<?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-1206145203051041265</id><updated>2011-08-30T10:12:54.542-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Shit Happens....</title><subtitle type='html'>And My Thoughts On It</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>19</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-2161608273886796633</id><published>2010-12-02T22:38:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-02T23:14:10.126-05:00</updated><title type='text'>If Everything Goes Wrong, If It's One More Endless Night,You Know There's Always Tomorrow &amp; Tomorrow &amp; Tomorrow....</title><content type='html'>Some nights when I crawl in to my comfy cozy bed I find that I fall asleep without any complications. Some nights I fall asleep in the mid-Buffy or Angel episode (my recent bedtime viewing of choice) without even realizing it until the credits roll &amp;amp; the theme song starts playing (because it is always infinitely louder than the tv show itself....wtf is that all about?? But I digress...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other nights? Not so much. Some nights I will crawl in my comfy cozy bed with every intention of falling asleep but often my mind has other plans. It always starts innocently enough. Musing random occurrences and exchanges that happened throughout the day. Thoughts of projects I am tackling at work, and what I would like to accomplish the next day. Things I would like to do in the future and what I can do now to help make these ideas a reality. Before I know it my mind is going a million miles an hour, I am up waaaay past my bedtime (oh my god I have to be up in 3 hours for work!), and for the life of me I . JUST . CAN'T . SLEEP. I start to panic. My heart races. I have anxiety about not being asleep, and in reality this makes sleep far more difficult to acheive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The strangest part about these nights is that this wide-eyed frantic, anxious, sleep-deprived state seems to be my muse. It is when I am in this state that things suddenly become clear and I am compelled to write down whatever epiphany presents itself. The urge is so overwhelming that I cannot fight it. It becomes evident that if I do not write it down I will never sleep, or worse, I will forget what was so incredibly important in that moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night was one of those nights. This is what I wrote:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December 2nd 2010, 12:50am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;No.Body&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Nobody has&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; the ability to make you feel unworthy.&lt;br /&gt;You alone have the ability to assert your own worth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nobody has the ability to make you feel inferior.&lt;br /&gt;You alone have the ability to determine the standards you will live by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am passionate.&lt;br /&gt;I am strong.&lt;br /&gt;I am open.&lt;br /&gt;I am honest.&lt;br /&gt;I am worthy.&lt;br /&gt;I am capable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I deserve to love, and to be loved in turn.&lt;br /&gt;I deserve to be held, as well as someone to hold.&lt;br /&gt;I deserve to let myself feel these things.&lt;br /&gt;I deserve to let myself have these things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I deserve better than this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-2161608273886796633?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/2161608273886796633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=2161608273886796633&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/2161608273886796633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/2161608273886796633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2010/12/if-everything-goes-wrong-if-its-one.html' title='If Everything Goes Wrong, If It&apos;s One More Endless Night,You Know There&apos;s Always Tomorrow &amp; Tomorrow &amp; Tomorrow....'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-729210673132370573</id><published>2010-05-16T17:49:00.014-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-16T21:31:05.033-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Open Love Letters To Imaginary &amp; Not-So-Imaginary People</title><content type='html'>I'm not usually a fan girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, so maybe that's a lie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm usually not the type of fan girl who publicly proclaims her love for the object of her fanaticism. This post is an exception. This post will be comprised of a series of open love letters to people &amp;amp; characters I currently adore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Dr. Spencer Reid,&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_B_tx6DJ0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/bUMHD45h3qA/s1600/Spencer_Reid_Poster_by_NIGHTSTORM77.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_B_tx6DJ0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/bUMHD45h3qA/s320/Spencer_Reid_Poster_by_NIGHTSTORM77.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472013971722807106" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realize that you are a character and not a real person, but I still can't stop myself from thinking you could be my ideal man. I have a weakness for tall, lanky, socially awkward men and you definitely fit the bill. Your intelligence is staggering, and yet you still have difficulty with interpersonal relationships. I think that I could help you with that. By chance, when you aren't chasing serial killers do you find time to enjoy cartoons, art or independent music? If so, I really think it would be in your best interests to respond, so that we can begin the rest of our lives together as soon as possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much Love, Me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_CGfzqnLDI/AAAAAAAAAEw/MM0SZ2KYM_U/s1600/penelope_garcia_criminal_minds.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_CGfzqnLDI/AAAAAAAAAEw/MM0SZ2KYM_U/s320/penelope_garcia_criminal_minds.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472021428258155570" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Dear Penelope Garcia,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although I do realize that you are a fictional character, I would like it very much if you adopted me as your little sister. I love your funky sense of style, and since I am a bigger girl myself I think that we could have some fun raiding each other's closets. You could teach me how to cultivate a self confidence similar to yours, and how to sweet-talk a man regardless of how incredibly sexy he might be. You are absolutely adorable, and yet sultry at the same time. Please, teach me your ways!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, if you could find the time to help me develop an in-depth understanding of my PC it would be much appreciated. Please consider my proposition and reply as soon as you have a chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much Love, Me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Scott Weiland,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been contemplating this for a while, and have come to the conclusion that you are by far, my favourite junkie. I admire a man who is persistent, and I can't think of anyone who has skirted the law or attended rehab as many times as you have during your life as a celebrity. Plus, your music is wicked and you look really sexy in low-rise leather pants of many assorted colours (i.e. the music video for &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DBty4l4CPfI"&gt;Big Bang Baby&lt;/a&gt;, or &lt;a href="http://http//www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKz2U4fvA4U"&gt;Slither&lt;/a&gt;). Despite my admiration, &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_CLtV7UnvI/AAAAAAAAAE4/IChHGC8-h5s/s1600/WeilandScott+bokking+pics.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 215px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_CLtV7UnvI/AAAAAAAAAE4/IChHGC8-h5s/s320/WeilandScott+bokking+pics.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472027158351486706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I must insist that you do not reply to this letter. I fear that you would be far too much for me to handle in real life, so instead I hope that you keep doing what you're doing. Remember, rehab is for quitters...and it takes a special talent to make a mugshot look sexy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much Love, Me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear 30 Seconds to Mars,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must admit that despite thoroughly enjoying you music, there was still a part of me that wondered if you were no more than prog-rock ego masturbation for your frontman, Jared Leto (*swoon*). Enter: This Is War. I haven't yet had the chance to listen to the album in it's entirety, but what I've heard so far has been fantastic. I have so much respect for your creativity and your risk-taking.&lt;br /&gt;First of all, to have not one or two album covers....but two thousand covers featuring images of your fans' faces? Who does that? 30:TM does. Secondly, to have jam sessions with your fans around the world, call&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_CRQIlsTnI/AAAAAAAAAFI/QBWZDOgtO5g/s1600/30%2BSeconds%2Bto%2BMars.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_CRQIlsTnI/AAAAAAAAAFI/QBWZDOgtO5g/s320/30%2BSeconds%2Bto%2BMars.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472033253624663666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; them Summits &amp;amp; then use the recordings in your release? Who does that? 30:TM does. It is so refreshing to include your fanbase in your creative process. It makes music feel like it belongs to the people again, instead of being thrown down from some ivory tower. My personal fave so far? &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0aSLS2GhyXA"&gt;Night of the Hunter.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Way to go boys. Eff the nay-sayers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much Love, Me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And last, but by no means least....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Nintendo Game Developers,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I cannot thank you enough for Legend of Zelda:Twilight Princess for Wii. I thought that video games would never get any better for me than The Ocarina of Time for N64. Majora's Mask was SUCH a disappointment that I thought I would never save Hyrule again..&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_CUhZ-sOlI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/AfDJAhi3i9U/s1600/WP_Wii_ZeldaTwilightPrincess_002_1024.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float: right; margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_CUhZ-sOlI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/AfDJAhi3i9U/s320/WP_Wii_ZeldaTwilightPrincess_002_1024.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472036848885578322" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.but here we are, years later, and my love for Zelda is back and stronger than ever. This game is taking over my life. In the week &amp;amp; a half that I have had it, I have already spent over 24hrs in Hyrule. And seriously, Link turns into a wolf?! Brilliant. I have a new favourite video game of all time...and I never thought it would happen. Well done. Do not bother replying, because I will be stuck somwhere in Hyrule....unless of course you send it via the mailman there who calls me Mister Leah. You should also probably tell him I'm a girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much Love, Me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_CCLWyiVuI/AAAAAAAAAEg/NoccU26oSlU/s1600/penelope_garcia_criminal_minds.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-729210673132370573?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/729210673132370573/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=729210673132370573&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/729210673132370573'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/729210673132370573'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2010/05/open-love-letters-to-imaginary-not-so.html' title='Open Love Letters To Imaginary &amp; Not-So-Imaginary People'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/S_B_tx6DJ0I/AAAAAAAAAEY/bUMHD45h3qA/s72-c/Spencer_Reid_Poster_by_NIGHTSTORM77.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-7410376311448676109</id><published>2009-10-03T11:29:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T12:09:49.574-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Smarter Than The Average Bear</title><content type='html'>This week I ate the biggest bear in Ontario history.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.... ok, well maybe not all of it. But still pretty impressive, no?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suppose I should explain. First of all, I know that some of my veggie friends may be offended or off put by the content of this post. If you know me personally you know that I am omnivorous, but also be aware that this post will reference hunting as well as meat consumption. Consider this my disclaimer...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a wonderful friend from work named Erica. She is definitely an unique individual, which is probably the reason why I love her to death. That, and because she fed me bear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yup, real honest to goodness bear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Erica is from Northern Ontario. Like many Northern Ontarians, her family enjoys hunting. Unlike other hunters, Erica's family has a web-based television show about it: &lt;a href="http://justushunting.fauxpop.tv/"&gt;"Just Us Hunting"&lt;/a&gt;. Recently, Erica's mother bagged a 700 pound bear, the biggest bear caught in Ontario history. Did I mention that she did not use a gun, but instead used a bow-and-freaking-arrow?!?! (For footage, check out the episode entitled "Louise's 700lb Bear of a Lifetime".)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One day at work Erica mentions that she has massive amounts of said bear meat, and has been attempting to consume it for quite some time now. Being the caring friend I am, I offered my services &amp;amp; suggested that I relieve her from the burden of having to consume all of that meat by herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my lifetime I have eaten game meat before, but my experiences have been somewhat limited to moose &amp;amp; deer meat. Being of the mindset that I will "try anything once", I found the idea of bear meat rather intriguing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After weeks of cancelled "Bear Meat Night" plans, Erica showed up at work this week with a special lunch for me: Bear Meat Stir-fry, made with Trapper's Rice...a family specialty. I took the delicious-looking care package to the lunch room &amp;amp; opened the tupperware container....the meat resembled steak (of which I am a fan) so I began to get excited as I warmed it in the microwave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I headed back to where Erica was patiently waiting, considering that it was only fair for her to watch my reaction since she took the trouble to prepare it for me. I stabbed a piece of meat with my fork, took a deep breath, and put it in my mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was deeeelicious!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bear meat is in fact a great deal like steak...except it is a bit tougher, and tastes almost sweet. If ever given the chance I urge you to try it....although, chances are that yours will not be such a famous, or large specimen!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for lunch Erica, and for the chance to try something new!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-7410376311448676109?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/7410376311448676109/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=7410376311448676109&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/7410376311448676109'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/7410376311448676109'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2009/10/smarter-than-average-bear.html' title='Smarter Than The Average Bear'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-6916540725259924</id><published>2009-09-26T13:05:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T13:51:25.581-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Morning Heartache, You're Like An Old Friend...</title><content type='html'>(*Note: I had almost finished this post &amp;amp; stupidly navigated away from the page, thereby losing it all. Crap. Please take this into account...this post actually took twice the effort of a normal post.*)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately I have found my mind wandering back to the same thoughts over &amp;amp; over again...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How many times can a heart be broken before it is no longer able to repair itself? How long can you be heartbroken over a person before you are just heartbroken, in general?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the record I would like to state that I hate these types of posts. I hate writing them. I hate reading them afterwards thinking to myself "Man, I sound like such a whiner". I try to project a strong and unshakable exterior because I associate emotion with weakness. Truthfully, I am a very emotional person, but it's unlikely that you will ever see that. I pride myself on my strength. If you hurt me I will scream rather than cry. Crying is weak. Anger is strong. Most of the time I can't even be bothered with anger....I mask most of my feelings with witty sarcasm and humour so that it is at least entertaining to the masses. I'd much rather be perceived as callous than weak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am taking a class about Adapting Canadian Literature to Film. Currently we are studying Margaret Atwood's &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Handmaid%27s_Tale"&gt;"The Handmaid's Tale"&lt;/a&gt; (Fantastic novel, I strongly recommend it) and I came across a passage that really spoke to me and I would like to share that with you now:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Falling in love, &lt;/em&gt;we said; &lt;em&gt;I fell for him. &lt;/em&gt;We were falling women. We believed in it, this downward motion: so lovely, like flying, and yet at the same time so dire, so extreme, so unlikely. &lt;em&gt;God is love, &lt;/em&gt;they once said, but we reversed that, and love, like heaven, was always just around the corner. The more difficult it was to love the particular man beside us, the more we believed in Love, abstract and total. We were waiting, always, for the incarnation. That word, made flesh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And sometimes it happened, for a time. That kind of love comes and goes and is hard to remember afterwards, like pain. You would look at the man one day and you would think, &lt;em&gt;I loved you&lt;/em&gt;, and the tense would be past, and you would be filled with a sense of wonder, because it was such an amazing and precarious and dumb thing to have done; and you would know too why your friends had been evasive about it, at the time..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"...With that man you wanted it to work, to work out. Working out was also something you did to keep your body in shape, for the man. If you worked out enough, maybe the man would too. Maybe you would be able to work it out together, as if the two of you were a puzzle that could be solved; otherwise, one of you, most likely the man, would go wandering off on a trajectory of his own, taking his addictive body with him and leaving you with bad withdrawl, which you could counteract by exercise. If you didn't work it out it was because one of you had the wrong attitude. Everything that went on in your life was thought to be due to some positive or negative power emanating from inside your head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you don't like it, change it, we said, to each other and to ourselves. And so we would change the man, for another one. Change, we were sure, was for the better always. We were revisionists; what we revised was ourselves."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Any thoughts?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-6916540725259924?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/6916540725259924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=6916540725259924&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/6916540725259924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/6916540725259924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2009/09/good-morning-heartache-youre-like-old.html' title='Good Morning Heartache, You&apos;re Like An Old Friend...'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-2252216019041330669</id><published>2009-08-15T12:00:00.009-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T15:38:32.548-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Not another apologetic post from an absentee blogger</title><content type='html'>I'm a flake.&lt;br /&gt;You should be used to it.&lt;br /&gt;I'm over it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On to bigger &amp;amp; better things...which today consists of movies that scarred me as a child.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my youth my parents closely monitored everything I consumed....food, tv shows, music &amp;amp; movies. Due to this, I find now that I am the one monitoring what I consume I tend to indulge in everything that my parents told me not to. I'm a badass like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As an adult I have developed an appreciation of horror movies...especially the really terrible ones (see: &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zombie_Strippers"&gt;Zombie Strippers&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teeth_(film)"&gt;Teeth&lt;/a&gt;). Despite the best attempts of my parental units, there were a couple of movies that I somehow managed to slip past their watchful eyes. I have re-watched these movies as a grown-up (I use that term loosely) and have come to realize that they are really &amp;amp; truly, quite terrible....but as a child they scared the pants off me. So badly in fact, that I believe they have left me scarred for life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now for your reading pleasure I give you exhibit A: &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tremors_(film)"&gt;Tremors&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the shit was this movie about....seriously? Giant worm things that lived underground &amp;amp; could pop out anywhere and gobble you up. For a little girl who spent a majority of her time with her feet on the ground, this was terrifying. And I didn't even have Kevin Bacon to save me. I mean, look at these things:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 372px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 500px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/e/e5/Graboid.jpg" /&gt; Not pretty. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And even though I was never a small child, I am quite certain that a "graboid" could swallow me whole. Shit, they probably still could. And because of this I am fairly certain I will never visit the desert. It may also explain my love of swingsets &amp;amp; climbing things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now on to Exhibit B: &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arachnophobia_(film)"&gt;Arachnophobia&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I watched this movie, I was not afraid of spiders. Afterwards, the same could not be said. To be honest, up until recently I was unable to deal with spiders invading my personal space without screaming (now, I am pleased to announce that I can in fact squish my own spiders very calmly....and then freak out about it afterwards like the little girl I am). &lt;/p&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 359px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 342px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://media.ebaumsworld.com/picture/cleptic_monkey/Arachnophobia.png" /&gt; Yeah. Pretty much. &lt;p&gt;And the strangest part about it is that I wasn't really afraid of being bitten &amp;amp; dying (as is the plot of the film), but more of being spun up in a giant web &amp;amp; having my insides sucked out (as real spiders do to their prey)....at least I was a well-informed &amp;amp; scientifically factual paranoid child. Or maybe I just watched too many nature shows.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;So in conclusion, the moral of the story is that perhaps my parents were right in sheltering me from things that were "too scary" for me as a child. Turns out that the ramifications of such things can be long standing. Just don't tell them I said so, ok?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-2252216019041330669?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/2252216019041330669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=2252216019041330669&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/2252216019041330669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/2252216019041330669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2009/08/not-another-apologetic-post-from.html' title='Not another apologetic post from an absentee blogger'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-5200020180013192737</id><published>2009-05-16T16:04:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-16T16:32:52.350-04:00</updated><title type='text'>....And without any futher adieu</title><content type='html'>Oh hi.&lt;br /&gt;Apparently I have a blog. No shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It appears I haven't posted in about 3, 4 months? So what's happened you ask? Not a whole heck of alot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished this semester...let's not talk about it. I'm still working at the University...that's pretty cool. I turned 26......25 is so last year (My friends really went above &amp;amp; beyond this year...I will post pics soon). I cut off half of my hair and pierced my neck (no kiddin). Went to go see The Hip with my Papabear this week which was pretty awesome &amp;amp; plan on seeing NIN/Jane's Addicition and Bif Naked in June, Rancid/Rise Against/St. Alvia Cartel &amp;amp; Warped Tour in July. Summer concerts make me happy in mine pantaloons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than that it's been more of the same....work, hangin with my homies, floating from one day to the next. I am the epitome of underachiever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How sad is it when your own life bores you? It' not that anything particularly bad has happened....but nothing good has either. I do get the distinct feeling that something is on the horizon....something big &amp;amp; exciting. Maybe it's just wishful thinking....but here's hoping.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-5200020180013192737?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/5200020180013192737/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=5200020180013192737&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/5200020180013192737'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/5200020180013192737'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2009/05/and-without-any-futher-adieu.html' title='....And without any futher adieu'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-8923058199228677810</id><published>2009-01-28T17:14:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T13:58:30.380-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Look At Me, Silly Me, I'm As Happy As Can Be</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;No, really. I'm just as surprised as you are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to apologize for not being on top of my blog anymore. I am &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;sooooo&lt;/span&gt; super crazy busy &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;funtimes&lt;/span&gt; that this is the first thing I will let slip if &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;something's&lt;/span&gt; gotta slip. I love blogging but this shit don't pay the bills, or get me A's in school.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far this semester has been fabulous. I'm working all the time, I'm doing well in my classes and I even joined the gym (no shit!). Add in a light sprinkling of activities social in nature and overall, this chick is quite pleased with herself. For the first time in a &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;looong&lt;/span&gt; time I feel productive &amp;amp; content.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel like myself again....and I remember why I like me. Mostly because I'm &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;friggin&lt;/span&gt; awesome. I love my friends, my family.....my life in general right now. Sometimes it's stressful, but I've got a pretty good grip on things....and that counts for so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-8923058199228677810?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/8923058199228677810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=8923058199228677810&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/8923058199228677810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/8923058199228677810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2009/01/look-at-me-silly-me-im-as-happy-as-can.html' title='Look At Me, Silly Me, I&apos;m As Happy As Can Be'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-8250848318688383683</id><published>2009-01-10T11:30:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-10T11:56:04.642-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I Have Conquered The Winter!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SWjSJL-t3pI/AAAAAAAAAEA/YnZgScsuTxI/s1600-h/Caution+To+The+Wind.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289708817623146130" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SWjSJL-t3pI/AAAAAAAAAEA/YnZgScsuTxI/s320/Caution+To+The+Wind.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Yeah, you heard me. Winter is my bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Typically Winter &amp;amp; I do not get along. I don't really enjoy being cold....or wet.....or effin' COLD. I usually spend most of the winter indoors trying to solve the puzzle of human hibernation. Until now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This winter in the Niagara region we have been blessed (ha!) with copious amounts of snow. You can say that I was less than pleased....at first. This blustery winter season I have come to appreciate it, or at least fight back. This battle has been epic and ongoing for 25 years now, and every year winter kicks my ass. This year the tables have turned, winter! Take that!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It started innocently at first....walking to the corner store in a snow storm to avoid driving. Then it escalated after pushing SEVERAL cars out of snow drifts. What happens next is no less than earth shattering....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday night.....I went for a hike. In the snow. And it was MY idea. No shit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just as shocked as you are, but it looked so nice with the ankle-deep snow &amp;amp; the big fluffy flakes falling slowly....it was hypnotic. I had a blast. Once I started hiking I was going full tilt....up hills, down hills, through thickets....over fallen trees...and even falling in the snow while ascending a particularly steep slope. It was cold, but I didn't mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So bring it on winter.....I'm ready for you this time. You can huff &amp;amp; puff &amp;amp; blow the snow down, but it's not going to keep me cooped up inside. I've got far too much exploring to do. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5289709100883612322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SWjSZrNRkqI/AAAAAAAAAEI/iXUN1oqZ6BQ/s320/Treez+N+Me.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-8250848318688383683?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/8250848318688383683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=8250848318688383683&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/8250848318688383683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/8250848318688383683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-have-conquered-winter.html' title='I Have Conquered The Winter!!'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SWjSJL-t3pI/AAAAAAAAAEA/YnZgScsuTxI/s72-c/Caution+To+The+Wind.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-2310270021053883905</id><published>2009-01-09T16:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T16:49:26.821-05:00</updated><title type='text'>No, It Didn't Hurt Too Much When I Fell Off The Face Of The Earth</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm a bad, bad blogger.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's been almost ten days since my last post....but I have been sooooo busy. I'm back in class, and I'm working like a slave child so you will have to forgive my absence. Things should be back to normal after next week. I think.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Then again, my life as of late has been an ongoing process of trying to "get back to normal". Well, normal for me anyways. But I am starting to feel like myself again....and that's awesome. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;The bad news is, I haven't really given much thought to an actual post for this topic....so it's basically just a quick "Hey! Happy new year! Don't worry, I'm still alive!" I do have a couple cool ideas rolling around for future posts though....so stay tuned!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-2310270021053883905?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/2310270021053883905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=2310270021053883905&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/2310270021053883905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/2310270021053883905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2009/01/no-it-didnt-hurt-too-much-when-i-fell.html' title='No, It Didn&apos;t Hurt Too Much When I Fell Off The Face Of The Earth'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-6943782762030249933</id><published>2008-12-31T12:07:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T12:50:13.069-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe When We're Done With Endings This Can Begin</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;And so 2008 comes to a close. Well, it's been....interesting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been a journey through the highest of highs, as well as the lowest of lows. There are memories I hope I'll never forget....and some that I wish I could.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;There is one thing that I have found myself thinking about repeatedly lately, and that is how lucky I am. In my life I have been fortunate enough to meet some incredible people...and I am proud to call these fine folks my friends &amp;amp; family.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's funny how hardship can make you appreciate the support systems in your life. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I know I'm not the most affectionate person...I don't hug as often as I should. I don't generally cuddle with people unless I'm really comfortable with them. Even then, from time to time I find myself feeling uncomfortable without having a real reason. Maybe I have intimacy issues. Well, I suppose we can just throw that one on top of my existing pile of issues.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;I guess what I'm trying to say is how grateful I am. I love you guys...a whole crapload. I don't want to even imagine where or what I would be if I did not have you all in my life. Thanks for sticking it out with me...this year &amp;amp; the years previous too. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Hopefully I haven't pissed you all off too much this year so that we can make some fantastic new memories in 2009. &lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"&gt;Here's to the rest of this year, and all the best in the new one.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-6943782762030249933?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/6943782762030249933/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=6943782762030249933&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/6943782762030249933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/6943782762030249933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/12/maybe-when-were-done-with-endings-this.html' title='Maybe When We&apos;re Done With Endings This Can Begin'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-6003943621760307038</id><published>2008-12-29T03:03:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-29T03:19:35.514-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Not Broken...</title><content type='html'>I'm not broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It may appear to you that I'm flawed....that somewhere along the line someone or something damaged me. This might be true, but it doesn't mean I'm broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I might not be perfect....I make mistakes, and tend to repeat them. I may from time to time make things harder than they need to be, but it doesn't mean I'm broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not as happy as I used to be....but I'm not as sad as I know I can be. Time and experience have taught me how to numb my pain. I hurt, but it doesn't mean I'm broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seem to be a pet project that you say you are trying to fix, but your actions always make things worse. You beat yourself up, painting yourself as the martyr...but it still doesn't make me broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even if I was, I wouldn't need you to fix me. I can fix myself.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm not broken.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-6003943621760307038?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/6003943621760307038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=6003943621760307038&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/6003943621760307038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/6003943621760307038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/12/im-not-broken.html' title='I&apos;m Not Broken...'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-1594736773061480321</id><published>2008-12-21T13:28:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-21T14:16:06.123-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Busy On The Outside, Dead On The Inside</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Oh how I loathe &amp;amp; detest the holiday season. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Why? Well, try &amp;amp; visit a mall in the next couple days....or even driving in the relative proximity of one. It took a half an hour to drive my grandmother to the grocery store yesterday. I could have walked there in about ten minutes. If it were up to me I would have said screw the whole thing, but starving grandmothers without groceries is not what the holiday season is about. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;It's about sharing joy &amp;amp; peace with your fellow man, right? Tell that to the shoppers who seem to have not only forgotten about courtesey, but also your basic rules of the road. Let me tell you how peaceful &amp;amp; joyful I felt....with a honk of my horn &amp;amp; an obscene gesture.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;The holiday season is definitely about the birth of Christ, right? Let's pretend I'm not agnostic for the sake of arguement...I still seem to get lost somewhere between a baby being born a looooong time ago in a desert and some jolly fat man committing a million b&amp;amp;e's the same night every year (How the hell does he get away with it? You think someone would have caught on by now. That bastard always eats all my cookies, EVERY DAMN YEAR). And then there is the copious amounts of alcohol, food, and material goods. I may be misinformed, but I'm pretty sure Jesus was anti-gluttony &amp;amp; consumerism. But then again it's been a while since we've been on speaking terms, so maybe his opinion has changed.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;On the most basic level the holiday season is being with the people you love. Well, once the stress of dressing up &amp;amp; running around town in attempt to see eveyone I've ever met has passed, all I really want to do is nap my way into the new year. Don't get me wrong, I love my friends &amp;amp; family with all my heart....but I make a solid effort to show them that consistantly. It's alot of pressure to find that one gift that perfectly reflects the feelings you should be expressing throughout the year....and am I the only person that finds this practice a little shallow &amp;amp; materialistic?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;So call me what you will....a Grinch....a Scrooge...but I'm not going to be apologetic. Chrismas music generally makes me want to projectile vomit and don't even get me started about the ridiculous snow we've been having. So if you see me, friends, be wary...I may look pleasant on the outside but one false move &amp;amp; I swear I'll snap like the wishbone from your festive turkey.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;On that note, Happy Holidays all....this year you're getting my favourite anti-holiday song. Hey, it beats coal.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/sy9_JjLnmZI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0xcc2550&amp;color2=0xe87a9f"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/sy9_JjLnmZI&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;color1=0xcc2550&amp;color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-1594736773061480321?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/1594736773061480321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=1594736773061480321&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/1594736773061480321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/1594736773061480321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/12/busy-on-outside-dead-on-inside.html' title='Busy On The Outside, Dead On The Inside'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-7670291691208532713</id><published>2008-12-17T12:30:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T12:47:18.835-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ch-ch-changes...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Over the past few months I have gone through &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt; few big changes. Over the past few days I had the opportunity to re-visit a couple different elements of my old life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was kinda strange.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why is it that things are never quite like you remember them? There is a certain &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bittersweetness&lt;/span&gt; to going back, because you may have fond memories of the way things used to be. At the same time, there is a tinge of sadness because things aren't exactly the same....there are new situations, new people.....and the spot where you used to fit isn't really there anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so we push on, take risks and we find new spots where we fit...but there will always be a spot in your heart &amp;amp; memories in your mind of the old comfy spot that doesn't really exist anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interesting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;sidenote&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;Somebody &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;referenced&lt;/span&gt; my blog in everyday conversation yesterday. Strange to think that people actually read my musings. Thanks for your patronage! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;heh&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-7670291691208532713?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/7670291691208532713/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=7670291691208532713&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/7670291691208532713'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/7670291691208532713'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/12/ch-ch-changes.html' title='Ch-ch-changes...'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-7255265646609935695</id><published>2008-12-11T00:20:00.004-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T13:50:41.700-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, I'm Just a Girl...Lucky Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I've been pretty absent lately friends. I apologise. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;In summary of this week (and a bit): I was busy but not overly productive. I had extreme ups &amp;amp; downs....not enough in betweens. On the days I felt like crap I didn't want to write anything because I didn't need physical evidence of my mental state. On the days where I felt good I tried to make an effort to get out &amp;amp; experience my contentment; a feeling that I had almost forgot existed. Overall: Yay :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I really don't have a segue lined up for the little rant I wanted to go on, so here goes. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Gather close friends, I'm about to share some knowledge with you...a theory of mine to which I have given a great deal of thought. I apologise if some people take offense, it's not intentional. Here, my friends, is my theory on women:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;There are basically two types of women in this world: Chicks &amp;amp; Broads. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Broads are the prissy girls, the girly girls....they enjoy being femine and can sometimes be a little bit high maintainance. That annoying drunk girl at the club screaming "oh my god!" in a very loud and high pitched voice? She's definitely one. Everyone knows at least one Broad, and I bet you are thinking about her right now. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;On the other end of the scale we have Chicks. The girls whose friends are mostly made up of guys, who can come off as being pretty tough and can offend most perverts with their off-colour humour. Think Donna, from That 70's Show. These girls just know how to kick it with the boys.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I'm not trying to say that any girl can fit into one of these two categories, but you can definitely place them on a scale where "Chick-ism" and "Broad-ism" are the extremes. Personally, I think of myself as more of a Chick than a Broad. Sure, I have some "Broad-ish" tendencies: I like to have my nails and my hair done, I like wearing pretty dresses, I have a severe addicition to purses and stiletto heels...and I have (regrettably) been that annoying drunk girl at the bar. But for the most part, I'm just one of the guys. I love relaxing and having a few beers, I prefer pubs &amp;amp; bars to clubs, I can hold my own in a discussion about a broad spectrum of music, videogames, car stereos, television &amp;amp; movies as well as some pretty nerdy random pop cultural trivia. Not to mention that my mind is never too far from the gutter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Reader, you must be thinking to yourself: "Self: This is starting to make sense, but what's the point?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Relax. I'm geting there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;My point is this: For the most part I love being a chick. I love my guy friends...I love that they lack the drama of girls. And the girls that I hang out with are very much like me, so this also helps to eliminate drama. I get all the benefits of having a girls body (because clearly, there are), but with the laid-back personality of a guy. Seems like a sweet deal, right? Pretty much the perfect girl. For a long time I thought so too. I'm starting to wonder if I might be wrong.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Maybe there's a downside to being "just one of the guys"....mostly because when you're "just one of the guys", the guys tend to forget that you're still a girl. (Unless they are trying to convince you it would be a good idea to sleep together, "cuz hey, we're friends, right?"...guys, I love you, but if one more of you offers yourself as a solution to my problematic sex life I swear, I'll ro-sham-bo every last one of you!) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;It's true, I am in fact a girl. I like being told when I look nice. I like being taken out. I like being "woo-ed" (although I'm pretty sure I haven't been woo-ed, unless it was a very long time ago). I like flowers. And *gasp* I acctually like pink....with black.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So guys, give a little thought to some of the Chicks in your life. Let them know that you appreciate that they are so fun to hang out with, and tell them you're glad they aren't Broads. And as much as you love them BECAUSE they can kick it like the boys, remeber that they still appreciate the same things Broads just expect. Chances are we'll aprecciate it more....and who knows? Maybe you will realize that we're not just "one of the boys" afterall, because I think we're pretty damn special.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-7255265646609935695?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/7255265646609935695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=7255265646609935695&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/7255265646609935695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/7255265646609935695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/12/oh-im-just-girllucky-me.html' title='Oh, I&apos;m Just a Girl...Lucky Me'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-4413340248282185805</id><published>2008-11-29T14:25:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-29T14:32:17.798-05:00</updated><title type='text'>When Life Gives You Eggs...</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So, after re-reading my post from yesterday I feel the need to apologise. I might have been a tad over-dramatic. Sorry dear reader for having to put up with my mini-mental-meltdown.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I've decided life is like eggs....sometimes it's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;sunnyside&lt;/span&gt; up, and sometimes it's scrambled. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Heh&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Tonight is my work Christmas party so I should have a fun post tomorrow, and some pictures to spice up my page. Stay tuned...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-4413340248282185805?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/4413340248282185805/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=4413340248282185805&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/4413340248282185805'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/4413340248282185805'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/11/when-life-gives-you-eggs.html' title='When Life Gives You Eggs...'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-7098667819319156341</id><published>2008-11-28T13:24:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T13:28:56.165-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Failure By Design</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;FUCK.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;IT.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;ALL.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Seriously.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It seems like a very short time ago I had the whole world at my feet. I was happier than I'd been in....well, to be honest, as long as I can remember. Not that I was unhappy before, it was a just a fluke series of events that elevated me to a whole new level of elation that I'd never dared to imagine. It seemed like my whole life was falling into place. I was leaving a job I had grown to hate for something new that I really loved....I was going back to school &amp;amp; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;actually&lt;/span&gt; into it for the first time since first year....financially I was laughing....and I was in love with the most amazing man I had met in years. I would wake up in the morning &amp;amp; jump out of bed, excited for what the day might bring (which if you know me is a HUGE accomplishment). I had some very high hopes for the future.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;It's funny how quickly your whole life can change....&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;, not so much funny as tragic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Now it seems like the world has got me on my knees. I still love my new job, but between the rushes it seems like there aren't enough hours to pay the bills. I'm used to having &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;alot&lt;/span&gt; of disposable income &amp;amp; up until recently I hadn't adjusted my spending to fit my new financial state. Well, shit. It doesn't take a university graduate to figure out that's not going to work out well. It brings into question the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;neverending&lt;/span&gt; conflict of doing you something you love for less money, or going back to what you hate simply for the cash.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Emotionally, I'm a mess. It seems that being single for so long (pretty much 4 years or so), I had forgotten how straining heartbreak can be. I found myself really unprepared. This isn't your simple, run of the mill breakup (although that's what everyone says when they are in the middle of a breakup)...it's far more complicated than I'd care to get into. Needless to say, I haven't felt like this since I broke up with the first boy I fell in love with around ten years ago. (I recently found out that boy is now happily married, and that stung a bit. I always wondered if we would meet up again down the road as adults.) Sometimes life would be so much easier if your heart had a built in on/off switch. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Unfortunately, a byproduct of my emotional instability is a lack of motivation. And by the time I snap out of it, my schoolwork is irrevocably damaged. When I'm hurting the last thing I want to do is go to class, or do my homework. So sometimes I stay in bed, and sometimes I drive around in circles trying to make sense of the muddled thoughts &amp;amp; emotions that consume me. I listen to songs that express my pain over &amp;amp; over &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;again&lt;/span&gt;, singing or screaming along, often crying for no reason at all. None of these things is particularly constructive, but they are the only defense mechanisms I have developed over the years.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;So here I am at the end of the semester: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;conflicted&lt;/span&gt;, heartbroken, broke, anticipating academic probation. I can't wait for next semester to start....I'm so ready for a fresh canvas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-7098667819319156341?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/7098667819319156341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=7098667819319156341&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/7098667819319156341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/7098667819319156341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/11/failure-by-design.html' title='Failure By Design'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-3252280029573914711</id><published>2008-11-27T20:42:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-15T13:45:08.350-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ten Pounds Of Shit In A Five Pound Bag</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Dear Today,&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I feel like poo. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Not for any reason in particular. I just do.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I hate days like you, Today. I had so many plans for us....none of which were realized. But I can't blame you for that, Today. You started out with so much promise....I was going to get so much accomplished. You &amp;amp; I were going to be something else, Today...together we were going to turn this stanky ass life of mine around. But being the Queen of Procrastination is very demanding on one's schedule. There are so many important things to be done....like watching tv, going for coffee &amp;amp; driving around in the boons, or trying to stream PunkRadioCast on my blog (which I still can't figure out...grrr). &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Screw you Today.....you were such a dissapointment. Oh, Today...don't cry. I know that there is nobody to blame but myself. My lazy, unmotivated, unproductive self. I'm sorry I yelled at you, Today; it's not your fault I wasted you away. I know you have to leave soon, but don't be mad at you when you go. I hope we look back on the time we have spent together fondly...perhaps in hindsight we can both appreciate the time we had simply because Today always looks better when it becomes Yesterday. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;As our time together slowly comes to a close, I find myself thinking of Tomorrow. Maybe I will treat Tomorrow better than I treated you, Today. Don't be angry that Tomorrow gets all the glory...it just seems so shiny &amp;amp; new in comparison to the fading light you now posess. So full of promise &amp;amp; hope that it will hold more than the emptiness that consumed us.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;We are both victims, Today....simply for being ourselves it seems. Let's cherish what little time we have left. Let's curl up in bed together with a good book, listen to some good tunes &amp;amp; hold eachother until Tomorrow steals in to take your place. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-3252280029573914711?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/3252280029573914711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=3252280029573914711&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/3252280029573914711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/3252280029573914711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/11/ten-pounds-of-shit-in-five-pound-bag.html' title='Ten Pounds Of Shit In A Five Pound Bag'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-4717013194056398141</id><published>2008-11-26T23:51:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T01:00:07.524-05:00</updated><title type='text'>If You Could Live Forever, What Would You Live For?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Last night I went to go see Twilight. I've read the first three novels in the series, and the movie is pretty decent. It stays fairly true to the novel and it seems like they only edited what was necessary to compress it into a 90 minute run time. For those of you living under a rock, the premise is simply this: Teenage girl falls in love with vampire. It can be a tad dramatic and over the top at points, but I have a soft spot for it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;because&lt;/span&gt; I found the series really useful for some emotional purging a while back (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ie&lt;/span&gt;.: read book &amp;amp; cry like a baby).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;But this post isn't about the movie (although I do &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;recommend&lt;/span&gt; it as well as the novels). In the novels one of the main characters asks at one point "If you could live forever what would you live for?" and that got me thinking...what WOULD I live for?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;As far back as I can remember, ever since I was a little girl I always wanted to be a vampire. If given the option today, I wouldn't even have to think about it. Feel free to laugh, I know I do. I remember lying in my bed fantasizing about the night when some gorgeous vampire would sweep into my room (via the window of course), profess his undying love (no pun intended), and proceed to seductively bite me and turn me into a vampire myself. Then together we would steal off into the night, never to return and living a million perfect &amp;amp; exciting lifetimes all over the world. Perhaps these were nothing more than the fantasies of an oversexed pubescent girl who read too many Anne Rice novels, but I think that upon further examination it can be a reflection of what I desire from life. Humour me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;When I think of vampires (especially female vamps), I see them as these beautiful, sexy &amp;amp; seductive creatures. Despite their attractive exterior, they are also incredibly strong and intelligent...truly the ultimate &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;predator&lt;/span&gt;. These are all qualities I admire, and would love to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;posses&lt;/span&gt;. Except maybe the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;predator&lt;/span&gt; part....well in your conventional sense anyways. Speaking as a woman who is truly tired of being an emotional victim (granted, of my own making) it would nice to remember what it's like to be the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;predator&lt;/span&gt;. I used to be really good at it. There is something really satisfying about feeling so in control, and not letting yourself be vulnerable.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;The flip side to this fantasy can be extrapolated from the actions of the male vampire: he professses his undying love, joins us together forever and takes me away on this wonderful adventure of a life. It's really kind of sad that my dream life is completely dependant on the love of a stranger. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;So what can I take from this? Maybe I need to spend more time focusing on myself, nurturing the traits that I desire. Maybe when I make myself into the strong, independant person that&lt;/span&gt; I want to be, the rest of my life will just fall into place? At least that's what people keep telling me. But until then, I will continue to think about my imaginary vampire lover, and wonder when he will come &amp;amp; sweep me off my feet....hey, it could happen....one day....maybe? And if you see me on the streets, don't worry, I don't bite......hard, anyways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So if I could live forever, I suppose I would live for myself. When it comes down to the bare bones of it all, isn't that the one thing that will always remain constant in your life? No matter what you do, whoever enters or leaves, whoever helps you or hurts you....the one person who will always be there is your self.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks, self. This life's for you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-4717013194056398141?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/4717013194056398141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=4717013194056398141&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/4717013194056398141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/4717013194056398141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/11/if-you-could-live-forever-what-would.html' title='If You Could Live Forever, What Would You Live For?'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1206145203051041265.post-2122985235468512694</id><published>2008-11-26T00:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T00:13:00.726-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Are You There Blog? It's Me, Leah.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;First post in a new blog. Is it weird that I'm anxious? Nervous?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;Little known fact:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I used to have another blog. I wrote an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;anonymous&lt;/span&gt; blog when I was going to school in Hamilton. That blog was updated religiously for a little while (weeks? months?) and then quickly abandoned. I genuinely hope that I'm not so fickle with this one. Perhaps in the years between I've matured enough to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;actually&lt;/span&gt; maintain some sort of commitment? Ha. Who am I trying to fool? I suppose only time will tell.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;A little about me for those of you who aren't fortunate enough to be graced with my presence in the flesh: &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;I'm a 25 year old, single, straight female. I'm three and a half credits away from graduating with my B.A. in General Arts &amp;amp; Sciences (a.k.a. "I dunno what to do with my life 101"). I'm a Canadian girl living in St. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Catharines&lt;/span&gt;, Ontario.I'm very proud to be of Irish-Italian descent. I couldn't survive without art &amp;amp; music. I'm terrified that I may be a terrible dancer although people have assured me otherwise. I analyze things far too much for my own damn good. I like to think I'm quick-witted &amp;amp; sharp &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;tongued&lt;/span&gt;...but I tend to be sarcastic &amp;amp; jaded. I love to laugh. My mind likes to spend most of its time in the gutter. I push boundaries and can sometimes be offensive. I will do just about anything for my friends. I've been told that I have "a spine of steel, a heart of gold, and balls of brass", and yet I still &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;posses&lt;/span&gt; the self esteem of a 13 year old girl. I sometimes think I might be the sanest fucked up person on the planet.     &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;Why "ghetto.punk.chic"? Why blog now?:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;The handle came from commenting on my cousin's blog (Shambled Ramblings....if you haven't read it yet, leave my blog &amp;amp; check it out. Trust me, it's that good). It's a bit of a commentary on the paradox that is me. I look pretty punk-ish in appearance, I listen to alot of punk and alternative music, but you'd be shocked to know I can rap almost every word to Snoop Dogg's "Doggystyle" album....or Mobb Deep's "Quiet Storm"....and many more. Strange, I know. My use of street slang in everyday conversation can (at times) be quite ridiculous.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;I decided to start this blog because I've been feeling pretty lost lately. There have been times when my thoughts have been spinning around my head so fast that I can't even tell which way is up. The worst part is that despite how fast my thoughts are going it seems that I'm standing still when it comes to...well, everything. I started keeping a journal and it seemed to help...so I think that this could help too. I like the idea of feedback, and belonging to a community of people who might possibly be as introspective as I tend to be.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Trebuchet MS;"&gt;So that, for the most part, is me. Here I am, nice to meet you....hopefully you'll enjoy getting to know me too. If nothing else, I assure you it'll be interesting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1206145203051041265-2122985235468512694?l=ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/feeds/2122985235468512694/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1206145203051041265&amp;postID=2122985235468512694&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/2122985235468512694'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1206145203051041265/posts/default/2122985235468512694'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://ghettopunkchic.blogspot.com/2008/11/are-you-there-blog-its-me-leah.html' title='Are You There Blog? It&apos;s Me, Leah.'/><author><name>ghetto.punk.chic</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08556889302546411323</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-hTOvVAin7k/SSy07bfFawI/AAAAAAAAAAM/HSGs9sUtXBo/S220/I%27m+Up+In+Smoke.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry></feed>
