its grasp and it was a hard fight to escape the state of mind that it put me in.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I must warn you of the content of this entry. I am not in a humorous or satirical mood, but one of pondering. Comments will not be returned today, and the epic of my spring break will have to be told another time. If you have come to view my style of writing as always witty and entertaining, come back later, for today is a solemn day.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;The topics I discuss will most likely bore you, but as I have nowhere else to write freely, this will have to do.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I have been thinking constantly of Andrew, and failing to understand the strange and freakish pull I have towards him. I do not feel this way about people. I like to think that I am above such trivial feelings. To me, most people are stupid, vain creatures that I have no desire to consort with. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;He is different. I have felt it since the moment I walked into fourth period AP World History and saw him sitting calmly in his desk, unaware of the effect he had on me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;The more I get to know him, the more perfect he is to me. The fact that he knows and loves the movies that are so important to me; the way his eyebrows raise right before he says something devastatingly funny or uncannily brilliant; the way his blue eyes laugh whenever he sees me, as if we are in together on some brilliant joke that no one else knows.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Even now, writing these things, they feel less special now that they are out in the open and other people know. Words diminish these things that are dear to me, but I had to get them out of me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;He came over to my house to watch movies with me, and I felt for the first time that I wanted to be closer to somebody. I have never wanted to "connect" with anyone before, and I recoil at being touched by anyone other than my parents. But I desperately want him to understand me, and I want to understand him. It almost pains me to be near him, knowing that he is there and I can't have him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I wonder what he sees in me. What could a long haired Catholic school boy see in a redheaded &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;atheist&lt;/span&gt; girl whose best friends are her cactus Arnold and her body pillow Herbert? What could this boy ever find worth saving in a girl who prefers movie characters to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;real&lt;/span&gt; people, who loves to dodge traffic to find an elusive hubcap, and whose mood swings come fast and unexpected?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Maybe I'm his escape. Maybe the only reason he cares for me is because I'm not of his world, a world of rules and conformity that plague almost everyone born into a society like this. I like to think that I'm his breath of fresh air. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;But one day, I fear that the breath will turn sour, and he will not want anything to do with me. Perhaps one day, my antics that once amused and astounded him will bore him and he will leave, saying hollow, meaningless things like "I'm sorry", "This isn't the right time for me", or "We just wouldn't work well together". I am afraid of this day, and until then, I hope that he sees at least a sliver in me of what I see in him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-1571745820058942218?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/1571745820058942218/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=1571745820058942218' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/1571745820058942218'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/1571745820058942218'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/04/these-asphixiated-self-medicated-take.html' title='These asphixiated, self medicated, take the white pill, you&apos;ll feel alright'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-8074084397673697298</id><published>2009-04-04T15:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-04T16:36:44.625-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"What makes it so hard is not that you had it bad, but that you're that pissed that so many others had it good"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;My god it's a lovely day out.  So what am I doing?  Staying inside and staring at a glowing screen, feeling my brain cells trickle slowly out of my ears.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I had to babysit yesterday evening, and when I walked in the door, I was immediately tackled by their little girl and hit in the head with a nerf ball by the little boy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;"Now, Ryan has had a 104 temperature all day," said their mother, "so he'll probably just lay on the couch the whole time".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Cool with me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;*10 minutes later*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;The kid is bouncing off the freaking walls.  He's like, chucking dog bones at me, pulling his sister's hair, gnawing on the cat's tail...  He's a god damn weapon of mass destruction! &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;So that was fun.  I needed to flex my child-throwing muscles anyway.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;In health class on Thursday, in a last ditch attempt to prevent us from screwing our brains out, we had to watch the video of a baby being born.  Marvelous.   DO YOU KNOW WHAT A BABY COMES OUT OF??!?!!   Yeah, THAT.  The whole class screamed, which would have been funny, except THERE WAS A BIRTH GOING ON ON THE HUGE PROJECTER SCREEN IN FRONT OF US.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I'm pretty sure that's going to take at least 11 therapy sessions to get over.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I went walking with Shayna today, sans Michael.  I'm kind of glad she didn't invite him, because he's been real bitchy to me lately.  Well, not me, but mon amour.  He keeps insulting Andrew CONSTANTLY, and Andrew has NEVER said anything bad about Michael.  EVER.  Okay, he did call him a crybaby once, but that was only because I brought it up.  And he is one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Anyways, since I'm out of things to say, I'll just put up the top played songs on my iPod.  If a song you like isn't on here, it sucks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Top Played Songs On My iPod:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Help! ~ The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;If I Fell ~ The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;She Loves You ~ The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Wish You Were Here ~ Pink Floyd&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I'm Looking Through You ~ The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;It's Late ~ Queen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;The Middle ~ Jimmy Eat World&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Eleanor Rigby ~ The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;For No One ~ The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;The Time Warp ~ The Rocky Horror Picture Show&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Below Beloved ~ Aleka's Attic&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Time ~ Pink Floyd&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Tonight Is What It Means To Be Young ~ Fire Inc.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Come Together ~ The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Instant Karma! (We All Shine On) ~ John Lennon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Imagine ~ John Lennon&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Is It Okay If I Call You Mine ~ from Fame&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Don't Trust Me ~ 3OH!3&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;The Church of Hot Addiction ~ Cobra Starship&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Who Wants to Live Forever ~ Queen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Fat Bottomed Girls ~ Queen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Eight Days A Week ~ The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;All You Need Is Love~ The Beatles&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I'm Not Your Boyfriend Baby ~ 3OH!3&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Moonlight Sonata ~ Beethoven&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Okay, I have to go see Monsters VS Aliens now.  :D&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-8074084397673697298?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/8074084397673697298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=8074084397673697298' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/8074084397673697298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/8074084397673697298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/04/what-makes-it-so-hard-is-not-that-you.html' title='&quot;What makes it so hard is not that you had it bad, but that you&apos;re that pissed that so many others had it good&quot;'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-6502570132438946802</id><published>2009-04-01T16:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T17:15:50.131-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stupid drama friends life'/><title type='text'>I have become comfortably numb</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Oh, how I wish that were true.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I possibly have the most obnoxious friends in the history of existence.  Since I g to a different school every other day, it means I have twice (Yes, TWO TIMES AS MANY) friends to deal with.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;However, this entry will only concern the flaming stupidity of the Academy kids.  Sweet Hitler's handbag are they annoying.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;So, two of my closest friends from there Holly and Ebony are in a fight which they think is perfectly valid, though having no solid evidence to even be mad at each other.  A few months ago, Holly starting dating this guy named Andrew (bitch stole my boyfriend's name!) and has been a bit.........over-confident since.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;This annoys Ebony way too much, and she's taken it out on Holly by being especially bitchy and whiny.  Holly has retaliated by even MORE bitchy and whiny.  And your fearless leader Molly has been dragged (kicking and screaming) into this not-even-really-a-fight.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Can anyone see the point of this?  Anyone?  That's what I thought!  MY GOD.  If they're not making snide comments on each other's appearance/ personal hygiene/ ability to handle hydrochloric acid (seriously.  We use it.) they're completely ignoring each other, saying, "Molly, tell Ebony that I think her lunch looks like roadkill".&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Bitch, you BEST be trippin'!  Christ, I'm not they're freaking interpreter!  Holy hellfire I'm THROUGH with this!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I got in a big shouting match with Ebony after Holly got on her bus because Ebony thinks that I'm taking Holly's side, which I'm NOT.  Personally, I think they're both being imbeciles, but how would I know?   Because, according to Ebony, I don't know ANYTHING about ANY SORT OF DRAMA, while she has been dealing with such problems of this caliber since eighth grade!  Well hot damn!, I should just bow down to the all-knowing goddess of boy-drama, her almight Ebony!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Well, let's see what my humble little drama resume has on it:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;My best friend dated a guy who told everyone two days in the relationship that she had given him a blow job, she forgave him; he cheated on her, she forgave him; he emotionally abused her, she forgave him.  In addition to this, she was calling/texting me constantly, asking for my advice, and when I told her to dump him, she started crying and telling me that I was killing her and that she LOVED him.  This cycle continued for FOUR months.  I nearly failed out of school coming to her rescue every time he broke her heart.  The relationship ended on a low note, but I won't tell you why.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;My other friend was constantly being abused emotionally by her parents and came to me crying.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Oh, and just yesterday, my best guy friend got out of the hospital for trying to commit suicide, because I obviously couldn't help him enough.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;So, don't tell ME I don't know what I'm talking about.  I was furious at her.  I almost kicked her in the shins.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;...Now I'm all worked up.  I need to go punt something small and weaker than me.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-6502570132438946802?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/6502570132438946802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=6502570132438946802' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/6502570132438946802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/6502570132438946802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-have-become-comfortably-numb.html' title='I have become comfortably numb'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5708321593633613741.post-9022129500936480193</id><published>2009-03-25T15:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T20:35:15.876-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='first entry'/><title type='text'>"Your soul is so dark it smudges mine"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Wooo, first entry.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;This is harder than I thought. It's weird writing in a new blog. It's like wearing someone else's underwear.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Anyways, to get all the new readers (and I know that there are MILLIONS of you) up to speed, this entry is going to concentrate on the fascinating topic of: ME.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Some things that you should know so when I start bitching about them, you'll know what the hell's going on:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;Even though my age says I'm 15, I'm a sophomore in high school. I am just in the unfortunate situation of having a late birthday (Mid-September, mark your calenders)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I really really really dislike most people. You have NO idea.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I am preoccupied with the stupidity of people. It fascinates me, just how moronic my "peers" are.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I have the neediest friends in the world, and I'm a bit of a masochist when it comes to them. I will forgo any homework, personal problems, consuming food when it comes to helping them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;My best friend is Shayna, and she has been for two years. Her boyfriend's name is Michael.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;My almost boyfriend's name is Andrew, and we have been through that complicated process of telling friends that we like them, whispering, giggling, telling each other that we like each other, making awkward eye contact, you know, all that jazz.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I go to an Academy of Science and math every other day for (you'll never guess), Math and Science. However, my forte is theater and writing. Don't get me started on why I go to a science and math school, because I don't feel like explaining it all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;I collect hubcaps, and currently have 16 hanging up in my bedroom on the walls (where else?)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;"&gt;That's all I can think of now. When I feel clever enough, I'll write a follow-up entry. I don't feel too well, so I'm sorry if this entry causes your brain to try to force its way out of your skull and drown itself in a bowl of soup.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5708321593633613741-9022129500936480193?l=strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/feeds/9022129500936480193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=5708321593633613741&amp;postID=9022129500936480193' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/9022129500936480193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5708321593633613741/posts/default/9022129500936480193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://strangethingsareafootatthecirclek.blogspot.com/2009/03/your-soul-is-so-dark-it-smudges-mine.html' title='&quot;Your soul is so dark it smudges mine&quot;'/><author><name>Molly</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/15826245480850115123</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_E1dwe6iN3RU/SzXTnJfJGQI/AAAAAAAAAHE/2jYSml2IGsk/S220/031lea.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
