<?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-36034656</id><updated>2012-02-16T21:27:26.946-05:00</updated><title type='text'>55 Crazies</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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>33</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034656.post-4559168120601388621</id><published>2006-12-12T13:58:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-12T13:58:13.597-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;Oooh, caught a student cheating. He plagiarized his whole essay. A two second google search caught him. It makes me so angry, and so sad. I mean, I'm not that old, I'm going to figure out that the computer can give you papers, especially if the paper you copied is the first one that comes up in a search. It is heartbreaking because his grades were okay, and now they are ruined. I wish he hadn't handed in the paper at all.&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;powered by &lt;a href='http://performancing.com/firefox'&gt;performancing firefox&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-4559168120601388621?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/4559168120601388621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=4559168120601388621' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/4559168120601388621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/4559168120601388621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/12/oooh-caught-student-cheating.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-5142942494872776247</id><published>2006-12-11T21:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-11T21:26:09.881-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;a href='http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=-5006979090478328075#cooliris'&gt;wasteland (documentary:social political) - Google Video&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;powered by &lt;a href='http://performancing.com/firefox'&gt;performancing firefox&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-5142942494872776247?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/5142942494872776247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=5142942494872776247' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5142942494872776247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5142942494872776247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/12/wasteland-documentarysocial-political.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-2213024519612630116</id><published>2006-12-03T13:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-03T13:44:43.091-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I think it is amazing that big breakfasts can make you feel hung over even when you aren't.  It kind of proves that the big breakfast you eat when you are hung over is actually not such a good idea.  I stayed in last night, and was actually able to get some work done.  Then, I went and picked up D and his drunk friend, and they were annoying, but I didn't feel the rage I would have felt before.  I just felt annoyed.  I didn't hate him.  It made it easier to deal with how annoying he was- gave me perspective. I am faaarrrr more annoying than him in the same circumstances and he is always super nice.  It was nice to reciprocate- a kind response to bad behavior.  Wellbutrin.  Still myself, with manageable rage.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-2213024519612630116?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/2213024519612630116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=2213024519612630116' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2213024519612630116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2213024519612630116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/12/i-think-it-is-amazing-that-big.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-500051149921778843</id><published>2006-12-03T01:16:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-03T01:16:47.043-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;I am justs trying out a feature on Firefox, want to see if I can publish like this...&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;p class='poweredbyperformancing'&gt;powered by &lt;a href='http://performancing.com/firefox'&gt;performancing firefox&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-500051149921778843?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/500051149921778843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=500051149921778843' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/500051149921778843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/500051149921778843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/12/i-am-justs-trying-out-feature-on.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-2294395309028454036</id><published>2006-12-02T17:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-12-02T17:17:05.529-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So&lt;br /&gt;It's been a while because I've been out of town and because my posts were beginning to feel like a downer, felt like I was complaining a lot, and they were making me a bit down as well.  I wanted to do something about this- being down when so much of my life is going so well.  I got sick again, bleeding from my stomach this time, got referred to mental health again by my school, and finally went to see a psychiatrist.  Happy day.  I was so scared going in, and so badly didn't want to get medicated, but it has worked out so well- for the past three days.  The doctor really listened to me, prescribed something called Wellbutrin, and while it couldn't possibly be truly in effect yet, just taking control of my life and my health has been an amazing experience, and very empowering.  I have been so scared that I am aging myself- look so much older in the past three years- and I feel like maybe there is a light at the end of this tunnel.  I actually had a calm thought yesterday, that reminded me of myself before I moved so far away from my family, and before my mom killed herself.  I had worked so hard to get to a place of peace, and it was all shattered in these past years, and I feel like I am re-claiming it in a big way.  Amazing.  I will write/reflect more on this in the future...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-2294395309028454036?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/2294395309028454036/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=2294395309028454036' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2294395309028454036'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2294395309028454036'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/12/so-its-been-while-because-ive-been-out.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-3862501738497162190</id><published>2006-11-10T14:00:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T14:42:18.100-05:00</updated><title type='text'>girls like me</title><content type='html'>See, everybody made fun of my sister because she got engaged six months after my mom's suicide.  As if she is weak, and can't be alone and dealt with the death this way.  Then she started her own family, and was cruel to me, the only one who understood, in the process.  The wedding was so hard for me, because I was jealous of the love and attention she was getting, love and attention that I so desperately needed, albeit in a different form from a ridiculously overpriced wedding.  It was also hard on me because she withdrew.  She is the only one to can relate to the childhood we shared, and she took herself away from me.  Not only did I not receive the love I needed last year, but I lost some.  I ended up at a deficit.  Plus, I'm not that much better than her.  My relationship at the time was only six months old.  D is an amazing person, and possibly the person I belong with at this point in my life, but it certainly fast forwarded the relationship in some ways, brought out some of the crazies in my life sooner than they would have been brought out, and masked some of the problems.  I often have a sense in my relationship with D that he is having a relationship with somebody that isn't me.  Whenever I try to verify this feeling, I am proven wrong and it is illustrated for me how well he knows me, and how much he cares.  So I can't figure out what this feeling is.  I worry it is basic incompatibility, that has been masked by the roles we took up when my mom killed herself- me: damaged, sad, depressed, needy girl, Him: strong, savior, thoughtful guy.  I think these roles were good for him, because he was so needed.  I needed him so bad, and felt so alone.  My friends were no good to me, my sister disappeared fairly quickly after that, and I was on the other side of the country from a world I understood, and needed him.  Now things are changing, have been changing, for a while.  Girls like me, who've been through the ringer, we are so happy when somebody is nice to us, that we don't expect anything more.  All my boyfriends have loved dating me, because I am so excited they are nice to me, and they are nice to me, that I don't ask for much more.  I don't date jerks- I am so lucky that I am not so damaged as to seek out people who are mean to me, or hit me or something.  I date nice guys, and I dump them after a little bit because I'm so disgusted by their puppy dog acts, by their knowledge that I'm so thrilled that they are being nice to me that I'll do anything to keep that niceness up.  That's the thing.  D's dog slept in the bed with us for the full first year and a half we were dating.  He took up space and jerked around in his sleep.  It kept me up all night, and I didn't say a word, except that I didn't sleep over when I had something to do in the morning, which always worried me, because I didn't like to disappoint my boyfriend if he wanted me to sleep over.  When we moved in together, I used the excuse of a white comforter to keep the dog off the bed.  I realized yesterday, that D keeps me up at night, every night, as well.  He jerks around and grinds his teeth, and I wake up in the morning feeling so angry, and I never said anything until yesterday, because he was a jerk in his sleep the night before when i told him to stop grinding his teeth, and it upset me enough that I said something in the morning.  Like I feared, he was upset to be accused of being a jerk when it wasn't his fault.  He reared into defensive, and I realized I had never said anything like this before.  He knew he ground his teeth and that I stopped him in his sleep- but he didn't psychicly know how much it disturbed me... I'm not sure where I'm going with this...&lt;br /&gt;Well, today's fight, he cancelled my birthday dinner because he forgot he cut up his credit card earlier in the month, and he ordered a new one, and we would have dinner then.  It was the strangest moment.  He had been out of town on my birthday, something I had been incredibly understanding about, and he got me a computer book, something I had taken in stride, even though all I want from him is a nice card and a free show at the museum.  Then, when he got back, he said nothing for two days.  I decided that I've learned that I don't always tell him what i want, so I sent him some events that were coming up the Saturday and labeled it "birthday ideas".  He yelled from the next room that he was going to be busy Saturday and wouldn't be able to do it. I sat there in nothingness, not because he couldn't do it, but because he felt totally confident that I would be cool with his yelling from the next room.  And he was right, because I said nothing.  Then, despite how busy he is, he left to go play a game for the team he is a part of.  He must have realized when he was gone that he hadn't done anything, nor said anything, about my birthday, because he really is very sensitive, and when he came home, he got on one knee, and asked me out to dinner.  It was cute, I forgave him, and we made plans for Friday.  Today, I was sitting on the couch, drinking my coffee, thinking about what to wear and where we should go, and if I should wash my hair now or later, and he casually, again, told me about cutting up the credit card, guess we'll have to do it later.  Again, I'm cool and understanding- not like other girls, high maintenance selfish girls, I should be understanding of his embarrassment of having money problems, and go with the flow.  I didn't.  And he was so mad he broke dishes.  He broke dishes!  He said I was a spoiled little brat and so on.  This is why I'm scared.  I don't even want to go to an expensive dinner.  I want a card telling me he loves me.  I want to go to a free show at the museum.  I want him to know me, to date me, to love me, and i feel like he is dating somebody else, somebody who wants all the things I don't even desire.  He yelled at this other person, was red with fury, and I ran into the bedroom.  Then we spent nearly two hours not understanding each other.  He and i are such different people.  Yes, I like nice dinners, because I can slow him down at them, enjoy several hours of his time, get his complete attention, dream about the future.  If I could get that in any ANY other setting, i would prefer it, because I am sick of butter covered vegetables and roasted animals that I could cook better at home.  He went on about how he does all the cleaning at home, and is always happy to pick me up or drop me off places, how he is the most considerate boyfriend, and how I have some nerve implying that he isn't.  Even when we got past the spoiled brat stuff, and the fact that money isn't the issue, he still doesn't understand.  He thinks I shouldn't dwell on the negative, that I should appreciate the good, etc.  He's right, and I do do that, but I can't help but feel that I don't want the dishes done, I don't want the puppy dog, I want  a man who writes me a card telling me how he really feels, I want to know he wants to date ME, not a girl he has invented, or a girl so damaged she molds into whatever he wants.  I'm so scared, he is the best guy I have ever known, and I keep fearing that I'm so messed up that I can't sustain a relationship, but we value different things, we have different needs, I'm not even sure I'm doing the best for him that somebody could.  He is so wonderful, and I don't want to let him go, but there are some things you can't explain, and I'm not sure what to do.  And, of course, my best friends are in different time zones (China, Paris, and Los Angeles) and I'm just not sure I fit in in the world D and I have created here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-3862501738497162190?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/3862501738497162190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=3862501738497162190' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3862501738497162190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3862501738497162190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/11/girls-like-me.html' title='girls like me'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-3651050947191069171</id><published>2006-11-07T14:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-07T14:30:33.228-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Election day&lt;br /&gt;And boy am I confused&lt;br /&gt;Aside from the rain that soaked my shoes, and my boyfriend who didn't want to hand deliver me to school today so I had to walk from where he parked next to his building, and a sister who didn't so much as send a birthday card this weekend, even though I took out a LOAN (!!!) to cover the expenses of her wedding in September, and the general frustration with my weight, I feel overwhelmed by the infertility of the electoral system.  I realize that I'm supposed to say that I am rushing to the polls in a desperate attempt to reistate the Democrats into Congress, etc, which could give them vital seats in the investigatory committee researching the infractions of the current administration, the war, and the internal terrorist witch hunt (activists), but I am having a hard time believing democrats would do any of these things in actuality.  I have no evidence in my lifetime of a politician doing anything but screwing people over- including the Democrats' hero- Bill Clinton- who single handedly slashed welfare and who's murderous regime is only dwarfed by the current administration.  I am soooo frustrated, and wish I had a creative, and mainstream, idea for stirring people, including myself, out of paralyzing apathy.  Sure, I could serve food to starving people, or facilitate academic research on social justice- but I already do these things, and some days these activities make me feel good, and like the world isn't run by greedy people, but today, it just isn't settling this nagging feeling inside of me that my father will go bankrupt again in his lifetime and policy will again make this bankrupty morally and financially even more devestating on him than the original circumstances that messed him up.  And I will be paying thousands more for my education than the rich because of the interest rates on my loans, loans that I was not allowed to consolodate this summer when the rates went up because I am a current student.  And I think the poverty rate will continue to drop at the rate it is growing, and that the devestating poverty rate will grow even more, and that the middle class will continue to get screwed- not by an overburdoned welfare system that only makes up 2% of our federal budget, but by a upper class that refuses to pay fair taxes, hates and blames the poor, steals from the middle class retirement plans, and provides corporate welfare to their buddies, which further corrupts and devestates the system.  It makes me want to explode and I'm not sure what to do with this energy except turn it inward and get super depressed.  Oh, and question my relationship because D doesn't go with me to meetings and lectures, and doesn't particpate in the only network that gives me any hope- the activist network.  I want to change the world, not out of a religious dedication to the poor, but out of the feeling that if the world improves for those who are suffereing the most, perhaps it will change for us all.  Oh, and basic, fair, minimum wage- why is that such a battle?  Also- why do these issues feel so complicated?  It seems so simple to be nice- yet at the lecture today people were so angry, and fighting over whether business and politicians were involved in a conspiracy to screw the poor.  Such a boring fight!  It isn't that complicated.  Humans serve themselves and their families- it is why we have safeguards in an economic situation like our own that rewards individualism and hierarchy- we are safeguarding capitalism with the welfare system- why are capitalists so against it?  Why don't they realize that keeping people from falling to complete destitution actually helps the system survive?  We are all together in this, and just the health consequences of poverty alone should motivate those with more means to try to bring up the poverty level- I mean, it costs the middle class so much money to solve problems.  Money they don't have- because in any other formation outside of the United States, these so called "middle class" would be divided differently, and many of them would qualify as lower class, and they are bearing the brunt of corporate greed and the consequences of poverty!  Wow, a  rant.  I actually feel a little better.  Hope that made sense.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-3651050947191069171?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/3651050947191069171/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=3651050947191069171' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3651050947191069171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3651050947191069171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/11/election-day-and-boy-am-i-confused.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-1950187266774259919</id><published>2006-11-05T22:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-05T22:56:58.261-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/IMG_0969.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/200/IMG_0969.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow&lt;br /&gt;I feel like I have worked all day, and have accomplished next to nothing.  It is just one of those days where no matter how much I scamble, its like I'm on a treadmill and not getting anywhere.  Except I'm not on a treadmill, and totally just ate a WHOLE box of cherry chocolates!  There isn't even a treadmill in the forcast tomorrow.  I'm just not on top of my game- kind of scrambling.  Still, today was my birthday and even though D had to leave town becuase of a pretty critical health issue in the family, I have had quite a nice day.  Several of my friends cooked me a great dinner, I caught my pets accidently cuddling, and every single one of the a**hole relatives that usually ignore me on my birthday, called.  I've never had so many phone calls from my family- I really appreciate it.  I even spoke to my crazy aunt for a full hour- and she didn't once imply that my mother's suicide was my, or my father's fault- a first for us.  Also, my grandparents and Uncle's family called and actually sang Happy Birthday!  That hasn't happened in a decade!  I can barely get a civil word out of them.  It's funny, my sister's wedding was a yucky experience for me for a lot of reasons- the main ones being that I saw the worst in my sister and was very disappointed in her, and the other was that it turns out she does not have my back as much as I thought she did, or as much as I have hers- which has been a devestating realization.  I have actually mourned the loss of my sister (she called me twice today to let me know her wedding photos have been updated- and never even sent a birthday card, let alone a thank you note/e-mail/head nod of acknowledgement for all the damn work I put into her wedding). But anyways, the unexpected perk of her wedding was that I had a really fun time seeing many of my relatives, and they didn't even seem to judge me for being thirty pounds overweight! And now they have called, when they never did before.  A very nice turn of events.  It is amazing how much of your self-esteem can be caught up in your family.  I need to remember this for the future, because I'm not sure they realize how much their opinion matters to me, and I will probably matter one day to a younger generation.  A very nice day, felt like even my mom was happy for me.  I actually felt like I was in my own body today too.  Growing up I used to always have to thank my mom for having me on my birthday, I had to call her before she called me crying about how much she had done for me in her life- and while last years birthday was so hard, because my body came from her body, and her body has died and has been buried, and that was a difficult thing for me to grapple with.  But this year, for the first time, it feels like my body, and I can own it, and while I am greatful for all the things people have done for me, I don't owe people anything aside from the love I feel for them.  I am my own person.  I didn't realize birthdays could feel like this. I'm burning a candle for my mother right now, but it is because I love her and I appreciate her, not because I owe her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-1950187266774259919?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/1950187266774259919/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=1950187266774259919' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/1950187266774259919'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/1950187266774259919'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/11/wow-i-feel-like-i-have-worked-all-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-2210129632721501336</id><published>2006-11-03T12:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-03T12:11:38.207-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm not sure how other people's jobs go, but I have just spent the past hour dealing with e-mails alone.  Only e-mails, and I receive about 75 a day, that absolutely need to be responded to.  And if I slack, I miss something.  The e-mail has turned into an almost ESP device.  People expect you to receive it as they send it, and are surprised when you don't pop back in return.  My students are the worst.  If anybody out there is a student, I have some friendly advice for you:&lt;br /&gt;1. Always address your prof/instructor with a proper greeting- No "hey" and no skipping  greetings all together&lt;br /&gt;2. Always explain who you are, even if the teacher knows you well, it is often difficult to figure out your identity from your e-mail address&lt;br /&gt;3. Stop thinking we are stupid!! We can see the tricks- like the quick e-mail in hopes that the teacher won't figure out your identity, or the lies- god, the lies.  Just because its on e-mail and we can't see your eyes- doesn't mean it is easier to lie!&lt;br /&gt;I got a student today who claims, oh, never mind, he's lying to me.  I'm far more likely to give the truthful kid who has a silly crisis a make-up exam, than the liar who feels his story isn't good enough.  I was willing to give a make-up exam to a student with a broken heart!  If he had lied and said somebody had died, he would have been much more unlikely...&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I'm rambling.&lt;br /&gt;I'll think of more rules later, I haven't even had my coffee yet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-2210129632721501336?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/2210129632721501336/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=2210129632721501336' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2210129632721501336'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2210129632721501336'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/11/im-not-sure-how-other-peoples-jobs-go.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-7082933539074268878</id><published>2006-11-01T21:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T21:30:59.050-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Success!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.iup.edu/womens/Excited.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.iup.edu/womens/Excited.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, all my laziness and procrastination, and childish decisions (ahem, party until 6 am) totally paid off!!! My presentation went so well, that the question and answer period went 30 minutes overtime!!!  Also, two of the best professors in my department came, which is TWO more than at any other student presentation.  Famous ones.  Ones who I really care what they think.  And they stayed the whole time!!  Although it was a little embarressing when I quoted one of them- I didn't think he would be coming- you never expect the people you quote to be sitting there in the room.  The whole experience was so validating.  Like, I put in some work, then spoke on what I have studied, then asked for feedback and guidance on what to look at next.  I even had some students who have dismissed me in the past, confide some of their insecurities to me afterwords!!!  I've never had that happen before- treated like a peer, instead of either a) kind of a silly girl with a fluff topic (happens to blond gigglers from the Valley) or b) treated like a fragile person dealing with horrific tragedy (mom's suicide last year).  I was actually treated like a colleague.  I always asume that my ranking in my department is the lowest, or just one above the girl who has trouble with English, but I really feel some confidence after today.  Maybe my ranking is higher than I thought, or maybe, more likely, it could be in the future with some work.  I really needed this dose of confidence.  I get so scared that I am going to fizzle, I really worked myself up on this one, even fought with D in the morning, and forgot stuff all over town, which doubled my getting to the presentation time from two hours to four (I kept having to run back to the car, find a coffee shop that was open, forgot my ATM card and had to write myself a check and go to the bank and cash it!)  Then I thought nobody was going to show up except the person who was supposed to publicize it, because he forgot to publicize it well.  Well, that just didn't happen, and it was amazing...  I get so scared I'm never going to do more.  I want to turn this talk, and a topic inspired by this talk, into journal articles, but I am just so tired.  This is where the anti-depressent thing really sounds good- imagine how much I could do if I wasn't so tired and choked up all the time.  At the same time, do I really want to be a super productive robot???  Okay, I"m going to live on this for a while, not get too negative.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-7082933539074268878?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/7082933539074268878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=7082933539074268878' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7082933539074268878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7082933539074268878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/11/success.html' title='Success!'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-7814470308426989727</id><published>2006-10-31T15:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-31T15:57:18.092-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Party Animal</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.limbueytor.com/upload/PartyAnimal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.limbueytor.com/upload/PartyAnimal.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My god&lt;br /&gt;I haven't been able to post because I am soooo busy.  I really screwed myself this weekend- partied waaaay to hard and didn't get anything done.  Boy am I paying for it now.  So tonight, Halloween night, I'm forced to prepare an entire presentation, due tomorrow, on my Master's degree.  I had weeks to do this, the Masters has been written for months, yet I wait until the night before to go through the tedium/fun if it wasn't Halloween, of Power point magic.  Sheesh...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-7814470308426989727?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/7814470308426989727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=7814470308426989727' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7814470308426989727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7814470308426989727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/party-animal.html' title='Party Animal'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-4777689818180785276</id><published>2006-10-24T20:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-24T20:23:20.231-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Not much to say today.  I had a great day- figures how a good day equals less blogging.  I went to an awesome jazz lecture, which I recorded, so I'll try to figure out how to podcast it.  There was a three person band there, who kept demonstrating what the lecturer meant by things.  Some of it was way over my head, but I learned some things.  Like I didn't realize that when I was listening to Charlie Parker I was listening to Bee Bop- I didn't realize Bee Bop was a reference to jazz at all.  Somehow, sitting there, with that amazing music, calmed my nerves quite a bit.  I talked to my dad and he encouraged me to go to the psychiatrist- which surprised me and made me think maybe I should strongly consider it.  He said that aside from the fact that he loves me, he thinks I have a lot of talents to share with the world, and it would be a shame if I got sidetracked because of poor health or anxiety.  I didn't know he thought that, it was so sweet, it was all I could do to not tear up on the bus.  He also said that age has given him wisdom, and that the goal is to keep living, and to live at your highest quality- which includes highest mental quality.  I still haven't made the appointment, but he was very convincing, and so nice!  Oh, also, is it a full moon?  The wackos came into the bookstore tonight- making it a very fun evening.  I also connected with a person that I've met a number of times, but never had a chance to have a long conversation with.  We talked for a long time today, and it was great.  God, my cat just won't keep coming and going out the door.  I am trying to keep it closed because the laundry machine is so loud, but she cries from the inside and cries from the outside! Spoiled kitty.  I think D is mad because he cleaned the apartment- I'm not sure why I think that, except that I don't do it...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-4777689818180785276?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/4777689818180785276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=4777689818180785276' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/4777689818180785276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/4777689818180785276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/not-much-to-say-today.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-4474826349193547111</id><published>2006-10-23T22:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-23T22:50:37.169-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Panics</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.frag-mal-nach.de/kinderklinik/pix/ekg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://www.frag-mal-nach.de/kinderklinik/pix/ekg.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I went to the doctor today, at the urging of my boyfriend and therapist, and found out what was going on.  What felt like chest contrictions, etc, was esophagul spasms, from an excess in stomach acid and indigestion, brought on by stress (or no stress, as my case entailed- I guess you would call it residual stress).  She said that the pain and difficulty breathing could easily induce panic, because its freakin scary.  They did an EKG- which means they attached electrodes to my chest and then a print out of my heart rythems were produced by a machine.  I need to take a acid pill every morning, take some Mylanta if things feel contricted again, in order to smooth the spasms, and I need to be very careful what I eat.  I had soup and the turkey part of the turkey burger tonight- I think that was okay.  She also wants me to consider going on anti-anxiety medication.  She said I needed to make an appointment with the psychiatrist and I needed  to explore my options.  I'm not sure how I feel about this.  On the one hand, these bodily stress indicators pop up so suddenly for me, and so dramatically, that I can only imagine what is going on beneath the surface everyday, and I'd like to relieve some of that pressure on my body.  I mean, I quit drugs cuz it ages you- I'd certainly rather age having a good time than having such a difficult time!  On the other hand, I'm really scared of regulating my body to a chemical, gaining weight, and losing my ability to monitor what's going on with myself in a natural state.  I mean, I don't even like the birth control pill and would rather risk pregnancy than submit control to a chemical.  I am always on high alert for symptoms that might be like my mother's, and I don't want to mask symptoms, or start to rely on medication when I am still in my twenties.  Also, I don't think people truly understand what these chemicals do. Now that I am in a PhD program, and see how many dumbasses there are around me, and I can't spell worth a sh*t, the power of MDs have been really demystified for me.  They are smart people who went to school for a long time, but they are not god-like- which is how I think I viewed them before.  It just worries me, but I don't want to be this run down during the day, and hyper at night, and constantly in pain and on the verge of a meltdown, and I don't want to melt down.  I also don't want to be a zombie- but I think the medications are probably streamlined enough at this point that my risk lies more in weight gain and sexual disintrest, rather than zombie-ville.  This all makes me really frustrated and angry.  I don't want to deal with this.  I just want it all to go away.  I don't have time...But I just can't catch my breath.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-4474826349193547111?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/4474826349193547111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=4474826349193547111' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/4474826349193547111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/4474826349193547111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/panics.html' title='Panics'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-7326358650392513120</id><published>2006-10-22T23:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-22T23:13:17.364-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Super awesome lecture by Sergey Brin of Google.  I find these discussions so interesting.  I wish I knew how to make a clean website that could link to these things.  Here it &lt;a href="http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=7137075178977335350&amp;q=owner%3Aucberkeley+is141"&gt;is&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-7326358650392513120?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/7326358650392513120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=7326358650392513120' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7326358650392513120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7326358650392513120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/super-awesome-lecture-by-sergey-brin-of.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-5820603225198470323</id><published>2006-10-22T19:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-22T20:36:43.612-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Acid Reflux</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/oneinten.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/200/oneinten.png" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here it is again.  I thought this situation in my life was over.  Last year, when I got stressed, I started getting this acid reflux thing.  I went to the doctor, I got a therapist, and I started acupuncture, I also took some time off from everything over the summer, and chilled out, and the acid reflux thing stopped.  I was so happy and felt really good starting this school year.  Now, here we are again, I'm stressed, I have papers to grade, I feel disorganized, things are piling up, and suddenly my chest feels constricted, it feels like I have to think every breath in order to breathe it.  My stomach hurts and is grumbling, food feels like I'm swallowing fire, and I am very very emotional.  I'm comforting myself by thinking I am pmsing a bit, and possibly overreacted to the fact that I couldn't figure out how to scan a document and turn it into a PDF today, but this is uncomfortable.  Sometimes I wish I wasn't so much in control.  Like, I've seen people have panic attacks and have been taken off in ambulances to get the attention they need, and they are sent in the right directions in order to get help.  I feel too smart for my own good sometimes.  Like, I know this is an emotional reaction, and that I am not having a heart attack, and that I am not actually experiencing trouble breathing.  I am aware that it will pass, and that I can probably even talk myself out of it if I could gain a little perspective.  I am not out of options, and I could still easily drive myself to the hospital if it gets worse.  I'm so damn rational and in control, which is why this situation drives me so crazy.  I can rationalize away what is happening, but I can't stop it from happening.  I wish I could just let go, and freak out.  I wish I wasn't the strong one all the time.  When I was young I used to just lose it, like a maniac.  I want to lose it.  Why can't I control it all, or nothing?  It is so uncomfortable.  &lt;br /&gt;I looked up some sites and found a lot of websites describing stress and telling you to calm down.  thanks.  That doesn't really help.  I realize the problem.  I did find one- For stress information, and to learn how to measure indicators, a nice website is: &lt;a href="http://www.teachhealth.com/"&gt;http://www.teachhealth.com/&lt;/a&gt;. To quote:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;WHAT OVERSTRESS FEELS LIKE...You may also feel quite anxious. All these strange changes in your body. Why can't I sleep? Why do I ache all the time? Am I having a heart attack? What is happening to me? It is not uncommon for persons who are experiencing the strange changes in their body caused by Happy Messenger failure to have periods of panic. It is during these so-called "panic attacks" that you feel as if you can not catch your breath. The heart races in panic, the muscles ache and pain all over the chest. You may even get light-headed. You may have stomach upset and diarrhea. Stress has caused your body to behave in strange and difficult ways. Under these circumstances, anxiety and fear are not at all unexpected.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My photo is from this site as well.&lt;br /&gt;I just want some relief, not more words.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-5820603225198470323?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/5820603225198470323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=5820603225198470323' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5820603225198470323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5820603225198470323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/acid-reflux.html' title='Acid Reflux'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034656.post-3016246545308166186</id><published>2006-10-21T20:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-21T21:12:25.369-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/funnel2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/200/funnel2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  So, I went to a Bar-B-Q festival today.  I had a really good time, but I have a pretty bad stomach ache.  I am not from the South, so I am pretty determined to try every type of food I see at these festivals, because I've never had them before, and I don't think I can justify having many of them again (I mean, please, I gain weight by taking the short cut past burger king).  The funnel cake is what did me in today.  I mean, it tastes good, but I'm pretty sure my body is not meant to process it.  For all those like me who do not know what Funnel cake is, I watched it being made.  Picture four deep fryers full of steaming oil, a man with a pitcher of batter, and he basically pours the batter into the oil, and it solidifies and fries.  I'll try to find a picture.  Then you add powdered sugar and eat the whole damn thing.  I was kind of out of breath afterwords, and D said the powder all over the front of me was "the opposite of sexy, while still being sexy".  That's a diplomatic insult right there!  Here is a photo of a funnel cake:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.eyeshot.net/funnel6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.eyeshot.net/funnel6.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.sptimes.com/2002/02/13/photos/dish-FUNNEL2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.sptimes.com/2002/02/13/photos/dish-FUNNEL2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, the festival was really pretty fun, but the highlight, even better than the BMX show, was the lumberjack show.  These people are pretty hard core!  I even saw a pregnant woman win one of the competitions, and she was damn tough herself!  Basically people race in different events, and then the winner, after preliminary times and stuff, gets to stand on one of those elevated steps with the other top contenders and wins a trophy.  A trophy!  I want a trophy.  I also saw the queen of the festival walking around with her parents with a huge crown on.  A crown!  I want a crown.  I can see how all of this would be really fun, although I had a hard time keeping a staight face with all the explanations of wood- "got to keep it lubricated so it can cut deep", "moving the wood back and forth quickly, and then slowing down for a bit is the best way to cut", signs that said, "Show me your wood".  Nobody was laughing but our group, so I guess we are the only ones who are age 5.  Here is a photo of one of the competitions:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/IMG_0925.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/200/IMG_0925.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also saw the worlds tiniest living horse- which was incredibly depressing.  The best quote was when a girl stepped up to answer a trivia question and was asked if she was related to anybody in the competition and she answered, "Them ain't my kin", which actually had to be translated for the crowd, let alone me.  My favorite moment, though, was passing by a shoe repair store heading back to the car.  Here is the sign on the door- note, this was a store that had nothing to do with guns:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/IMG_0940.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/200/IMG_0940.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-3016246545308166186?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/3016246545308166186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=3016246545308166186' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3016246545308166186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3016246545308166186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/so-i-went-to-bar-b-q-festival-today.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-3678963602312523384</id><published>2006-10-20T23:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-20T23:31:14.136-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.awakening-healing.com/images/Virgin-queen-with%20Lilies%20gg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.awakening-healing.com/images/Virgin-queen-with%20Lilies%20gg.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm still not totally clear what I'm allowed to say and what I'm not allowed to say on this blog.  I realize there are limits on images, and owned intellectual property.  I also sense that I should watch my language, or at least disguise it.  I'm pretty sure there aren't many people looking at this, but I want to say, that sometimes I think about things that are slightly upsetting, and if you, reading, are a person who gets slightly upset, this may be the time to stop reading.  I only want to express myself, and I don't know how.  I've been looking for a year and a half to express myself, and its only come out in inappropriate bursts, usually in a proffessional context, or not at all.  I go up on highs where I am so happy with my life and where everything is going, and then I fly down to lows where I question my relationship and I feel so lonely, and I can't escape my thoughts, and my own body begins to turn on me- my jaw and shoulders start to cramp up, my belly gets upset, and acid begins to build in my chest and throat.  These are usually the first signs to me that I am under stress, I've learned to avoid my brain so well, that it can't tell me anymore.  It can't tell me a lot of things anymore, and I tend to ignore the few things it can tell me, or I learn about them too late, like after the moment I might need the information.  Today, I think I am a bit hormonal.  I have reasonable frustrations, but they are elevated to tears and confusion a bit too quickly for even me to process.  My mother died a certain way.  It's a horrible way and I'm not sure how the censors would treat it.  Or maybe its just horrible to me, like I want it censored from my mind.  It's ironic really, she would never allow me to see scary movies growing up because she was so worried about a horrible image indelibly marking my mind.  And here, her death, is the most indellible mark of all.  Movies show the way my mom died quite frequently, particularly in Westerns- so you could probably guess how.  I'm thinking about the closet she died in today- which is a new thought for me, and the unbearable tragedy of how alone she was- which is a reocurring thought.  That closet was at my grandparents home.  They have packed up and moved now, to get away, and because she was the one taking care of them, even though, of course, nobody gave her credit for it, or helped her do it.  They also, including my grandparents, wouldn't help her with herself, but that is another post.  I guess that room was her's growing up, or at least in high school, when they moved into the house.  The Valley was a new place then, and there were dirt roads on the way to her high school, the same high school I went to 30 years later.  When I was a kid my aunt was living in that room.  She, like all of us, moved in and out of my grandparents house sometimes.  At that time she was in wardrobe, and costumes, for movies, and she had the most fun things in that closet.  A keystone cop hat, a Southern Belle ballgown, a Dr. Spock looking head thing with pointy ears, wigs with long long blond hair, and disco clothes- sparkly gowns, tiaras, high heels.  She would dress my sister and I up in all these clothes and we would parade around the house like disco queens.  My parents would laugh and we would worship my pretty, slightly drug addicted, stand up comedian aunt.  When she started to find god, we spent time in that closet finding material and glitter and items to tear up, in order to make crowns and capes for the Virgin. We would decorate her and make her beautiful, and parade our queen around the house the same way we had paraded as disco royalty.  This creeped my parents out quite a bit, but we still loved it.  Then my aunt moved out and it became a closet full of games and joke books.  I actually suspect those things had been in there all along, but we didn't notice them because of all the other great stuff.  We ran up to grab a game, or my cousins and I would sit in the room and tell each other jokes out of the book.  My mom moved into that room only a few months before she killed herself.  It was her final room, she had gone back to that place she had been a teenager.  After my mom died, my grandmother announced that my sisters and I needed to clean out her room immediatly.  The room was so filled, even her bed was covered.  Either she had given up sleeping altogether, or, as I suspected, she had curled up around the stuff for the 2-3 hours of sleep she had a night.  She didn't need sleep, only during her lows did she need sleep, and her room brimmed with  crap.  I won't get into the room right now.  We saved the closet for last, each of us standing in the place she died, imagining the moment at different times throughout the day.  My friend who helped clean the room, she didn't realize that we were all pausing in that space, although she knew the spot, and I think she paused there for a moment as well.  We found many disco jackets from when my aunt lived in that room, and lots of games stacked on the floor from when it was a game closet.  Honestly, I can't remember everything I found in there, and some of it were signs of her spiralling down- lists, notes, accusations piled all over the room.  The book Beloved confirmed to me that my sisters and I had been in danger for our lives at times.  When we were alone, my sisters and I puzzled over the mechanics of her death, something even the autopsy report hasn't fully explained to us, we puzzled over the closet door, the light fixture above.  I don't understand.  I don't understand any of it.  Why didn't anybody help when we were begging for it, how could she love me and still do it, how did she actually do it?  Did she change her mind in the middle?  Without getting into details, she must have followed through to the very end, even when her body was giving her its stress indicators.  I don't understand how she fought nature so completely, how she could be so intent on dying that she overrode the body's desire to take another breath.  She may have had a little drugs in her system, I found some blow in the drawer, but for the most part, she was not sedated, she did it, or the sickness did it, but really she did it, and in that closet that I know so well, with all those pretty things around her...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-3678963602312523384?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/3678963602312523384/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=3678963602312523384' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3678963602312523384'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3678963602312523384'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/so-im-still-not-totally-clear-what-im.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034656.post-7706028110182010323</id><published>2006-10-20T16:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-20T16:36:08.541-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I'm sorry, I stole this from &lt;a href="http://ilaxstudio.com/archiveSept06.html"&gt;ilaxstudio&lt;/a&gt;. I love it!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt; A philosophy professor stood before his class and had some items in front of him. When class began, wordlessly he picked up a large empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with rocks, rocks about 2" in diameter. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. So the professor then picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. He shook the jar lightly. The pebbles, of course, rolled into  the open areas between the rocks. He then asked the students again if the jar was full. They agreed it was. The students laughed. The professor picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. "Now," said the professor, "I want you to recognize that this is your life. The rocks are the important things - your family, your partner, your health, your children - anything that is so important to you that if it were lost, you would be nearly destroyed. The pebbles are the other things that matter like your job, your house, your car. The sand is everything else. The small stuff. If you put the sand into the jar first, there is no room for the pebbles or the rocks. The same goes for your life. If you spend all your energy and time on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that are important to you.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;    Pay attention to the things that are critical to your happiness. Play with your children. Take time to get medical checkups. Take your partner out dancing. There will always be time to go to work, clean the house, give a dinner party and fix the disposal. Take care of the rocks first - the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-7706028110182010323?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/7706028110182010323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=7706028110182010323' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7706028110182010323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7706028110182010323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/im-sorry-i-stole-this-from-ilaxstudio-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-1327053243312536069</id><published>2006-10-20T15:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-20T15:58:57.182-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.multidimensions.com/Spiritual_Universe_Meditation_files/Inner_Goddess.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.multidimensions.com/Spiritual_Universe_Meditation_files/Inner_Goddess.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, fall break means spring cleaning for me.  I finally unpacked from all the trips I've had to go on over the past three months- I'd actually just kept a suitcase on the ground and kept repacking it!  It feels really nice.  I also finally found a cheap duvet cover on Overstock.com.  It was under $30 and wasn't scratchy- apparently a tall order because I have spent six months looking for one.  If you want something that doesn't make you wish you didn't have skin, you have to spend $100, except at Overstock.  Although, I've got to say, my sister loves Overstock, but I am often very creeped out by the commercials.  "Do you have the O in your life".  I think it sounds like orgasms, and then I feel bad for having a mind in the gutter, and then I realized that other people thought that too.  I don't appreciate feeling guilty about the gutter- I want to revel in the gutter.... The other hot news, I've watched so many Grey's Anatomy episodes that I'm beginning to think I'm a skinny actress who plays a doctor on TV.  It's getting in my head, but I used the shows to help motivate cleaning last night- I kept watching while picking up endless junk.  I still need to wipe everything down, but the hard part is over, now I wish I had a friend or someone coming to visit.  Really, very few people have seen our beautiful house, and we are so happy here, I just want to show somebody.  I wish my family would come visit.  Is it ironic that I headed out there at least six times within this year, and I can't get a trip back from any one of them?  It's a bit of an exageration because my sister got married, but I'm telling you, she visited me once last November (my first birthday since my mom died- it was very difficult and my sisters came out the following weekend) and made a federal case about having to stay at a hotel and how inconvenient the whole thing was, and how she hates Southern food and missed her boyfriend.  I mean, I do it all the time- although I love California food, and don't throw the hissy fit she did for ONE two day visit.  I wish sometimes I could get her back.  Or even stay mad at her.  I know I do things that make her angry, different things than what she does to make me angry, but I don't stay furious and resentful the way she does, and I hate it when she is mad at me.  I guess I just solved my own problem.  It must be unpleasant to be mad at somebody over silly things, I am lucky to not retain petty anger, but it makes me feel bad about myself to have somebody angry at me if I step out of line even slightly, or not at all, she just misunderstood the situation, or is angry about something that I said that I didn't realize would make her angry.  I feel like I have to be perfect around my own sister, walk on glass.  I thought you got to be imperfect around your family and they would love you anyways.  I guess I solved my problem again, she is such an angry person.  But that makes me sad for her.  I love her and want the best for her.  And then the cycle starts again.  My mom was like this, drew strength from her anger, and from watching people do everything to avoid that anger.  It felt good, and made her feel powerful, and we would all be so sad that she felt so powerless, that we let her terrorize us.  My sister is doing the same, and she is so young, but it is effective.   I don't know how to undo it, it makes me very confused. Maybe I should get a book on enabling. I think sometimes she deserves to be angry, sometimes I do things wrong, but she forgets that I on her side, like she needs to discipline me or something, when I'm now interested in purposefully hurting her.  Sometimes I think she purposefully tries to hurt me when she perceives a lack of 100% attention to her feelings on my part- but maybe I'm just being paranoid myself.  All I know is that she is somehow the responsible one, even though she is the younger one, yet I'm still somehow in a mother position with her.  It's like I'm that housewife type mother who annoys her children and willingly takes their disrespect.  I understand she has a lot of anger, and that she has been through a tough life, but I'm not her mother, and I've shared that tough life.  I wish I knew how to balance love and caring with self-respect. &lt;br /&gt;Not that this is much help, but here is a self-esteem boosting website: http://www.43things.com/things/view/159663&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-1327053243312536069?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/1327053243312536069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=1327053243312536069' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/1327053243312536069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/1327053243312536069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/well-fall-break-means-spring-cleaning.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-8272371176555826187</id><published>2006-10-18T12:31:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-18T12:36:54.703-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://majic13.ionichost.com/art/sleepytime-cthulhu.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://majic13.ionichost.com/art/sleepytime-cthulhu.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Goodness, I had the worst night sleep- couldn't calm down, was stressed in my sleep, had some uncomfortable dreams about my boss/professor.  Dreams like that can really change how you look at somebody.  I mean, i once dated a guy after having a dream about him.  I hadn't really noticed the guy before, except that I knew he liked me, and then I had this crazy dream, and suddenly i couldn't get enough.  I don't expect that to happen with this guy, but wow, if I was in a different place in my life...  &lt;br /&gt;I don't know why it was so hard to sleep, I just couldn't get comfortable, and now my neck hurts sooo bad.  I went to acupuncture yesterday and was pretty relaxed and tired.  I think I may have gotten too much sleep during the day, but now it is 1:30 and I have a lot to do, including responding to e-mails, and I just don't wanna.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-8272371176555826187?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/8272371176555826187/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=8272371176555826187' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/8272371176555826187'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/8272371176555826187'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/goodness-i-had-worst-night-sleep.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-5606233976957480260</id><published>2006-10-16T23:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-16T23:38:16.554-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Okay, busy day, and felt about one step behing at all times.  I had a confusing discussion with my therapist today.  I feel like I walk between borders in relationships- I wear many hats and am friends with contradictory people, and I worry I lie too much in my everyday life, while simultaneously try really hard to  be honest- to the point that I am constantly second guessing and correcting my lies.  I don't know why I tell little lies, it drives me crazy and makes me seem more insecure than I am, always having to correct lies.  I hate it.  But I got confused in therapy about what I was trying to talk about- something about how I admire grounded people, and grounded people seem to have strong support systems, like grandmas and parents, that tell them they are doing well, and I don't have that in my family, but I would like to build it outside, except I don't get close to people, and tell all those damn lies.  She said that she felt like she was making sense of it, but then time ran out, so I guess I will have to wait for the Holy Grail until next week...&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.cartoonstock.com/lowres/jmo0241l.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://www.cartoonstock.com/lowres/jmo0241l.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-5606233976957480260?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/5606233976957480260/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=5606233976957480260' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5606233976957480260'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5606233976957480260'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/okay-busy-day-and-felt-about-one-step.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-8336232369307657059</id><published>2006-10-15T19:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T19:53:31.887-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>it won't let me  post what I want, but there are some great sites with great photos if you have the time to look (and are a grown up and not a prude- give me a break!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-8336232369307657059?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/8336232369307657059/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=8336232369307657059' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/8336232369307657059'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/8336232369307657059'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/plus-sexy-now-grandma.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-2391028201802041186</id><published>2006-10-15T19:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T19:43:53.331-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://gorgeous-wallpaper.com/GORGEOUS_PINUPS/images/PINUP_GIRL-78446.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="http://gorgeous-wallpaper.com/GORGEOUS_PINUPS/images/PINUP_GIRL-78446.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually, while I don't want to go too crazy with standards of beauty and pin ups to make me feel better (after all, these are still the women on gas station walls- not something I aspire too- or at least I only partially aspire to it), I still think there are a lot of amazing photos that prove that style changes, but confidence is still the sexiest&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-2391028201802041186?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/2391028201802041186/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=2391028201802041186' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2391028201802041186'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2391028201802041186'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/actually-while-i-dont-want-to-go-too.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-2943037376474334257</id><published>2006-10-15T18:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T19:45:03.860-05:00</updated><title type='text'>fat clothes to make me skinny</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.retroraunch.com/samples/retrosample-cheesecake01.jpg&amp;imgrefurl=http://www.retroraunch.com/tour3.htm&amp;h=600&amp;w=395&amp;sz=52&amp;hl=en&amp;sig2=Kd1_o7arTEwi71hnIxpYQg&amp;start=35&amp;tbnid=xt2eMvsaLviODM:&amp;tbnh=135&amp;tbnw=89&amp;ei=1M4yRe70MLHqaJeUweIN&amp;prev=/images%3Fq%3Dclassic%2Bpin%2Bups%26start%3D20%26ndsp%3D20%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26lr%3D%26safe%3Doff%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DN"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="http://images.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.retroraunch.com/samples/retrosample-cheesecake01.jpg&amp;imgrefurl=http://www.retroraunch.com/tour3.htm&amp;h=600&amp;w=395&amp;sz=52&amp;hl=en&amp;sig2=Kd1_o7arTEwi71hnIxpYQg&amp;start=35&amp;tbnid=xt2eMvsaLviODM:&amp;tbnh=135&amp;tbnw=89&amp;ei=1M4yRe70MLHqaJeUweIN&amp;prev=/images%3Fq%3Dclassic%2Bpin%2Bups%26start%3D20%26ndsp%3D20%26svnum%3D10%26hl%3Den%26lr%3D%26safe%3Doff%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26sa%3DN" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://online.barrons.com/public/resources/images/BA-AE570_Previe_20060526121819.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px;" src="http://online.barrons.com/public/resources/images/BA-AE570_Previe_20060526121819.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alright.  I was feeling okay about myself this weekend.  Lots of sleep, great week last week, feeling comfortable in my own skin, so I decided it was the right time to make a much needed to trip to the store to find some nice casuals.  I never buy casual clothes, only going out clothes, and I usually end up either really frumpy at school because the stuff is really old going out clothes, or dressed in kind of expensive clothes that look like I'm trying too hard.  Which I am, but I don't want people to know.  Either way, I can still button the buttons and zip the zippers, but my old things just aren't fitting me anymore.  This would be okay if my stomach were a bit more muscular or my face was a tiny bit thinner, but right now, it just isn't okay, and I walk around all day feeling miserable, which then leads me to just not care about how I look, and then to eat the first thing in front of me.  It feels like a cycle.  Well, with these extensions I've been getting some attention, strangers have been telling me I'm beautiful, and I miss that, and I need to get a waistline back so I can feel more comfortable (and more sexy).  I know the only way to gain confindence, adn therefore the self-discipline to lose weight, is to have clothes that fit.  I think.  Well, I blew through Old Navy just now and bought things in sizes I didn't know existed (I'm proportionate, so people often don't realize  how overweight I am, including myself), and I think I got some great stuff, and stuff that I can look less frumpy in.  My sister told me a while ago that she didn't think I had put on as much weight as I thought I had, it was jsut that I walked around in the wrong stuff, and I think she was partially right.  I mean, really, I'm only up about two sizes, but that is about 30 pounds and I gotta lose it, but the point is, I can buy a few seperates, add them to the things that still fit in my wardrobe, and not start crying every morning before school, or every time D wants to run out to grab a beer or a casual dinner.  I mean, the smallest errands have turned into productions because I have to work so hard to make my clothes look right, and now, with the right sizes and also with some cute new casuals, I can throw something on and feel like my boyfriend is still proud to be seen with me.  In this way I'm turning into my mother, obsessed with looking hot for her man (my dad).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-2943037376474334257?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/2943037376474334257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=2943037376474334257' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2943037376474334257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/2943037376474334257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/fat-clothes-to-make-me-skinny.html' title='fat clothes to make me skinny'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36034656.post-3538868556988730856</id><published>2006-10-15T15:25:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T15:27:11.807-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/Fist_Mary.0.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/400/Fist_Mary.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More contradictions.  Aren't I too old to be so completely confused about my identity?&lt;br /&gt;Of course, I guess I'm not confused if I know when something represents me...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-3538868556988730856?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/3538868556988730856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=3538868556988730856' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3538868556988730856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3538868556988730856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/more-contradictions.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-5827699345565151161</id><published>2006-10-15T15:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T15:23:13.771-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/fb_d3_173.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/200/fb_d3_173.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little anarchist babies in a $700 Badgley Mishka dress&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-5827699345565151161?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/5827699345565151161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=5827699345565151161' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5827699345565151161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5827699345565151161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/little-anarchist-babies-in-700-badgley.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-3702202330585940279</id><published>2006-10-15T14:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T14:35:24.031-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Breakthrough alert</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.jcu.edu.au/studying/services/studyskills/exams/images/intro.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.jcu.edu.au/studying/services/studyskills/exams/images/intro.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.igs.net/~rogersk/PHOTOS/wedinv.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://www.igs.net/~rogersk/PHOTOS/wedinv.gif" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I just realized why I've been so obsessed with babies and getting married lately.  For one, my sister just got married and it hadn't occurred to me, really, to do that before, so I'm inspired and like the idea.  But I just realized that there is more (which I suspected when I though it was only inspired by my sister, I mean, I'm not exactly the domestic type, I'd rather spent $700 on a designer dress and never enter one of those-gag- bridal shops in my whole life- is it me or do they truly smell bad?  Like dirty diapers, like the worst kind of foreshadowing).  I think what it is more about is that I can accomplish marriage and family.  I've avoided it for years because I've always known it was available to me.  I say I'm a bad girlfriend, but in a lot of ways I'm a good one, and I've narrowly avoided marriage several times- first when I was 19 (which is why I was so jealous at my sister's wedding- I want to throw a party for myself for NOT getting married).  I am far more scared of not finishing my PhD.  It is far more of a challenge, and feels foreign.  I can't picture my life in five years, which scares me, while I could picture life with a child and a husband.  I don't know if I want to be an academic because I don't fit in here, but that seems like it shouldn't matter- just gotta find a tougher, less kiss ass, crowd.  I'm reading an article about dissertation writing, and realizing that not picturing the future is the scariest part.  I mean, I always have a plan.  Ever since I was a kid.  I knew I had to get out, and college got me out and paid rent, then I knew I had to go home, and bartending helped me take care of my sister and try to get my mom help, then I knew I had to grow up, and graduate school had always seemed like a great goal, and non corporate to boot.  Now I'm confused.  My mom finally killed herself, my sister grew up, and I'm doing this for me.  for me.  And I can't picture the future.  Which is very uncomfortable.  At least picturing children makes it less about me.  And I've never accomplished something just for me.  I often get  a lot of credit for how much I've done for my family, and even for not ending up more screwed up than I am.  I get credit in grad school sometimes for obviosly being a bit from the wrong side of the track (although this pains me a lot more frequently), yet all of these accomplishments are about survival, not about fufillment of goals.  I stayed at the line for my whole life, which is an accomplishment, but I'd like to go above the line for once.  Accomplish something without that "despite hardships" clause hooked in.  Still, people are amazed I wrote most of my master's last year, when i was in the dark so deep about my mom's suicide.  Another accomplishment despite.  Children would provide the same "despite".  I'd like to do something without a martyership involved.  Maybe thats crazy, maybe I should just pop some out- i'd be a good mom, and that would feel good.  should I tell D? ;)  i love him. oh, probably the other reason I think about marriage- I am actually willing to marry him- the first for me...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-3702202330585940279?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/3702202330585940279/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=3702202330585940279' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3702202330585940279'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/3702202330585940279'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/breakthrough-alert.html' title='Breakthrough alert'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-7218245485998454706</id><published>2006-10-15T13:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T13:41:42.242-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's all about profits folks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/capt.sge.bvn15.131006232127.photo00.photo.default-395x512.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/200/capt.sge.bvn15.131006232127.photo00.photo.default-395x512.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it is really interesting that the cloning service shut down because nobody would go for it.  It proves that people can complain all they want, it is the dollar that speaks the loudest.  I'm not even all that excited about cost/demand style economic justifications, but sometimes I'm proven wrong. (this is a cloned kitten)&lt;br /&gt;Note:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Cc,or Copycat, the world's first cloned kitten, in 2002. Genetic Savings and Clone is closing up shop on after its pet cat cloning service failed to win a profitable following.(AFP/HO/File)&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-7218245485998454706?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/7218245485998454706/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=7218245485998454706' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7218245485998454706'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7218245485998454706'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/its-all-about-profits-folks.html' title='It&apos;s all about profits folks'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-7611357928882142715</id><published>2006-10-15T12:40:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T12:44:13.361-05:00</updated><title type='text'>and now that i get it, I should go do some work...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.flashfast.com/wallpaper/images/waverider_surfer2.jpg"&gt;awsome&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-7611357928882142715?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/7611357928882142715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=7611357928882142715' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7611357928882142715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/7611357928882142715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/awsome.html' title='and now that i get it, I should go do some work...'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-5706279993522399750</id><published>2006-10-15T12:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T12:43:38.312-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Experiments</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a148/tangypeppermint/badgley-mischka-olsen-twins042.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px;" src="http://i10.photobucket.com/albums/a148/tangypeppermint/badgley-mischka-olsen-twins042.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, just for experiment's sake.  I'm going to try to add a link and a photo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://bitchphd.blogspot.com/2005/12/girly-stuff-ultimate-bra-post.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We'll see if that works (good bra link again)&lt;br /&gt;Also, I want to add something from the internet, we'll see if that works... (I dream of a badgley mischka wedding dress).  I'd better start cleaning and making breakfast if I ever want to get to that day :)&lt;br /&gt;I'd also like to know what this block quote thing is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;A flea and a fly in a flue&lt;br /&gt;Were caught, so what could they do?&lt;br /&gt;Said the fly, "Let us flee."&lt;br /&gt;"Let us fly," said the flea.&lt;br /&gt;So they flew through a flaw in the flue.&lt;br /&gt;-Anonymous&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-5706279993522399750?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/5706279993522399750/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=5706279993522399750' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5706279993522399750'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/5706279993522399750'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/okay-just-for-experiments-sake.html' title='Experiments'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-8980199653297776075</id><published>2006-10-15T12:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-15T12:31:50.669-05:00</updated><title type='text'>LaZy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/IMG_0333.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/320/IMG_0333.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, now I slept until one, feels like an improvement, but I really wanted to wake up this morning.  I was also up until 5 am last night, I feel like a teenager on the weekends- won't go to sleep, no matter what.  I don't know what that's about.  I feel like it is alone time, but I think I could probably find other alone time if I tried.  My cat is licking the blinds right now, it is sooooo annoying when she does that.  I need to grade 100 papers, read about 75 pages, and critiqe two people's grant applications.  I also need to remember to drop a class tomorrow and I should go to the grocery store and buy healthy food.  I also need to clean.  D is so good about both cleaning and going to the grocery store- it's just that I want to buy healthier foods.  Also, the mess is all mine, and he just stacks it and never complains- it really isn't cool of me.  I never thought of myself as lazy before because I always have so much on my plate, but I'm beginning to think I am lazy.  I just don't want to do certain things, so I don't do them.  Do you think yoga would help with self discipline?  It's the same with diets- luckily I prefer healthy foods- but I'll eat a whole pizza without noticing, and I gain weight!  I'm not one of those lucky skinny girls- my cholesteral is only good because I eat healthy 75% of the time, but my weight is no good because of those undisciplined spurges.  Very bad.  Want to get that under control as well.  I don't need to lose 30 pounds- I was a coked out bartender three years ago when I was thin- but maybe 15?  School, and losing my mom, has been a very weight gaining experience.  Damn all those people who lose weight when they are stressed, or just had a baby.  I doubt I'm one of those as well.  Wow, I'm kind of down on myself right now, cuz I was going to add that D just walked in and asked what I made for breakfast, which I didn't, and then told me coffee was ready, which he made.  He was joking around, but I feel bad, like not a good woman.  I told him I'd go get him some coffee.  Dog's barking... Hmm, just figued out link.  I'll link the greatest bra info ever-here.&lt;a href="http://bitchphd.blogspot.com/2005/12/girly-stuff-ultimate-bra-post.html"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn, still don't know how to make it like my words link up.  How do you do that?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-8980199653297776075?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/8980199653297776075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=8980199653297776075' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/8980199653297776075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/8980199653297776075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/lazy.html' title='LaZy'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-350937477903181166</id><published>2006-10-14T19:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-14T19:22:35.454-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/1600/3483--364%7Ffp65%3Dot%3E2326%3D577%3D37%3B%3DXROQDF%3E23235%3B6499%3B43ot1lsi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger2/6240/4398/320/3483--364%7Ffp65%3Dot%3E2326%3D577%3D37%3B%3DXROQDF%3E23235%3B6499%3B43ot1lsi.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay&lt;br /&gt;I think I get the point, and have figured out exactly what this is all about.  Well, I feel funny getting started, but I might as well just jump in.  I slept until 2 pm today, which was the first time I slept in, or really got more than five hours of sleep, in about three weeks.  I went to two conferences this week, which exhausted me, even though I was only an attendee and sometimes a note taker. I have now sat on the couch for about five hours straight, which is relaxing, but really, I probably should have gone on a hike because work for me this week was also sitting around.  My cat has sat on my lap almost the entire time, which actually is what helped me to be motivated not to move.  I love it when she cuddles, and she hasn't been sleeping with me ever since D and I moved in.  I thought at first that she didn't like the dog in the room, or maybe because it is too hot.  Now I'm thinking it is either about D (he is always trying to play with her- can't just relax) or she doesn't find the room appealing.  I'm going to change the sheets and pick up- all for the cat!  I was home in Califonia this week and I miss it so much (beach photo)!  It is amazing how the only place I truly feel beautiful is L.A.  I know that everybody says L.A. makes them feel shallow and insecure, but I like how beauty is so emphasized, so celebrated.  I like to talk about it too, and now I'm in an environment where everybody pretends to be too deep.  Ya right, I don't buy it for a second.  Ok, now that this is set up, I'll head off to do other things, or clean my room, or entertain myself with things not in my head.  Who knows? Maybe I'll even grade some papers!  Would certainly be a good use of my time- but I really want today off...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-350937477903181166?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/350937477903181166/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=350937477903181166' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/350937477903181166'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/350937477903181166'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/okay-i-think-i-get-point-and-have.html' title=''/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</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-36034656.post-116086187107083280</id><published>2006-10-14T16:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-14T16:54:57.616-05:00</updated><title type='text'>first time ever</title><content type='html'>I never heard of people reading blogs until last night.  I though blogs were just for people traveling or doing fieldwork, and had nothing to do with anything else.  I'm thinking a lot about it today, about how I feel like I don't really know myself, and so the people I meet can't be faulted for putting me in a bracket I don't belong in.  I am not sure why it appeals to me to anonymously inform everybody of my deepest darkest fears and secrets and stupid things I notice, and realizations, but I think I want to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/36034656-116086187107083280?l=55crazies.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/feeds/116086187107083280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=36034656&amp;postID=116086187107083280' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/116086187107083280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/36034656/posts/default/116086187107083280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://55crazies.blogspot.com/2006/10/first-time-ever.html' title='first time ever'/><author><name>Brightside</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/17970342122177124848</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
