<?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-5236274713520184928</id><updated>2011-09-30T13:57:46.861-04:00</updated><category term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><category term='Life'/><category term='Events'/><category term='wtf'/><category term='observation'/><category term='Issues'/><title type='text'>Blade:22</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>25</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-2565639063837275480</id><published>2011-02-22T15:10:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-22T15:19:48.845-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>Yikes a Tablet!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#336666;"&gt;I am never under the influence of anything but my brain. All these bespectacled bunny rabbits are seriously cramping my style but it's not their fault they are not aware of the severity of the situation. I am content with the fact that I am the only one who knows about the straps of paper flowers hanging in the bathroom wilting every time I take a hot shower. I am content with the fact that every time I try to clamp the highlighter onto the stove it is going to ignite and burn my macaroni and cheese. I am not content with the thought that quarters rule the world and over packaging is discarded in such an inhumane ceremonious fashion. I love oil filters and the smell of wd-40 so much that it makes me crave frozen entrees. My thoughts can control my mind. I am disassociating myself with everything that brought me comfort and that is comforting. I am content with looking over the edge and never going over and I am content with never looking back. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-2565639063837275480?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/2565639063837275480/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2011/02/yikes-tablet.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/2565639063837275480'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/2565639063837275480'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2011/02/yikes-tablet.html' title='Yikes a Tablet!'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-9173924261982310415</id><published>2010-04-20T23:39:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-20T23:40:36.278-04:00</updated><title type='text'>forsalebyownerhow2.com</title><content type='html'>FORSALEBYOWNERHOW2.COM is totally the best website I have ever seen! It has so much great information on how to sell your house yourself!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-9173924261982310415?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/9173924261982310415/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2010/04/forsalebyownerhow2com.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/9173924261982310415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/9173924261982310415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2010/04/forsalebyownerhow2com.html' title='forsalebyownerhow2.com'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-17067394476425896</id><published>2010-02-06T10:36:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-06T10:44:20.906-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>Electric Dolphin Boogaloo</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#339999;"&gt;the other day I was walking in the joint where dead bodies chill out forever and I read some very interesting epitaphs.  If I die anytime I want everyone to remember me as the coolest human being on that moon over there.  Some People were telling me their tombstones said what their name was but I was just not buying that junk at all.  Sometimes I like to chew on sedimentary rocks in the car park.  Also I buy everything in bulk even coffee makers.   If everyone at the cemetery would just come hang out with me we would have had such a good time but it looked like they were all too busy or whatever to play.  I'm guessing it's cuz it was too snowy for them to dig themselves out but I was there so I could have helped them.  This one guy I think his name was John Tyler was like yo quit walking all over me cuz I'm here ya know. He told me about what it was like in back times and I sat indian style on the podium listening away.  Such an eloquent public speaker I had to gasp in boredom just to bring him down a peg or two.  My roast is done I yelled at the top of my lungs.  And that was such a great day!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-17067394476425896?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/17067394476425896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2010/02/electric-dolphin-boogaloo.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/17067394476425896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/17067394476425896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2010/02/electric-dolphin-boogaloo.html' title='Electric Dolphin Boogaloo'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-1721940930415206941</id><published>2009-12-27T16:04:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-27T16:08:02.870-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>Trianglulate</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#339999;"&gt;To Win A game you must first get a Rat to cut down a Tree and then said Rat should throw the Tree at a Man. Tra-la-la-la-la-la-la&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Verdana;color:#339999;"&gt;kd&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/5236274713520184928-1721940930415206941?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/1721940930415206941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/12/trianglulate.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/1721940930415206941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/1721940930415206941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/12/trianglulate.html' title='Trianglulate'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-5974600659905852445</id><published>2009-12-25T16:54:00.006-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-25T17:04:09.320-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>chrismahaunukwanzakah sauce.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#339999;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Just then Chihuahuas and hairy boys bought ringtones with pretty ugly trans fats so along the top of my behind I have 3X more perfection. I love close-talkers with crazy smelly violent pudding breath. Someday Artichoke all-Nighters are like being from silly Idaho around players who hate Cheese. Since 24 Hours is Always fresher over dirty cement. Also She has farms of Garlic far from me so We are Nasty to that rubber belly button next to 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;Sincerely,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Dr. Mr. Pepper Pibb&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-5974600659905852445?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/5974600659905852445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/12/chrismahaunukwanzakah-sauce.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/5974600659905852445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/5974600659905852445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/12/chrismahaunukwanzakah-sauce.html' title='chrismahaunukwanzakah sauce.'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-8093987246495580942</id><published>2009-11-06T14:24:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:53:02.351-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='wtf'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>Bob Von Dinkle</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330000;"&gt;OK Pause join together and hear. Frozen water has returned corresponding with various items newly imagined. Grasping Myself with extreme force, moving like a whale killing device all throughout the sun time and scary darkness. Not sure if this will ever cease. Shut down electricity powered globes of light and I will shine. Limitlessly hardcore vigor enables me to throw down with a voice enhancer like a criminally insane petty offender. Glowing on a platform of performances I dip a dumb ass in beeswax like a wick light stick. Moving your body in a rhythm oriented fashion to boxes of sound crashing like a bomb. I will eliminate life from your organic central processing unit like a fungus that incurs vile illness. I indirectly murder when I makes sounds that are of the awesome sort. Certain actions that are sub par result in conviction. Be amorous or depart, you should probably increase in mass. It is necessary for you to strike the center this child does not frolic. If there was a conflict I would remedy it. observe the beat while my overpaid record player spins it around. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#330000;"&gt;Frozen water, frozen water infant&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/5236274713520184928-8093987246495580942?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/8093987246495580942/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/11/bob-von-dinkle.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/8093987246495580942'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/8093987246495580942'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/11/bob-von-dinkle.html' title='Bob Von Dinkle'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-4455485456670377998</id><published>2009-09-30T14:26:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:52:50.550-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>index cZar</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="right"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#339999;"&gt;So my mom caps lock was playing &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;PlayStation&lt;/span&gt; while I was shooting up some coffee. Then I turned around and got an email about getting some but it was all gone so Anna Nicole Smith swooped in with a huge needle to suck out all the coffee from my veins to give it to the hard drive. I was so jittery but all of a sudden I felt &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;soo&lt;/span&gt; mellow. Next time I went out to drive my car I made sure that my windows are &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Windexed&lt;/span&gt;. Just then I thought about something for a long time and I deliberated and finally decided that it was finally time to make my country western music rap dance video, nothing like what is out there I would call it the Fried &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Okra&lt;/span&gt; Shake. Man that was a long day of surfing, time to drink some soothing syrup and go to bed but before I could I just had to remember where my lip gloss was. It became a quest but who has the time to remember where it is except for the guy down the street who had it under the passenger seat of his &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Chevy&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Malibu&lt;/span&gt;. But how was I supposed to know that it was there! good thing I knew a Private Investigator such as myself to help me. So I told myself what my problem was and I was on the case! After gathering up all the clues and shit I was 100 percent positive that my lip gloss was on the bench in the park but of course a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;dazzly&lt;/span&gt; bum stole it to go with his collection of other sparkly attributes. So all was lost and I would never know. Good thing &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Target&lt;/span&gt; was right down the street and open 24 hours so I could get new hair spray immediately. Otherwise now and then my sub woofers sound like an animal died in them so I hired a seeing eye dog to build me new ones. Till then I just focus on shooting up stuff around the house and doing the Fried &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Okra&lt;/span&gt; Shake.&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/5236274713520184928-4455485456670377998?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/4455485456670377998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/09/index-czar.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/4455485456670377998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/4455485456670377998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/09/index-czar.html' title='index cZar'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-2833307979192692044</id><published>2009-06-26T22:48:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:52:41.550-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>Watermelon Spaghetti Sauce</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#339999;"&gt;I tried locking the sliding glass door and it just would not lock and it seemed to be 3 layers deep so I panicked while running around the house trying to lock all the doors especially the one in the bathroom that leads out to the driveway. Obviously no one was trying to get in but actually they were I knew it, I heard voices under my bedroom. It was probably someone I owe money to but I don't have any money to pay them back so I went to find crazy straw to defend myself with. all in all the night went well watching Aqua teen hunger force and eating beer flavored Ice cream.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-2833307979192692044?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/2833307979192692044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/06/watermelon-spaghetti-sauce.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/2833307979192692044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/2833307979192692044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/06/watermelon-spaghetti-sauce.html' title='Watermelon Spaghetti Sauce'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-1472444598627436376</id><published>2009-06-19T00:40:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-26T22:59:36.361-04:00</updated><title type='text'>"Valium in the convenient economy size"</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#666666;"&gt;"Sometimes I sing and dance around the house in my underwear. doesn't make me Madonna. never will."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-1472444598627436376?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/1472444598627436376/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/06/valium-in-convenient-economy-size.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/1472444598627436376'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/1472444598627436376'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/06/valium-in-convenient-economy-size.html' title='&quot;Valium in the convenient economy size&quot;'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-372997721656978302</id><published>2009-05-22T13:15:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:52:14.334-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>Iocaine Powder</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#339999;"&gt;I was sitting in my room the other day clipping my finger nails and all of a sudden a plane crashed in my yard, the pilot comes up to the door and politely asks to use my phone to call a tow. Of course I obliged and asked if there was anybody hurt, he said there wasn't and we just continued talking. Turns out he was a pilot for a secret mission to scope out potential hiding spots for the 4 most intelligent people in the world. The mission was so top secret he said that he may have to kill me now that I know. I was In shock because I never asked for any of this information or that a freaking plane crash in my effing house crushing my precious little lawn gnomes! I says to him I says a battle of whits then...you lose I win simple as that, I lose I win how does that sound. He agreed and the battle began. Stay tuned to see the outcome, If I don't blog for a while I guess you have your answer.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-372997721656978302?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/372997721656978302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-was-sitting-in-my-room-other-day.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/372997721656978302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/372997721656978302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-was-sitting-in-my-room-other-day.html' title='Iocaine Powder'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-8778205681534913126</id><published>2009-05-19T12:31:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:52:05.016-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>everything should come in a string cheese format</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;I was brushing my adorable sons &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;blond&lt;/span&gt; locks after his weekly wipe down when he looked up at me and in such an articulate voice said "mother, when do I know I'm grown up"  To which I replied "now you like to stick your hands in the toilet and poop in your pants, you will understand, little one, when it's the other way around"  Then he played outside as I sprayed everything down with bug poison we ate some honey suckle and hallucinated together. I sure will look back and miss these times when he's all &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;adulty&lt;/span&gt; and I'm "that girl" turned old with a Virginia Slim Luxury Light Menthol 120 hanging out of my mouth baking in the sun calling him once a day to bitch about our shitty relationship and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;guilting&lt;/span&gt; him with stories of his horrific birth and all the years I sacrificed so he could be successful.  That's what I've decided is all I ever want to do with my life. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;Meanwhile he has very skillfully thrown all of his food all over the floor and is &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;excaping&lt;/span&gt; the high chair. son of a....&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/5236274713520184928-8778205681534913126?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/8778205681534913126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/05/everything-should-come-in-string-cheese.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/8778205681534913126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/8778205681534913126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/05/everything-should-come-in-string-cheese.html' title='everything should come in a string cheese format'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-1844513625497743165</id><published>2009-05-18T00:30:00.006-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:51:52.983-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>Beef Eraser</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;color:#339999;"&gt;This is how it always starts a normal &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Saturday&lt;/span&gt; at home turns into an episode directly from the 80's sitcom horror days. I was smoking my morning &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;cigarette&lt;/span&gt; when out of the corner of my eye I catch this freaking scary ass old man climb out from under my car and he says to me in an extraordinarily good fake &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;British&lt;/span&gt; accent "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ello&lt;/span&gt; mum is this your car?" I was like "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ummm&lt;/span&gt; yes what the hell were you doing installing a bomb?!" "no" he says "I just have been living there for years and normally I don't come out at this time but my pet iguana has run away you wouldn't have happened to seen him per chance?" well of course at this point the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;nicotine&lt;/span&gt; in my veins was not enough to keep my brain calm in this situation, where did this abnormal creature come from and why was he under my car and what the fuck does he mean his pet iguana! I turned my head and scoped the yard as if to care and when I turned back towards him he was trying to unhinge an extremely large case from under my car. " little help" he &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;motioned&lt;/span&gt; to me. "what! are you serious! what are you doing get out of my yard or I call the police! in fact no I'm dialing now!" to which he replied "there's nothing your police can do to the likes of me miss, now I'll be on my way to find me iguana &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Charles&lt;/span&gt; thank you, sorry to a troubled ya" he grabbed his case that had funky stickers all over it and it was all shiny in the parts that were not covered and it had a really really pretty brass handle. then oddly, out of it he pulled out a huge umbrella (that rightfully should not have fit in that case) and opened it as if it were raining yet it was totally sunny and hot on &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Saturday&lt;/span&gt;. At this point this all seemed so super &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;surreal&lt;/span&gt; to me that I honestly thought I was having a flashback or something there is no way that just happened but later on that day as I had forgotten about it all I walked outside to get in my car and strike me down if there wasn't a fucking &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;iguana&lt;/span&gt; sitting on the hood of my car.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-1844513625497743165?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/1844513625497743165/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/05/beef-eraser.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/1844513625497743165'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/1844513625497743165'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/05/beef-eraser.html' title='Beef Eraser'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-7850042260906595719</id><published>2009-04-21T00:11:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:51:35.292-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Events'/><title type='text'>just the other night visions of tree bark danced in my head</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;So I went out with my friend on Saturday night and we ended up at Baileys, where unfortunately the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;UFC&lt;/span&gt; fight was &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;goin&lt;/span&gt; on so it was pretty crowded but I was offered 2 seats at the bar by a very nice gentleman so we had a nice little spot to take it all in. I ordered my vodka/water and it was &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;delish&lt;/span&gt; - the bartender was mad hitting on me and he was alright looking I guess and I was super comfy &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;chillin&lt;/span&gt; at the bar &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;drinkin&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;smokin&lt;/span&gt;. But this girl I was with has some kind of radar, or super talent for finding and then bringing over the most retarded, ugly loser guys in the entire place. I was mortified. So reluctantly she went over to the fight side with them and I told her I would meet her but was &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;sooo&lt;/span&gt; not looking forward to it. I was like look I have to close out my tab, to my pleasant surprise my bartender fellow had purchased 2 of my drinks and since I gave him my number I felt no need to tip so I only spent 11 dollars (which is usually the max I spend lol). That's my kind of night when I minimally have to pay for shit and am not forced to talk to losers. I never got a chance (thankfully) to go over to where my friend was because she had realised very quickly the wrongness of her decision and asked me if I wanted to leave, it was a little before 1 so I was &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt; with it, I wasn't looking to get drunk and the scene was getting kinda tired. Even still I still woke up the next morning dreaming of gallons of water and my mouth felt as dry as lemon potpourri.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meanwhile today I was freaking out this dude at work by my stellar and disturbingly accurate recitation of the first half of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Wayne's&lt;/span&gt; World. Oh well I guess that is what my brain is full of, nothing useful of course!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-7850042260906595719?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/7850042260906595719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/04/just-other-night-visions-of-tree-bark.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/7850042260906595719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/7850042260906595719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/04/just-other-night-visions-of-tree-bark.html' title='just the other night visions of tree bark danced in my head'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-6445702160682358006</id><published>2009-04-13T23:53:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:51:24.041-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>bus stop</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#339999;"&gt;So I was riding on the back of this huge &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Bengal&lt;/span&gt; tiger through this valley of trees that had umbrellas for branches and swizzle stick for leaves. The guys name was Millard or Nancy I can't really recall but he &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; had on some super awesome yellow jumbo sunglasses and sported a pompadore. he was standing at the end of what looked like pretty much the coolest roller coaster I have ever seen but to get to it you had to take a boat, when The Tiger was like yo I can swim so he flipped over onto his back and we all jumped on. the entire time the kinks play in the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;back round&lt;/span&gt;. I wish the Ice Cream tasted like Pepperoni Pizza and Licorice. I got to the Roller coaster and it was closed and I looked around for some kind of explanation but all I saw was my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;grampa&lt;/span&gt; standing with a will work for food sign in a crispy white suit and patent leather shoes. I had some pizza licorice Ice cream and we ate it and we laughed all day long while the clouds bounced us around like a couple of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;pin balls&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-6445702160682358006?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/6445702160682358006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/04/so-i-was-riding-on-back-of-this-huge.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6445702160682358006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6445702160682358006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/04/so-i-was-riding-on-back-of-this-huge.html' title='bus stop'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-7356728553962856454</id><published>2009-04-09T13:44:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:51:00.094-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Issues'/><title type='text'>you can have my spot</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Do not even get me started on this entire gay marriage thing- it really frosts my cookies that this country is still so hung up on issues such as this. Are not we ALL the same, honestly, we all bleed the same, hurt the same, love the same. Just because being straight and "socially acceptable" &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Heteros&lt;/span&gt; can get married to some loser asshole and pop out a thousand kids and live on welfare and beat the kids and commit adultery. God for Freaking bid A gay couple wants to get married and have a thousand kids - OH NO they are going to turn the kids gay! &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; that's what they do ya know! and oh yeah &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ALLLLL&lt;/span&gt; Gay people are bad, promiscuous and sick in the head. DO YOU HEAR HOW RIDICULOUS THIS ALL SOUNDS AMERICA!!!! I am as straight as an arrow, but I am absolutely livid at this &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;propaganda&lt;/span&gt; going around about gay marriage it makes me want to vomit. Live and let live - &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Jesus&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Christ&lt;/span&gt;, who the hell are we to stop loving, good couples from marrying and sharing a legal life together, getting divorced and starting over, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; that's what us asshole straight &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ppl&lt;/span&gt; do, we take such advantage of our right to get married most of us do it at LEAST 3 times in our lives!!! now tell me the "sanctity" of marriage is not fucked up! So any of you out there &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;animatedly&lt;/span&gt; opposed to getting married let a gay couple have your spot! dang I wish it worked like that!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-7356728553962856454?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/7356728553962856454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/04/you-can-have-my-spot.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/7356728553962856454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/7356728553962856454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/04/you-can-have-my-spot.html' title='you can have my spot'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-6049679660501732295</id><published>2009-04-04T22:44:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:50:50.884-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Issues'/><title type='text'>For you and me to live in</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;The clink is scary. I would cry my eyes out if I ever were to be arrested for a DUI or anything for that matter. I have always always been a spoiled brat living in a perfect suburban town in a decent suburban house with no real drama except typical suburban domestic violence. I know people who may have dabbled a bit in drugs but only on a suburban level (AKA the highest level possible, just above city) and I watch this show Lockup on that MSNBC just mesmerized about how these people can live their lives like they do in prison. Its like they are in jail for committing crimes yet still commit crimes because they have nothing to lose cuz they are never getting out or they go to jail and are gonna get out so they pretend to straighten up and fly right but in fact the recidivism&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:verdana;"&gt;rate is astronomical. I really really have not pin pointed what about the whole prison thing intrigues me so so much, is it the bad ass hardened criminals, is it the super structured lifestyle, is it the danger involved, is it the crazy crimes they commit, is it the childish meaninglessness of their day to day lives, is it the fact that it makes me feel better about my own life...I just don't know maybe a combinational platter of all those things does it for me...but seriously I used to work with guy whose brother was in Red Onion (SuperMax facility in VA) and when he would talk about visiting I would just wish that I could go with him. but then when I actually really thought about what it would be like visiting that dudes brother I freaked out and would have been too scared to go anyways. I can't even walk into the social services building without wanting to immediately take a shower how the hell would I be able to walk into a disease infested prison to have a little chit chat with a murderer. Oh and well also my fucking head is a scary enough place indeed. &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 also think our prison system needs a bit of reform. It boggles my mind the amount of money this country spends on keeping all these people behind bars. Also our country is the only one in the world with such a high percentage of adults in the slammer so is that saying something? are we just criminal happy hoarding them like grandmas stuffed cats? nah of course some politicians are getting massive kickbacks from all the funding and the more we imprison the better business will be so keep on committing crimes out there citizens papa needs a new Bentley. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-6049679660501732295?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/6049679660501732295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/04/for-you-and-me-to-live-in.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6049679660501732295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6049679660501732295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/04/for-you-and-me-to-live-in.html' title='For you and me to live in'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-3536257597626956934</id><published>2009-03-17T02:34:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T01:36:45.456-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I have a bad feeling about this</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-3536257597626956934?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/3536257597626956934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-have-bad-feeling-about-this.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/3536257597626956934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/3536257597626956934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-have-bad-feeling-about-this.html' title='I have a bad feeling about this'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-9167670040889743748</id><published>2009-03-16T02:57:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:50:12.408-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>My kid's first word was Stinky</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I am a young mother, I had my child at 21, which is not like teenage pregnancy but lets face it I was not ready mentally at all. I am still trying to figure out who I am. I think as a young mother I basically had a crash course in child rearing. I lean A LOT on my mother and I get absolutely no physical help from the father, though I do get some financial. Though unplanned I would not change it for the world, I have no regrets, I have a beautiful child, I am in love with him, he is everything I could have ever wanted or hoped for. BUT I am not a mother, and I mean this in the sense that I don't like being someones mom, nor can I wrap my head around it. I don't do well with the whole nurturing, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;monotonous&lt;/span&gt; daily crap. I do not have the capacity to enjoy the stresses and emotional roller coaster that is parenthood. I deal, exist. I do not thrive on being a "mommy". It is also not my desire to be in the PTA, or coach the soccer team, or drive the kids to showbiz pizza, or do birthday parties, or sit and watch the kid for hours in the ball pit bored out of my mind "&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; they are just havin so much fun!" I don't know if there is something wrong with me or if I am just missing the mom gene. And maybe it is age, while all of my friends are seemingly carefree I have a multitude of responsibility. Whatever it is I can not imagine doing it again, extending the sentence if you will. That is why I have been doing some &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;thinkin&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been seriously seriously looking into getting sterilized. I truthfully and honestly do not want anymore children, and I definitely do not want to bear any more children, I feel it in my soul. BUT whenever I run this idea by anyone they always say "your so young, you don't know what you want, if you do it you'll regret it" - They do not know how I feel but after much thought of all aspects and the fact that true I can not predict the how I will feel later in life, this is what I have resolved to do if for any chance my wiring changes in the future.&lt;br /&gt;If I ever decide that I want more children for whatever reason I am going to adopt. There is no reason for me to bring yet another child into this world when there are so many that don't have families. I had my child, though unplanned, he is here, I love him with all my heart and I am blessed and honored that I have the chance to be his mother. And even though the next child I bring into my heart may not share my blood it can't be any different &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; my son actually does and he annoys the hell outta me! ;-)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-9167670040889743748?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/9167670040889743748/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-kids-first-word-was-stinky.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/9167670040889743748'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/9167670040889743748'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-kids-first-word-was-stinky.html' title='My kid&apos;s first word was Stinky'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-7690710915301458501</id><published>2009-03-12T02:31:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:50:01.383-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nautical Sticker Sauce'/><title type='text'>Nay, twas a dream</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;color:#339999;"&gt;Vargas walks down the street with some peking duck and tortillas. He comes across the bum who he passes by all the time and has given change on many occasions. The bum says hey can u spare some change. Vargas just keeps walking. Trying to find a place to eat in this god forsaken town is ridiculously hard if u don’t want to spend like a million dollars. I don’t want to go to that place on account of the murders he tells me. well we end up going there. I love coffee so much especially when its mixed with ice cream, I got one at this stupid place. The ambiance was sirens and wretched heavy metal. So depressing. This is where I learned about guns first hand. So we finish eating and we are just sitting there talking and smoking our well deserved after meal cigarettes, I was still sipping on the coffee shake he got. Vargas decides this would be a great place to whip out his new 2000 dollar lap top. I was just kidding about the whole gun part I still havnt seen a gun in my life cept for the talkies. so these are the nights when it is beautiful weather and the city just seems such a perfect place to be. I love the city, vargas love the city. his truck does not like the city too much all the cobblestones. How in the hell did that happen?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-7690710915301458501?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/7690710915301458501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/03/nay-twas-dream.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/7690710915301458501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/7690710915301458501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/03/nay-twas-dream.html' title='Nay, twas a dream'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-6940837540091724833</id><published>2009-03-02T13:41:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:49:11.298-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='observation'/><title type='text'>idk my bff Jill</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It seems at this time in life we all love to reminisce about the past either by watching/listening to throw backs on our ipods and sending blasts from the past to all of our friends on FB. But I think about how in such a short amount of time our culture has transformed from boomboxes to ipods, payphones to cell phones and converse to ...well converse. It has been so rapid that I still remember what it was like to talk on a cord phone laying on my bed chewing bubble gum but now I text and talk on the cell like it is apart of my body. I am not restricted by cords or staying near "homebase" and as long as it's after 9 or a weekend I can talk as long as I want unhindered and able to go about my day. We are all so "get a hold of able", If I call my friend and they don't answer I am inundated with questions in my mind "are they rejecting my call? is their phone off? do they have service where they are? do they just not want to talk? is their phone on silent? are they OK? why aren't they answering!?!?!" instead of back in the day "oh I guess they're not home" end of story. and the feeling is 10x worse when its a boyfriend/girlfriend situation. If they don't text right back in the standard max 10 min timeframe they are ignoring me, or trying to think of something to say, or don't care, or maybe their phone is not on or AHHHHH its crazy!! and heaven forbid they don't answer when you call - "you should have your phone on you at ALLLL TIMES that's why God made cell phones"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Texting is like a game, you always want to have more in your inbox then in the sent folder and when it is with a bf you sometimes make them wait a little longer for a response cuz they need to think I'm super popular and I don't have time to respond immediately. If you are having a text message convo it is kinda tricky transferring to actually talking without bluntly asking "call me" then waiting for that response is retarded cuz usually they willl respond "K" then call. why not just call? or they'll say "gimme 15 min" - am I supposed to call in 15 or are you gonna call in 15 what do I do!! this social fabric is usually ironed out by itself and is not so super complicated but when you actually sit down and think about it should there be some kind of instruction manual on how and when to text message in a socially acceptable manner. Like a deep troubled conversation should NEVER be carried out via text messaging yet people do it alllll the time filling in the max 160 characters to try in vain to get their anger across. sending someone 17 long ass texts in a row "yelling at them" should be illegal, and it means your a chicken shit for not just calling and actually saying how you feel with inflection and emotion instead of abbreviating your feelings in text messages, or if you really can't muster the strength to say it write a dang ol' letter or I guess e-mailing is the next best thing. Text messaging is prolly the coolest thing since sliced bread but some ppl need to be schooled. There is no emoticon for what I'm feeling!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So basically it has become a novelty to talk on a landline and cell phones and technology are rampantly destroying my life and mind. That is why I purposely let my phone get disconnected every once in a while so I can re-boot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-6940837540091724833?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/6940837540091724833/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/03/idk-my-bff-jill.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6940837540091724833'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6940837540091724833'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/03/idk-my-bff-jill.html' title='idk my bff Jill'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-5896316372788155705</id><published>2009-02-24T22:53:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:48:45.434-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>If no one is around to hear it, no sound is made</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;If I write this blog and no body ever reads it does that mean I don't exist? like the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;proverbial&lt;/span&gt; tree in the forest....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-5896316372788155705?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/5896316372788155705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/02/if-no-one-is-around-to-hear-it-no-sound.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/5896316372788155705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/5896316372788155705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/02/if-no-one-is-around-to-hear-it-no-sound.html' title='If no one is around to hear it, no sound is made'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-4720606970767233813</id><published>2009-02-24T22:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:48:33.240-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>Fish Samich</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I love this time of year when all the fast food restaruants offer Fried Fish Samiches. I have never ever ever ever been a fan of fish...so basically I never noticed until recently. I guess my tastes have changed a lot cuz I am in love. I just finally got the one from Wendy's and it was soooo yumms. I can't believe this is the most interesting thing in my life right now but hey its cool why should I jump off a building when I can get a scrumptious fish sandwich for like $5.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-4720606970767233813?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/4720606970767233813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/02/fish-samich.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/4720606970767233813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/4720606970767233813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/02/fish-samich.html' title='Fish Samich'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-467130605988985364</id><published>2009-02-12T02:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:47:53.063-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Issues'/><title type='text'>hesoos kristo, is this for real!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm pretty positive that every economy has its ups and downs - and you just move on - eventually it comes back - ummmmm but never before has the situation on the news been directly in my life - Me for cryin out loud, and now my friend! this is re-gosh-darn-diculous. Please save us someone....if only so we can just try to live or whatever...you know that thing we do I think its called working where seniority and loyalty actually meant something - now its all hmm last to hire first to fire - peace out. WTF, So you work for a company for more than a year, become extremely proficient in the position, get along with everyone and all of a sudden its OVER. Just like that for no other reason than hmmm we can't afford it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-467130605988985364?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/467130605988985364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/02/hesoos-kristo-is-this-for-real.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/467130605988985364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/467130605988985364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/02/hesoos-kristo-is-this-for-real.html' title='hesoos kristo, is this for real!!!'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-6564433045363944658</id><published>2009-01-24T12:23:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:47:03.298-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Life'/><title type='text'>please do not read this</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:78%;"&gt;Maybe not to die of course but to live in a padded room is all.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-6564433045363944658?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/6564433045363944658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/01/please-do-not-read-this.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6564433045363944658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6564433045363944658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/01/please-do-not-read-this.html' title='please do not read this'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5236274713520184928.post-6592115375209838727</id><published>2009-01-23T00:17:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-19T00:49:29.504-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='observation'/><title type='text'>S.O.P (Social Operating Procedure)</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm not sure if this is the way at other high schools but I am positive that there was a unspoken social operating procedure in the parking lot at &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Midlothian&lt;/span&gt;. As far as the bus went it was that in which we did not speak of, if for some ungodly reason you had to ride the bus in the morning that was semi acceptable in 9&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; grade and sometimes in extenuating circumstances 10&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; grade too. God forbid you had to ride the bus in the afternoon in any grade because you just didn't do it, it was &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;unacceptable&lt;/span&gt;. Our parking lot was a mad house in the afternoons, you were only allowed to be in 2 rows and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ppl&lt;/span&gt; raced outside to be one of the first cars in "line" to get out after the buses left. So it goes without saying that if for some horrible reason you had to ride the bus in the afternoon EVERYONE saw you. Now you would think that getting a ride would be no big deal, oh no far from it. If you did not have a car/drivers license or a "steady" ride you had to be on the hunt everyday until you found one. Lunch time was the best time to do this seeing as pretty much everyone was in one space. If one did not find a ride during that time then time was running out. Only 2 short periods and 2 class changes to go, the clock was ticking. It was very important to solidify your ride by or during the last class change. And in extreme cases rarely you could secure a seat during 7&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; period. It was unthinkable to walk out the door at dismissal unsure of a ride situation, the parking lot was too hectic and too many people. I'm not saying it was impossible, it wasn't that hard, but it was just stressful. You could run to familiar cars make small talk, bum cigarettes and try to bum a ride as well but sometimes it would leave the driver hemming and hawing and it just wasn't kosher. Now lets say you had a ride and your all set, safe and comfortable in (hopefully) the front seat of your friends car. Like a queen on the throne next to the king (driver) with your &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;dr&lt;/span&gt;. pepper in your hand your cigarettes in your easily accessible pocket and your backpack at your feet. A comfort like no other sitting there waiting for the buses to leave and watching perched safely on your high horse as some poor flustered sap would run up to the drivers window and plead for a ride, a sense of comfort safety belted in knowing you did your time and you made "arrangements" ahead of time because your responsible. Now lets say your one of the lucky ones to actually have a car with room to spare, a flood of popularity washes over you, people you never thought knew your name were now at your mercy. Now most of the stress is gone, and I say most because being a driver comes with it's own set of rules. Going all the way back to when they would mail your schedule to you you would cringe if you had a class like math or computer as a last period because they were always at the other end of the building so there was no way you would get a good spot in line. There were ways around it, you could give your "steady" (the person who always rides with you) your keys and they would grab a spot in line for you, or you could just succumb and meander to the parking lot and chill in the car or hang out until it cleared up. If you had History, English, drama, PE or foreign language you bolted out the doors and ran to the car and hauled ass to the line not caring about pedestrians, cars or anything but that line and how good a spot you could get because the sooner you get out of that damn parking lot the sooner you can enjoy your much needed after school cigarette. Some people would park along the rows where the lines formed and they were ballsy. These are the people who would meander out everyday and then once the line started moving (that you worked so hard to get a good spot in) they would inch out and get in front of you. THE NERVE! and it was so hard because usually they were cool nice people and you had no choice but to let them in...ugh. But sometimes this well oiled machine would hit snags. Of course there were fights, and put a 16 year old behind a 2000 pound weapon plus high school rage and popularity contests! oh they were amazing. Horns would blast, cars would be hit, accusations screamed out the windows and so much so the riders would join in as well. If you did not follow the exact way things were there were consequences. Friendships would be divided for no other reason but the misinterpretation of the unspoken rules. I had been friends for years with this one girl, we used to play barbies for crying our loud, and it all shattered apart when one day she frantically ran up to my window because she procrastinated during the day I suppose and begged for a ride. I had just gotten my drivers license and refused for fear of losing it because one of my Mother's strict rules had been NO OTHER &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;PPL&lt;/span&gt; IN THE CAR WITH YOU. I was not going back to being a rider so I stuck to my guns, if only I had known the consequences of that &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;fateful&lt;/span&gt; decision. I was &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;ostracized&lt;/span&gt; by her huge group of friends and it lasted for the rest of that year until I guess they forgot/grew the f-bomb up and we were cool again. My friend had gotten into a tiny fender bender in the parking lot with this girl that we had both been friends with for years, and thankfully my friend was in photography and he had a camera so he took pix right away, I'll let him tell the story fully but long story short they started accusing him of all this damage that was impossible for his car to have even done because his bumper was not at that height and it turned into all this drama he said she said and that friendship dissolved fast. The parking lot was a ritual to be followed every day, I don't know if it is still this way or if it was like that before but I do know that the 4 years that I was there that is how it was and you learned it, lived it, loved it. It was a rush and one of the many social arts at &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Midlothian&lt;/span&gt; High School. And it was all worth it when as soon as you passed the teachers but before you were off school grounds you would light up that cigarette like a rebel and you knew (or hoped) that everyone would see you, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; you're cool and that's a fact. Next Week: Lunch&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5236274713520184928-6592115375209838727?l=bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/feeds/6592115375209838727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/01/sop-social-operating-procedure.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6592115375209838727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5236274713520184928/posts/default/6592115375209838727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://bladetwentytwo.blogspot.com/2009/01/sop-social-operating-procedure.html' title='S.O.P (Social Operating Procedure)'/><author><name>Blade:22</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08771618982928698488</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
