<?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-4389686513908441265</id><updated>2012-02-16T00:51:51.112-08:00</updated><category term='Pocket god pocket blog game app application iPod iPhone reveiw'/><category term='virtual wall'/><category term='ex'/><category term='suicidal'/><category term='immature'/><category term='rut'/><category term='tomato potato wtf is up with the english language'/><category term='freyja odin oppressive insomnia kickass song'/><category term='emo'/><category term='hate'/><category term='questions'/><category term='terrible emo poetry'/><category term='67 reasons why it&apos;s great to be a girl'/><category term='first blog human wordprocessor rant gifted'/><category term='seriously'/><category term='25 signs that computers and the internet rule your life'/><title type='text'>Invasive Sinkholes</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>39</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-7858465167129624697</id><published>2011-01-20T05:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-01-20T05:44:47.335-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Antisocialitis.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;Symptoms: Intense paranoia, acute discomfort in the presence of other human beings, an omnipresent sense of trepidation, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Firsthand experience: "Of late, all I've wanted to do when faced with a group of people is burst into tears and run to the safety of the library. I blame it on the crippling effect of adolescent conspiracies and the not-so-discreet whispering of those who get a kick out of the misery of others."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;Antisocialitis&lt;/i&gt; is like &lt;i&gt;necrotizing fasciitis&lt;/i&gt; (i.e. flesh-eating disease). It eats away at you. And they both end with &lt;i&gt;-itis&lt;/i&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lack of trust is an obvious factor. Trust is an elusive, cheating bastard. I so badly want to kick his ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Totally disjointed post, I know. Just wanted to write something that wasn't about The Handmaids Tale. I so badly want to go all Terry Jones on this book.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-7858465167129624697?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/7858465167129624697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=7858465167129624697' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/7858465167129624697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/7858465167129624697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2011/01/antisocialitis.html' title='Antisocialitis.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-1193092126991910306</id><published>2010-12-16T09:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-16T09:35:11.591-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lalala pickles.</title><content type='html'>This is so awkward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, er, hi. I'm pretty sure I wasn't missed, and I apologize in advance for this fairly random post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was actually thinking of shutting this thing down completely. But recently, and again quite randomly, I began receiving compliments on it from friends and strangers alike. So I thought, since I finally have a few minutes to breathe, I could maybe post something and see if I've still got mojo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kinda doubt it. You see, when you get sucked up into the world of the International Baccalaureate Diploma (aka IB, I be screwed, Worst Mistake Of My Life.)- you tend to lose track of your entire life. It's like those geniuses from Harvard, Oxford, NASA and places like that. Super brilliant when it comes to their research, but often needs assistance to walk or tie their shoelaces and stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I myself haven't gotten into that phase yet, but I've been told that it's coming. And like a rat caught in the path of a subway train, I can only watch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Already, there is so much work that I constantly look like I have conjunctivitis, what with the countless hours staring blankly and in despair at the computer screen, tearing up and frantically trying to finish the overload of assignments. It's hell. Satan must be getting quite a kick out of watching us slowly lose our sanity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And apparently the death of our social lives doesn't apply to the problems. No matter how sucked up into the academic world you are, drama always follows. Like a leech on your sensitives. &lt;br /&gt;I'm speaking out of experience here, and while I'd rather not get into that, I'd just like to make it clear that you can never escape the bastards in your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(btw the part about me not wanting to talk about it is all lies. I love talking about it, makes me feel slightly human again. But I'd rather not complicate the delicate balance again by posting such things on public websites. DM me? lol jk.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, life's a bitch. And then you die. This is the kind of bleak outlook on life that IB warps you into thinking about. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aiyo, I meant for this is to be a very short post. But I suppose talking like a normal person and not using big words in every sentence has evoked some strong feelings in me, that were born out of happier memories. Like the times when I'd stay up till 3am doing nothing. NOTHING. What bliss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, shutting up now. Anyway, I just want to say that I'm glad I'm back. And I've missed you guys terribly!&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and if you could give me some topics for future posts, that would be great! I can't rack my brains anymore, it hurts physically.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ciao!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS: Check out this site: http://www.ibquotes.com/latest/ and you'll figure out why us IB-ers are usually massive freaks. :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-1193092126991910306?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/1193092126991910306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=1193092126991910306' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1193092126991910306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1193092126991910306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2010/12/lalala-pickles.html' title='Lalala pickles.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-2995941341787000493</id><published>2010-05-13T12:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-13T12:20:50.677-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bloggers Block?</title><content type='html'>I've been getting quite a few requests to update the blog- and I probably should. Can't leave my brainchild sitting around unattended for too long- god knows what will happen. I don't even want to imagine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, as to why I haven't updated in so long...&lt;br /&gt;Whenever someone asked my why, I'd always attribute it to exams, the need to revise, the constant stress, pressure to study, etc. I mean, really, to a normal person this is quite an adequate reason right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right. But then I realized that none of that actually matters to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to be able to write chapters upon chapters of stories or book ideas that would suddenly come to me whenever I least expected it. Whatever I was doing, I'd drop it and scribble on the nearest blank surface. I don't know why that was- but it earned me nicknames like Flashpen and the like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe I coined that myself. I choose not to remember the petty details.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But lately- I've noticed that my ability to write has somewhat diminished. No, scratch that, it's virtually gone completely. I mean- take this blog post as an example. I'm writing a post about not being able to write posts. Sad, no?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss being able to write! Not only do I really need to regain it in time for my upcoming English exam- *shudders at the very thought*- I want to write again. I want to be able to let my thoughts flow from my brain through my pen and be able to hold a hard copy of what I'm feeling or thinking. That's a special ability, I've been told. Not many people have it... or had it, in my case.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what made me lose it. Lack of practice? Well, that's partly true since all I've been writing lately are hideously boring essays about hideously boring subjects which I'd rather stick a fork in my eyeball than study about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lack of opportunity? Since I'm meant to be cutting down on procrastination, spending more time with my face in a book and not on Facebook, etc. &lt;br /&gt;Balls to that, like I ever care? I used to stay up till the asscrack of dawn writing all sorts of things. The last time I did that was when somebody asked me to do their English coursework for them. I refuse to comment on that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it's actually just a lack of inspiration. I mean- I don't have a single thing to be inspired about anymore. No interaction with anyone other than my parents- well sure, I'm online all the time and all but without much to do or say even there.&lt;br /&gt;Come to think about it- I really don't have any reason to write.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's catastrophic. Nay, to me, it's apocalyptic. I really need a life. And fast.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-2995941341787000493?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/2995941341787000493/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=2995941341787000493' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/2995941341787000493'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/2995941341787000493'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2010/05/bloggers-block.html' title='Bloggers Block?'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-4250741976390031816</id><published>2010-04-06T06:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-06T07:19:25.915-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Subtle Variations of Blue</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMR2B39%7E1.GEM%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMR2B39%7E1.GEM%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMR2B39%7E1.GEM%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:Latha;	panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-2146435069 0 0 0 1 0;}@font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal	{mso-style-unhide:no;	mso-style-qformat:yes;	mso-style-parent:"";	margin-top:0in;	margin-right:0in;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	margin-left:0in;	line-height:115%;	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;	font-size:11.0pt;	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:Latha;	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-bidi-language:AR-SA;}.MsoChpDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	mso-default-props:yes;	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:Latha;	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-bidi-language:AR-SA;}.MsoPapDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	line-height:115%;}@page Section1	{size:8.5in 11.0in;	margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in;	mso-header-margin:.5in;	mso-footer-margin:.5in;	mso-paper-source:0;}div.Section1	{page:Section1;}--&gt;&lt;/style&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"&gt;...is what my life is like right now. Sometimes it’s like the bright blue of a cloudless summer sky, sometimes it’s so dark it’s almost indistinguishable from black. Sometimes it’s that shitty gray-blue that depresses you just by looking at it. Sometimes it’s a watery, sorry excuse for the colour. But it’s always blue. Blue, blue, just freaking blue.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that got me thinking- what exactly is it that adds colour to life? Sure, being happy is said to be like all the colours of the rainbow rolled into one big ball of colourful Play-Doh. But what makes the individual colours stand out? How different are the all the shades of each colour? What’s the perfect mix of colours?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why am I even thinking of philosophical psychobabble like this when I should be studying?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah, who cares. I’ll flunk out and become the wise hobo that people would pay money to see. Bullshitting sells these days. *cough*politics*cough*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is why I think kids are smarter than adults. We know the real value of colours. We know what they denote. We know that crayons have the same effect as cigarettes, minus unfortunate side-effects (except for that one time I ate a purple crayon. Don’t ask.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If only we could retain that knowledge when we grow up. Instead, it all gets pushed out by other useless stuff, like HTML. I detest HTML. If I had to put it in a colour, I would pick the lightest, most boring looking grey ever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You get my point. I’ll shut up now. Visions of rainbows and brightly coloured candy is getting to my head, leaving me quite.. exhausted..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zzzz.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/S7tC08oJcjI/AAAAAAAAAEo/BnUkKytt464/s1600/rainbowlegs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/S7tC08oJcjI/AAAAAAAAAEo/BnUkKytt464/s320/rainbowlegs.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;meta content="text/html; charset=utf-8" http-equiv="Content-Type"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Word.Document" name="ProgId"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Generator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;meta content="Microsoft Word 12" name="Originator"&gt;&lt;/meta&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMR2B39%7E1.GEM%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMR2B39%7E1.GEM%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx" rel="themeData"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMR2B39%7E1.GEM%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml" rel="colorSchemeMapping"&gt;&lt;/link&gt;&lt;style&gt;&lt;!-- /* Font Definitions */ @font-face	{font-family:Latha;	panose-1:2 11 6 4 2 2 2 2 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-2146435069 0 0 0 1 0;}@font-face	{font-family:"Cambria Math";	panose-1:2 4 5 3 5 4 6 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:1;	mso-generic-font-family:roman;	mso-font-format:other;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:0 0 0 0 0 0;}@font-face	{font-family:Calibri;	panose-1:2 15 5 2 2 2 4 3 2 4;	mso-font-charset:0;	mso-generic-font-family:swiss;	mso-font-pitch:variable;	mso-font-signature:-1610611985 1073750139 0 0 159 0;} /* Style Definitions */ p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal	{mso-style-unhide:no;	mso-style-qformat:yes;	mso-style-parent:"";	margin-top:0in;	margin-right:0in;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	margin-left:0in;	line-height:115%;	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;	font-size:11.0pt;	font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:Latha;	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-bidi-language:AR-SA;}.MsoChpDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	mso-default-props:yes;	mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;	mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;	mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;	mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;	mso-bidi-font-family:Latha;	mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-bidi;	mso-bidi-language:AR-SA;}.MsoPapDefault	{mso-style-type:export-only;	margin-bottom:10.0pt;	line-height:115%;}@page Section1	{size:8.5in 11.0in;	margin:1.0in 1.0in 1.0in 1.0in;	mso-header-margin:.5in;	mso-footer-margin:.5in;	mso-paper-source:0;}div.Section1	{page:Section1;}--&gt;&lt;/style&gt;  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;Cheer up and dry your damp eyes and tell me when it rains&lt;br /&gt;And I'll blend up that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins&lt;br /&gt;‘Cause your heart has a lack of color and we should have known&lt;br /&gt;That we'd grow up sooner or later cause we wasted all our free time alone&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"&gt;-Owl City, &lt;i&gt;Rainbow Veins&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-4250741976390031816?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/4250741976390031816/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=4250741976390031816' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/4250741976390031816'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/4250741976390031816'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2010/04/subtle-variations-of-blue.html' title='Subtle Variations of Blue'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/S7tC08oJcjI/AAAAAAAAAEo/BnUkKytt464/s72-c/rainbowlegs.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-5114511842006235844</id><published>2010-01-31T06:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-31T06:22:18.031-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Giving you more scope to pwn my soul.</title><content type='html'>Thanks for the title, Anj. \m/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, I've been ignoring the blog for way too long. =/ shame on me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Believe me, it was mostly unintentional. I have been submerged in a shitpile of work which, for the love of all that is chocolatey, I cannot even begin to comprehend. Everything just becomes harder, and the pile keeps on growing steadily and quickly with no end in sight, no chance of reprieve or redemption or-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meh, I'm sick of that metaphor already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I hope you understand my situation. Exams are just a couple of months away, teachers and parents are bretahing down on my neck like vampires (not the shineh homo ones, the actual blood-sucking, mean, historically-accurate ones).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not to mention the SCHOOL OF DOUCHEBAGGERY that I have been forced to attend, making things THAT much harder by cutting classes to make way for gayshit like Project Week and Sports Day and the almighty stupid Christmas concert and stuff. Plus they dont give us enough time to prepare for ANYTHING, they haven't even bothered to complete our syllabus even though our exams are in less than a few months, then they bitch that it's our fault-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you wonder why I'm such a complaint box.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there's the non-academic bullshite too. Full of bollocks like my laptop breaking, being pressurized to be a certain hundred ways, dealing with not being able to fit in anywhere in this vicious country (hyperbole alert- the place isn't that bad rly. Until you try to make friends.).&lt;br /&gt;Then there's the 'best friends' coming and going, bitches, backstabbers, ditchers, hurtful gossip, oodles of drama, discrimination, domination (wut.) and so on and so forth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and being dumped and taken for granted and heartbreak and stuffz. Several times this year already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a RIDONCULOUS year. Turn it around and fuck it i the ass. wtm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also going to include issues like world famine, wars, cancer, mosquitoes, the utter fuckery that is Sri Lankan politics, Haiti and stuffz to this list too. Just to retain some semblance of unselfishness to my tangled life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And recently, I sortof walked into a wall and acquired a GREAT BIG HONKING SCRAPE on my cheek that is steadfastly turning all the colours of the rainbow. I had to wear an equally GREAT BIG HONKING PLASTER on my cheek, which attracted a whole slew of pointing, staring, giggling (-.-) and a sizeable amount of faggotty questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(After the first few OMGWHATHAPPENED's, I changed my reply from 'Meh. Don't ask' to a rather complicated and fantastic story about dragons and castles in a mystical land far far away, accessible only thru an old smelly shoe, with piratez and knightz and majik and YAYNUZ.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I tripped, you mofo. Stop staring at my face before I shove your head up your ass. thanksforyourconcern kthxbye")&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And one person in particular (who i will refrain from naming, in case i get carried away writing odes to his assholishness) found my mortification DELIRIOUSLY FUNNY for some inane reason, and laughed at me whenever he remembered my existance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and one FINE day he laughed UBER LOUD and named me, with malicious glee in his eyes, Scarface.&lt;br /&gt;And did a jig.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was insulted at first, I realised that Scarface is actually one awesome badass motherfucker, and I have an uncanny resemblance to him personality-wise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But mostly because now I can fulfill my true destiny of telling all the luzrs who get in my way to 'say hello to my lil' friend' and violently gunning them down, watching with vicious pride and satisfaction as their blood and brain matter make million-dollar works of art on the walls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DIEMOTHERF-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn, break is over. Back to my life as the ultimate loser geek princess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-5114511842006235844?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/5114511842006235844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=5114511842006235844' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/5114511842006235844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/5114511842006235844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2010/01/giving-you-more-scope-to-pwn-my-soul.html' title='Giving you more scope to pwn my soul.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-2489801265697716459</id><published>2009-11-28T09:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-28T10:27:35.376-08:00</updated><title type='text'>16 is just a goddamn number.</title><content type='html'>GASP. I have been tagged by &lt;a href="http://tikakpissu.blogspot.com/2009/11/hai-16-yr-old-luzr.html"&gt;the crazy potayto-hugging n00bie&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://purplesocksisallmine.blogspot.com/2009/11/hey-there-sixteen.html"&gt;the raving purple-socked supercookie&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And this proves as a bit of a dilemma, as I'm not sixteen yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GASP. YES. I KNOW. You just couldn't tell, could you? *flips collar*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT. A tag is a tag. And I have absolutely nothing better to do. So I'll write a letter to the future me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;K HERE GOES SO SHHH.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear 16 Year Old Self&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;I'm gonna go out on a limb here and predict that you will be an even bigger nutcase than you are now. Hell- I can FEEL IT. Because I'm psychic like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And right now, you're fifteen. Yes, when you read this you'll be like 'Chikey who is this batta who's wasting my precious time' but hear me out, bruv. You owe it to me since, well... you're me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're well into your O/L year right now. And right now- you're not studying SHIZ. You know you should've- and judging by the fucking grades &amp;amp; such, you're probably going to regret all the countless hours you've procrastinated really badly.&lt;br /&gt;Hell- I don't know, though. Maybe you'll haul arse later and work like a madman or you'll end up being a bimbo stripper who's leeching off your parents and signing up for reality shows for extra cash and to show off your supposed cleavage...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, moving on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, let me remind you of what you used to be like. You were boy-crazy, obnoxious, air headed, giggly, loud, neurotic, obsessive, whiny, frivolous and quite possibly bipolar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, and pessimistic. Which you probably already guessed thanks to the rather harsh description above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's true. You're in love with a boy who quite frankly just screws you up mentally. He played with your mind, made you think about him perpetually, got you all crazy with the slightest action, told you things which made you obsess over him like a psycho &amp;amp; turned you into the consistency of jelly with a single kiss, and left you craving for more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you're probably wondering if you actually did love him. Well, you did. The masochistic moron you are, you loved him. Hell, maybe you still do. Or maybe what I'm saying now will bring back painful memories.&lt;br /&gt;I dont know. But this is what you were.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And here's where it gets complicated. There's another boy- a sweet, loving, caring boy who's far away from you but loves you so much that the distance almost doesn't matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Almost. Because you gotta face it, man- you have a combination of intimacy, long-distance and commitment issues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And right now, you dont know what to do. You're at your wits end trying to deal with it.&lt;br /&gt;I hope you chose right. I hope you finally decided to stop faffing about and take control of your damned life.&lt;br /&gt;Because it's about fucking time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you were a total freak, lemme tell you. I know you thought you were the best thing that ever happened to the world. If you still think that about yourself- STOP IT. You look and act like a spaz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you had a gay haircut. Sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And hopefully, you've lost the addictions. To chocolate, ice-creams, boys, alcohol, cigerettes, so on.&lt;br /&gt;Well.. at least cut back a teensy bit.&lt;br /&gt;Who am I kidding, you'd never listen to anyone about how to run your life. Not even your own self.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And don't lose your friends. Don't outgrow them or do stupid shit like that. You've done it before- and remember how painful it was when you finally realized that you just lost the only people who knew the real, unabridged you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And remember the 'tewtalleh kewl' people you had to sacrifice your sanity to be friends with? THEY ARE NOT WORTH IT. Never was and never will be. Stop being so goddamn shallow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I could give you more advice and all- but where's the fun in that? And you're probably going to give up on this blog like you give up on everything else you start in life (except for a bar of Toblerone. And cigerettes. What is up with that, anyway?).&lt;br /&gt;So chances are you'll never read this once you hit sixteen, let alone after.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But hey- you try. And hopefully, the world hasn't ended by then. And judging by the movie 2012 (which you went to see with your BIS friends &amp;amp; totally had a great time), it probably might.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So live your life. Get good marks, find love, be happy, la di fucking da. You get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And never never never stop being you. Take it from me, you're not that bad a person, despite all the above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;___________________________________________________________________________________&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm quite late in posting this, so I bet everyone's already done this. But if you haven't- I TAG YOU!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-2489801265697716459?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/2489801265697716459/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=2489801265697716459' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/2489801265697716459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/2489801265697716459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/11/gasp.html' title='16 is just a goddamn number.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-8137355152813757364</id><published>2009-11-08T05:25:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T05:39:09.493-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='terrible emo poetry'/><title type='text'>Lame Excuses I Make</title><content type='html'>You've got me smoking a pack a day&lt;br /&gt;But I thank you&lt;br /&gt;I haven't been able to finish anything I started.&lt;br /&gt;Until now, until you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got me hitting the hard stuff&lt;br /&gt;But I'm grateful&lt;br /&gt;I've forgotten how much I love Tanqueray gin&lt;br /&gt;Tequila shots, vanilla vodka... Good stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got me spouting craploads of filth&lt;br /&gt;But that's okay&lt;br /&gt;I've finally found the words to describe my situation&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; I've discovered that I have some pretty good imagination&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got me crying myself to sleep&lt;br /&gt;But it's alright&lt;br /&gt;It's reassuring that I still have feelings&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; I'm finally able to fall asleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got me walking into walls deliberately&lt;br /&gt;But whatever&lt;br /&gt;I'm a klutz; it's bound to happen anyway&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; the physical pain takes away the emotional one&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got me trying to look pretty in vain&lt;br /&gt;But it's not a complete waste&lt;br /&gt;Now I know that I look like crap in green&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; that I can look like a girl if I try&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got me running back to you in desperation&lt;br /&gt;But now I know&lt;br /&gt;That your beautiful words are hollow &amp;amp; fake&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; that nothing's changed, &amp;amp; it never will&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got me underestimating myself&lt;br /&gt;But I'm not looking back&lt;br /&gt;Now I know that I have issues&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; I'm going to face them. Just watch me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You've got me lying to like there's no tomorrow&lt;br /&gt;To myself &amp;amp; to others&lt;br /&gt;But it's easier to hide behind a smile&lt;br /&gt;Less questions, less pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; you've got me writing intentionally sucky poems&lt;br /&gt;Instead of concentrating on the piles of work i have&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; I've run out of excuses &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SvbJPxoZFyI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/z3U3mpyPHkw/s1600-h/scan0093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SvbJPxoZFyI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/z3U3mpyPHkw/s320/scan0093.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;(drawing is by me, at the back of my Math notebook :) )&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-8137355152813757364?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/8137355152813757364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=8137355152813757364' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8137355152813757364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8137355152813757364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/11/lame-excuses-i-make.html' title='Lame Excuses I Make'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SvbJPxoZFyI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/z3U3mpyPHkw/s72-c/scan0093.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-9194577114182036755</id><published>2009-11-06T07:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-06T07:26:32.200-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's hard to lay low..</title><content type='html'>...When you're as addicted to the Net as I am. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow, I haven't updated in decades... In fact, I had to be reminded that I even have a blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shame on me! *slaps self on head*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway- I didnt really have a proper post all planned out, but I feel terrible guilty for having neglected my dear little slightly-retarded brainchild. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway- while I rack my brains &amp;amp; come up with a more serious post- here's a video I found which never ceases to amaze me. I would love to hear these two in person :D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="goog_1257520718369"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id="goog_1257520718370"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e3kyNGVK-hI"&gt;Nathan "Flutebox" Lee and Beardyman @ Google, London&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stay tuned!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-9194577114182036755?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/9194577114182036755/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=9194577114182036755' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/9194577114182036755'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/9194577114182036755'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/11/its-hard-to-lay-low.html' title='It&apos;s hard to lay low..'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-8300995821091059323</id><published>2009-09-20T08:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T11:02:08.593-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Playground Tussles to Wistful Daydreams</title><content type='html'>&lt;i&gt;Warning: Mildly suggestive content/ Adult language.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;i&gt;That means that if you would like to remain the goody-two-shoes you are, STFU &amp;amp; GTFO. kthx. &lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember the little years? In middle school, where boys had cooties and the word 'sex' was a surefire giggle-inducer?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where you show her you sorta think she's cool by pulling her ponytail and chasing her around the playground?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you show him you sorta think he's pretty cool himself by throwing stuff at him &amp;amp; putting his hair into little pigtails?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When simple sentences like 'hey, let's go do that thing we're meant to do' didnt make you think "lolol kay *dirtythoughts* "?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Where water-fights &amp;amp; throwing paint or mud on each other was innuendo-free?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When EVERYTHING was innuendo-free?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I miss the glory days. I really do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now...urgh, it's messed up right? It's all a competition nowadays. Like, 'Pishhh, I've had more boyfriends than YOU', or 'OMG lololol how far have YOU gone?' or 'Dude you're SUCH a fuh-reak- bang someone already' &amp;amp; the like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What? I mean, seriously? Why are they making something that is supposed to be special &amp;amp; exciting so... mainstream? &amp;amp; mundane? I will do whatever I fucking want to. I don't need to be pressured into doing something that sleazy &amp;amp; drastic to 'fit in with the right crowd' or 'be cool'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; admittedly- it's hard not to give in sometimes. Like, you delude yourself into thinking that "Hmm, maybe they're right- that if all I need to do to be more of a normal/cool human being is to be shallow &amp;amp; insincere- then so be it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. Just NO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just THINK a minute before the pants come off, whydontcha? I'm not trying to put a damper on the frivolities (believe me, I don't do that) or anything- but you're eventually going to hit yourself on the head &amp;amp; be like 'stupidstupidstupid that was SUCH a mistake' or something of the sort. You've done it before, I've done it before. Everyone has.&lt;br /&gt;Doesn't mean it wont be different the next time if you do the same thing. Save yourself the regret already!&lt;br /&gt;But hey, that depends on opinion I suppose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm. Doesn't EVERYTHING depend on other people's opinion nowadays? &lt;br /&gt;Out with originality &amp;amp; sincerity- In with insecurity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Special shoutout to Shrey... just to prove that I can indeed multitask. :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-8300995821091059323?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/8300995821091059323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=8300995821091059323' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8300995821091059323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8300995821091059323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/09/playground-tussles-to-wistful-daydreams.html' title='Playground Tussles to Wistful Daydreams'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-2732999940842501091</id><published>2009-09-12T21:51:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-12T21:51:33.346-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not dead!</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;..Relief, no? *big goofy grin*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually don't have any purpose for writing this- but then again when do I ever?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am at French class right now. Wrong time to be blogging but I've had quite enough of parler-ing &amp; écouter-ing for one day. Three hours of not understanding jack if what's going on in class will do that to you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ahhh it feels good to write something other than an exam paper. Even though it has no purpose. &lt;br /&gt;But I'm sick of purpose- screw purpose! Why can't I do something just because I feel like it- &amp; NOT just do it because it might be beneficial? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to run around screaming as loud as I can. I want to draw. I want to dance. I want to throw my books in the air. I want to cut the CCTV camera wires (haha ;D) &amp; I want to go absolutely mad. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Being chained to my books is like torture. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh crap, he's looking this way-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, I'd better get going. Oh well, back to the monotony. *deep sigh*  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-2732999940842501091?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/2732999940842501091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=2732999940842501091' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/2732999940842501091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/2732999940842501091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-not-dead.html' title='I&amp;#39;m not dead!'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-3582940956393584022</id><published>2009-09-07T05:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T06:16:33.742-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Is?</title><content type='html'>I've been tagged! :P &lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; meh... I'm terrible at declarations of love.  &lt;br /&gt;But I shall do my best. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love is...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;what the shy guy tells himself when he tries to find the guts to start a conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;when the sweetest guy in the world spent all his money on the most beautiful necklace on me, even though I didnt deserve it. :) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When your friend sends you an anonymous rose on Valentines so that you don't feel like the loser you may be (haha)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When your mum lets you watch a Bones marathon instead of studying after a really bad day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;when Hodgins makes the words Be My Love out of sushi &amp;amp; phospherescent fish-bacteria for Angela. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;when a friend laughs with you- not at you- when you burst into tears after watching the above-mentioned. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spiked Coke smuggled in on your last day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When your friends throw you a surprise party with ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When your friend gives up the swing for you when you ask. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they try as hard as they can to keep in touch. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they try as hard as they can to make amends when they've made a colossal mistake (not that amends were made.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;your mum. No, really. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When a guy helps out this frog who swallowed a Christmas light still alight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When your grandma flatly refuses to accept that you don't want a birthday present :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A big, big Nutella sandwich. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;finding something dirty in the dumbest sentence &amp;amp; laughing like hyenas over it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A big, big bowl of ice cream. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breakfast in bed!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;not caring about looks, talent or material things. Not caring if you swear like a sailor, have temparamental hair, laugh too much, don't fit in with the right crowd.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A big steamy mug of hot chocate with orange peel, cinnamon &amp;amp; marshmallows. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes overrated. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blind. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wierd. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Incomprehensible. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When your English teacher doesn't cut marks for spelling errors. (Not that kind of love!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So close yet beyond my reach. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; it's an open tag :) &lt;br /&gt;respond!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-3582940956393584022?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/3582940956393584022/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=3582940956393584022' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3582940956393584022'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3582940956393584022'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/09/love-is.html' title='Love Is?'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-5611863470733988951</id><published>2009-09-04T06:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-04T06:50:16.962-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Psychoscribbles by Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEW9biONXI/AAAAAAAAADI/T9nJcAX_TkU/s1600-h/scan0035picnik%27d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEW9biONXI/AAAAAAAAADI/T9nJcAX_TkU/s320/scan0035picnik%27d.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEXvcyWyqI/AAAAAAAAADQ/297TNRk7_tg/s1600-h/scan0036picnik%27d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEXvcyWyqI/AAAAAAAAADQ/297TNRk7_tg/s320/scan0036picnik%27d.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEX8aqId6I/AAAAAAAAADY/kUWaK7GgZnk/s1600-h/scan0037picnik%27d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEX8aqId6I/AAAAAAAAADY/kUWaK7GgZnk/s320/scan0037picnik%27d.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEYQQ58mqI/AAAAAAAAADg/146JVnv92T8/s1600-h/scan0042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEYQQ58mqI/AAAAAAAAADg/146JVnv92T8/s320/scan0042.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEYibH_yqI/AAAAAAAAADo/tNAK1Rp8lQM/s1600-h/scan0041picnik%27d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEYibH_yqI/AAAAAAAAADo/tNAK1Rp8lQM/s320/scan0041picnik%27d.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEY1G6PqOI/AAAAAAAAADw/QDtADve7aZQ/s1600-h/scan0043picnik%27d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEY1G6PqOI/AAAAAAAAADw/QDtADve7aZQ/s320/scan0043picnik%27d.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEZI7sQHcI/AAAAAAAAAD4/oSoopiJgFKA/s1600-h/scan0044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEZI7sQHcI/AAAAAAAAAD4/oSoopiJgFKA/s320/scan0044.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEZsZWs-NI/AAAAAAAAAEA/eY8Jo_3GrgM/s1600-h/7830_256316200316_865320316_8684587_2378612_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEZsZWs-NI/AAAAAAAAAEA/eY8Jo_3GrgM/s320/7830_256316200316_865320316_8684587_2378612_n.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEaDPYNN6I/AAAAAAAAAEI/wlwYMDO56k4/s1600-h/scan0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEaDPYNN6I/AAAAAAAAAEI/wlwYMDO56k4/s320/scan0039.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meh, it sure beats Math. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;The last one isn't clear, I know. It's too light to edit too. :(&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The guitar girl was totally drawn around the guitar, so that's why SHE looks highly retarded.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The group picture is an attempt at drawing my friends :P it didnt come out too bad..&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my goth people are yucky, i know. I like his hair, the end. ^^&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-5611863470733988951?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/5611863470733988951/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=5611863470733988951' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/5611863470733988951'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/5611863470733988951'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/09/psychoscribbles-by-me.html' title='Psychoscribbles by Me'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SqEW9biONXI/AAAAAAAAADI/T9nJcAX_TkU/s72-c/scan0035picnik%27d.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-6088022520585693207</id><published>2009-08-21T10:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-21T11:25:19.700-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wiser, but still clueless.</title><content type='html'>"Welcome, giant pansies. Please feel free to bask in my glow." - King Julian, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Madagascar&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hahaha, couldnt resist adding that! I laughed for a full 2 minutes. Thanks for reminding me about it, &lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/12510126598702906823"&gt;Li'l Miss Sarcy&lt;/a&gt;!&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;font-size:13;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;font-size:13;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Well, I don't really have anything in mind to say- I just thought my blog looked lonely. I was planning to write a huge essay on my hideous life, but then I accidentally walked into a door &amp;amp; I forgot all what I did today. All I remember is that I had a Nutella sandwich.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mmm. Nutella.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm going to rant about something that's been bothering my friends &amp;amp; I for quite some time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Er, I dont think introductions are really necessary. Just read my &lt;a href="http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/08/backstabber.html"&gt;previous blogpost&lt;/a&gt; &amp;amp; you'll know what I'm talking about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yup, you got it. Backstabbers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; not just you're average backstabber, who will at the most spread a scandalous rumour about you. No, this is about the very worst kind of backstabber.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Best-Friend Backstabbers. The poisonous ones who prefer to get as close as possible to their prey, &amp;amp; then begin their little sting operation. Or the ones who are driven mad by jealousy or whatever &amp;amp; will stop at nothing to feel the satisfaction of breaking someone using cheap, underhanded methods-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, yeah, I'm losing it. Don't want to end up with my foot in my mouth, so I'll cut short that description.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway- I've gone through my fair share of people like this. That girl in grade 4 who used to plague me in class because I'm slow in Math (until I locked her in a cupboard. Shhh dont tell her, she doesn't know it was me.) , My ex- friend in grade 7 who made my life an acute misery just because she could.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; now, my so-called best friend who apparently 'loves me oh-so-much &amp;amp; misses me so much she cant even describe.' has torn apart my life completely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I badly want to yell to the whole world what exactly she did &amp;amp; how much it hurts, but I really dont think that'll be too productive. The person in question is the most volatile bitch you'll ever meet, &amp;amp; I dont want more trouble than she's already cooked up for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, pause for a moment. I'm not bitching- I'm just trying to give you all a heads-up in case you think something like that's happening to you too. I wouldn't be surprised- lots of stuff like that is going around. As I recently discovered, Shibby has been going through the same thing too (you can read about it &lt;a href="http://heavenforbidsuckers.blogspot.com/2009/08/backstabbers-are-everywherei-shouldve.html"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to the point- doesnt it absolutely SUCK? I cant think of another way to describe it. It SUCKS that the one person who you think really understands you just goes and botches everything up for their own entertainment. It SUCKS that they befriended all your friends just to turn them against you. It SUCKS that you (I dont mean you, I mean me. But roll with me here) realised this way too late &amp;amp; can do sweet nothing about it now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It just plain SUCKS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I know why so many people have trust issues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But what do you do about it? Does anyone know? I think someone needs to hold my hand &amp;amp; spell it out for me, because I sure as heck dont see a way out of this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the mean time, I'll probably write more angry poetry and rant like a itchy monkey. Cant think of anything better to do,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Argh, dont even mention studying. Circle theorems can just kiss my ass, for I cannot cope with more information than necessary being poked into my head with the pointy end of a marker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do I hear a hot fudge sundae calling out to me?&lt;br /&gt;Maybe not, but it's worth investigating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ciao!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:Arial;font-size:100%;"  &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;font-size:13;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&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/4389686513908441265-6088022520585693207?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/6088022520585693207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=6088022520585693207' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6088022520585693207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6088022520585693207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/08/wiser-but-still-clueless.html' title='Wiser, but still clueless.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-7563392050389245117</id><published>2009-08-12T06:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T07:41:34.401-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Backstabber.</title><content type='html'>A smile in the corridor&lt;br /&gt;A &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hey!&lt;/span&gt; and a hug&lt;br /&gt;it brightened up my mornings&lt;br /&gt;was that like a drug?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hours seemingly well-spent&lt;br /&gt;talking about secrets&lt;br /&gt;i trusted you with the moon and stars&lt;br /&gt;i would've never thought you'd leak it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i blamed myself for the carnage&lt;br /&gt;that you wreaked upon my life&lt;br /&gt;but you're as sly and deceptive&lt;br /&gt;as a double-sided knife&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What made you do this?&lt;br /&gt;The jealousy and the hate?&lt;br /&gt;where did it even come from?&lt;br /&gt;i saw through you much too late&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but the deed is done- i hope you're happy&lt;br /&gt;that my life is in shambles&lt;br /&gt;You're supposed to be my best friend&lt;br /&gt;not a poisonous thicket of brambles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;thanks to you, my world is shattered&lt;br /&gt;the hate is always around&lt;br /&gt;you corrupted the people that i loved&lt;br /&gt;being along is like being drowned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and yet i cannot let go of it all&lt;br /&gt;The memories; there are a million&lt;br /&gt;but, hey, the game is over now&lt;br /&gt;I'm tired of your illusion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So go ahead, deny what you did.&lt;br /&gt;But it really doesn't matter&lt;br /&gt;Coz you will remain forever more&lt;br /&gt;my ex-best friend, Backstabber.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-7563392050389245117?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/7563392050389245117/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=7563392050389245117' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/7563392050389245117'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/7563392050389245117'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/08/backstabber.html' title='Backstabber.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-3057595930542559579</id><published>2009-08-09T04:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-09T05:51:59.055-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Watching from a distance will never get you far.</title><content type='html'>He watched her, from across the turf. She was with her friends by the swings, laughing and doing doing god-knows-what. He didn't really care &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;what&lt;/span&gt; she was doing, so long as she didn't move out of his line of vision.&lt;br /&gt;She sat on the swing, talking to her friends. Then she started swinging, going higher and higher until she was just a blur... just a blur...&lt;br /&gt;From the highest point she could manage, she jumped off- sailed through the air with her hair like a halo, and landed gracefully on her feet, with her arms outstretched like a human eagle.&lt;br /&gt;He smiled wryly to himself- he had always imagined her as an angel, as beautiful on the ground as she was in flight. He saw that he was right.&lt;br /&gt;He knew he could just go up and say hello anytime. But why would he do that? There was the very real possibility she would hint that he should go away, if not say point blank. Or maybe she would say hello back, but forget his existence the very next minute. Stay silent and spare himself the pain.&lt;br /&gt;The cowards way out.&lt;br /&gt;Still, it was enough for the moment. He would see her again the next day, anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She glanced back at the guy she had noticed earlier. He seemed to be watching her, but making no move to mark his presence. She found that a little unsettling, and wished we wouldn't. She saw no reason for him to be staring at her. And he did look a little familiar.&lt;br /&gt;Her friends continued talking, and she willingly let herself drift into their conversation. Weird, silent boys staring at me is a stupid thing to think about.&lt;br /&gt;Yet, he continued. She tried to make eye contact a few times, but gave up. He was as responsive as a particularly uncommunicative wall. She glanced at the first reflective surface she could, to see if there was something in particular he was staring at. None.&lt;br /&gt;Was he trying to tell her something?&lt;br /&gt;And if so, should she listen? Or not talk to strangers, and all that jazz.&lt;br /&gt;Screw it. If he has a problem, then say it. I'll make him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She held up a her hand at her friends, and told them to give her a minute. Ignoring their curious looks, she walked over to where he was standing, trying not to mind that he was still staring at her with the same, almost insulting blankness.&lt;br /&gt;"Hello" she said, amiably. Lets see what he makes of that.&lt;br /&gt;He gave a tight smile, but offered nothing back.&lt;br /&gt;She gave him an odd look "Have we met before?"&lt;br /&gt;"No" he said, and that was all. He looked like he was either struggling for words, or just struggling to get out of the conversation.&lt;br /&gt;She assumed it was the latter, feeling a little stung.&lt;br /&gt;"Oh. Well, see you later then" she said, somewhat lamely, and turned her back and walked away.&lt;br /&gt;She did not look back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He dipped his head, in embarrassment and disappointment. He did not envision introducing himself in that way. He did not even offer her his name. Disgraceful.&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, better luck next time. There's always tomorrow, I'll talk to her tomorrow. Or Monday. He made excuses to himself, putting his feelings off in fear of rejection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We're WHAT?!" he yelled at his parents, not believing his ears.&lt;br /&gt;His father shook his head sadly. "We talked about this before, you know. I did tell you that we may be moving by the end of the month, and so we are. I know this is awfully sudden, but you do have today and an entire weekend to say your goodbyes. I thought you were unhappy here anyway? I'm sorry, but business calls elsewhere I'm afraid."&lt;br /&gt;But he wasn't really listening. A cold dread spread in his body, numbing his mind, and making him oblivious to anything but his own thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;So there wont be a tomorrow. There was a today, but he'd put that off. There were countless tomorrows in the past, but he'd let them pass. He'd wasted them.&lt;br /&gt;And now, all he wished for was one last tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;The day that would never come.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She met her friends in the park, as usual. Her favourite spot- the swings- were free and by habit she gravitated towards it. At the back of her mind, she wondered where the boy was. The silent one. She &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;had&lt;/span&gt; remembered him: he was here at the park all the time.&lt;br /&gt;Except today. This unsettled her more than his staring. He was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;always&lt;/span&gt; here; what happened?&lt;br /&gt;An hour went by, and still no sign of him. She sighed. She'd probably scared him away yesterday. That was too bad; he looked like he'd wanted to say something to her, even if he didnt actually say anything.&lt;br /&gt;Oh well. Guess she would never know. And she didnt linger on it. She didnt give it anymore thought, and soon enough the memory of the odd boy washed away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but not in his. Regret lived on. And he finally admitted to himself that tomorrow was even more fickle that human nature.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-3057595930542559579?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/3057595930542559579/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=3057595930542559579' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3057595930542559579'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3057595930542559579'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/08/watching-from-distance-will-never-get.html' title='Watching from a distance will never get you far.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-8239849671121725979</id><published>2009-08-07T09:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-07T12:10:42.546-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Day Like All Others.</title><content type='html'>Snapped back to reality, oh there goes gravity; shaken awake at an ungodly hour to go to school. Mmmph. Fivemoreminutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Made to stand outside, waiting for the contraption that'll take me from my nice, cozy home to a harsh place where Trig trumps life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Inside van: Friends, real nice people, slowly waking me up. Make fun of the world outside, knowing fully well that we can be seen. The joy of notgivingadamn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School, by standard definition: A hellhole with books. More homework to handle that air to breathe. Responsibilities. Work. Hardships. Learning? Me? Really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School, by my standards: A hellhole with books. But with the nicest people you can imagine. They're the only reason I dont run out of school, flailing my books around. (well, that &amp;amp; the fact that I'll be disowned if I do).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Did we have homework?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"WUT?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why are you even surprised?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Can I copy yours?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I didnt do it either"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Shit shit we're screwed."&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Somehow, it gets done. Or a somewhat- believable excuse is constructed. Hard work, that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lessons rush by in a blur. Differant shades of grey. Some facts &amp;amp; figures stick. Teachers aren't teachers for no reason, I guess!&lt;br /&gt;Punctuated with the jokes and laughs of my &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=290961&amp;amp;id=865320316&amp;amp;l=d00b275563"&gt;friends&lt;/a&gt;. Where I'd be without them, I dont know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The one class we all have to attend isn't too productive- it's mostly just us talking.&lt;br /&gt;Teacher tells us to shush. We shush for exactly 3.5 seconds.&lt;br /&gt;Quick, secret glances at the boy in the back row. A flurry of daydreams take me places. I follow them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maths. *cue synchronized groans*&lt;br /&gt;Theorems, rules, formulas, blah. Why do I need to know the area of a circle? I'm not going to waste my life measuring circles. Or triangles.&lt;br /&gt;Sine, cosine, tangent. Fancypants names for useless information.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Break= Food + gossip + laughing. My favourite combo.&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps not in that order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More lessons... on and on... until- &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;END OF SCHOOL!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh wait, bus leaves an hour late.&lt;br /&gt;No matter, my friends are definitely worth the wait. :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Long, long ride back home. First half of it spent on reliving the highlights of the day with fellow bus-mates. Second half spent sleeping on each others shoulders.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Home, finally. I eat till it feels like it'll come out of my ears. Just right.&lt;br /&gt;A little quality time with the fam. Try to avoid questions on what I learned today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;What I learned? I learned that X is going out with Y, W has a crush on A, V is the most annoying person we have ever met, etc. Oh, that's not what to you mean? Those things dont matter.&lt;br /&gt;Oh no, it does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Study for an hour. I take this as an opportunity to doodle all over the place or progress with CoDV (See &lt;a href="http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/07/codv-my-little-fantasy-world.html"&gt;previous post&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then it's online time. Finally, a world I'm entirely comfortable in.&lt;br /&gt;Well, you know what happens online.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Yawn&lt;/span&gt;*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time to hit the sack, then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait, one more round of Pocket God on my iTouch...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...'kay, I'm going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*lies, and reads the Draco Trilogy until her head feels like it's a second away from exploding*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*zzzzzzzz*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so concludes the day of yours truly. It may not sound like much, but it is. It's my life... literally.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-8239849671121725979?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/8239849671121725979/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=8239849671121725979' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8239849671121725979'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8239849671121725979'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/08/day-like-all-other.html' title='A Day Like All Others.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-4225765214839109620</id><published>2009-07-17T06:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-17T07:14:37.105-07:00</updated><title type='text'>CoDV: My Little Fantasy World</title><content type='html'>My blog looked lonely, &amp;amp; Anonymouse has gone on an Bloggerific spree :P&lt;br /&gt;So I got into a bloggerific mood... but without much of a topic. :(&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I shall tell you about CoDV, my latest little adventure.&lt;br /&gt;Well, it's not an &lt;em&gt;adventure&lt;/em&gt;, per se, but it is important to me. This maybe the first time I've ever really concentrated on a big project, &amp;amp; the first time I'll actually complete it.&lt;br /&gt;Sad, isnt it? In all my x years of life, this is the one thing I'll actually finish writing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, so what IS CoDV, you're probably thinking. It's this story im writing, a fanfic really.&lt;br /&gt;Okay, dont laugh at the plot. This is only a small builiding block in my writing career, &amp;amp; its mainly a inside thing with my friends.&lt;br /&gt;Its a fanfic about a fanfic about Harry Potter. :P&lt;br /&gt;Okay I said it. :P&lt;br /&gt;But the original fanfic about Harry Potter (dont sue me for mentioning it, JKR) is written by this brilliant author named Cassandra Clare. She's BRILLIANT. Honestly, her now very famous fanfics (entitled: Draco Dormiens, Draco Sinister &amp;amp; Draco Veritas) is an absolute mindfuck, in the best way possible. It makes you feel like CC is not just another writer, but a deity of sorts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, back to the point. It's mostly about Draco Malfoy, &amp;amp; his life on the good side (I know, I kn0ow. He's supposed to be evil &amp;amp; all. &amp;amp; he STILL IS. Just on the good side. He's still ill-tempered, sarcastic, infuriating. Just unbelievable awesome at the same time).&lt;br /&gt;Well, of COURSE the other main character is Harry, Hermy, Ron, Ginny &amp;amp; the rest of the HP brood.&lt;br /&gt;But this is NOTHING LIKE JK's stuff. This IS magic, in writing.&lt;br /&gt;I mean, dont get me wrong! JK is a GENIUS &amp;amp; the entire world should be indebted to her &amp;amp; her incredible-ness.&lt;br /&gt;But CC puts this whole new twist to things. Nothing is what you think it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, its a Trilogy, the Draco Trilogy. &amp;amp; it will forever remain the best thing i have ever read.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; when I get back home, I will upload it so that you guys can read it too, if you like.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but sadly, the epilogue wasnt up to the expected standards. &amp;amp; my friends &amp;amp; I were incredibly disappointed.&lt;br /&gt;Then I got the brainwave to write a new continuation. The Continuation of Draco Veritas. CoDV, as I call it.&lt;br /&gt;Well, basically i needed something to be fixated on. &amp;amp; in the Draco Trilogy, the highlight is Draco &amp;amp; Ginny, the most unlikely combo in the world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So im writing a continuation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, i bet you're questioning my sanity now. I do too, daily. But this... this is just something i really feel i need to complete. I dont know why, but i know i'll never live it down if i leave it incomplete.&lt;br /&gt;Besides, i'll be roadkill, courtesy of my friends &amp;amp; fellow Dracomaniacs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still in chapter 3, but im getting there :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;so now that i've bored you to tears... have a nice weekend :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-4225765214839109620?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/4225765214839109620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=4225765214839109620' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/4225765214839109620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/4225765214839109620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/07/codv-my-little-fantasy-world.html' title='CoDV: My Little Fantasy World'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-1959137642145414784</id><published>2009-07-15T07:52:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-15T08:44:07.753-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chicken Soup With Noodles.</title><content type='html'>Those Chicken Soup book annoy me. They're so irritatingly soulful, &amp;amp; try-hard- life changing . No, I dont want to hear about the crippled boy who bought the crippled dog. Or the lady with the already-burned face who saved some kid from a fire. I'm creeped out by fairytales as it is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, here's a thought: Why isn't there a Chicken Soup book for the Sick? Aren't THEY the people who actually need the friggin' soup? Oh noooo, instead- perfectly healthy people are stealing all their soup to make soppy (or should i say- soupy?) books out of it.&lt;br /&gt;Psshh. The selfishness of humanity is so sad. Over a thing like SOUP. Which most people dont even LIKE, normally.&lt;br /&gt;Except when they're SICK. WHICH IS THE WHOLE POINT, INNIT?! -_-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha, &amp;amp; what about the vegetarians? You cant have a Chicken Soup for Vegetarians, now can you? So what, Vegetable Soup for Vegetarians? Why has nobody written a Vegetable Soup book?! WHY?! What have you got against vegetarians, you soup-mongers?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; what about Chicken Soup for Babies? Sure, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;they  &lt;/span&gt;cant read it, but their parents can read it to them! &amp;amp; babies eat ONLY soup, right? (well, a LOT of soup at least). &amp;amp; they of all people need it to grow into strong &amp;amp; all-rounded individuals. Think about that, WritersOfSoup!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; personally, I think Chicken Soup sucks without noodles. WE NEED CHICKEN SOUP WITH NOODLES!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; what about Chicken Soup for Introverts, Insomniacs, Suicidal people, Emos, etc?! The people that actually need it! Broaden your minds, WritersOfSoup! Help those who need it, &amp;amp; NOT write some book that some fat rich dude/dudette buys as beach-reading!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmm. I'm hungry now. No, really.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-1959137642145414784?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/1959137642145414784/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=1959137642145414784' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1959137642145414784'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1959137642145414784'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/07/chicken-soup-with-noodles.html' title='Chicken Soup With Noodles.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-8764735890084923869</id><published>2009-07-12T01:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T01:45:13.412-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Notes On My Ceiling</title><content type='html'>One of them reminds me to finish writing my story. One of them tells me to finish all my Business assignments. One of them tells me not to mope about *insert Guy X's name here* so much. One of them tells me to clean my Converse. Everyday things.&lt;br /&gt;And so on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually find these notes very useful. You see, I have the memory capacity of a goldfish, so I need constant reminding about things.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; it fits that I have reminders above the place I spend the most time in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's not just the notes that keep me sane or organized. It's the people in my life too.&lt;br /&gt;They're the ones who remind me about the other things in life, besides chores.&lt;br /&gt;Like.. my mom, who wakes me in the morning because im too lazy to do it myself, my friend who reminds me everyday that whenever im free, i have to write my story because she finds it so fascinating. My other friend, who tests my patience &amp;amp; social skills so much that im more pissed than grateful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friends, who remind me that they love me.&lt;br /&gt;My family, who're always there.&lt;br /&gt;My mere acquaintances, who remind me not to get personal about everything.&lt;br /&gt;The people who make me mad. To remind me that im not perfect.&lt;br /&gt;And so on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what I think? I think people forget about these things easily, even the ones who have the memory of an elephant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My advice? Don't. Or if you cant help it, make friends. Reconnect with old ones, your family. Anything that makes sure you have people you can trust to keep you sane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or else... write it on a Post-It note &amp;amp; stick it on your ceiling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But if I were you, I'd stick with the people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-8764735890084923869?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/8764735890084923869/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=8764735890084923869' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8764735890084923869'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8764735890084923869'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/07/notes-on-my-ceiling.html' title='Notes On My Ceiling'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-6552887982488070444</id><published>2009-07-12T01:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T01:26:32.238-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Shoes Of My Dreams</title><content type='html'>I saw them at Reebok a month &amp;amp; a half ago, on a poster. They were like hightops crossed with boots, in a black&amp;amp; white cowhide print, with pink laces.&lt;br /&gt;I'm in love with them.&lt;br /&gt;But I've never seen them in person.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; I never will.&lt;br /&gt;Because they don't exist anymore.&lt;br /&gt;But it haunts me in my dreams.&lt;br /&gt;Constantly.&lt;br /&gt;I need a life.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; new dreams.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-6552887982488070444?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/6552887982488070444/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=6552887982488070444' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6552887982488070444'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6552887982488070444'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/07/shoes-of-my-dreams.html' title='The Shoes Of My Dreams'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-1638293200458415560</id><published>2009-07-12T00:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-12T01:05:18.597-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Art Of Obnoxiousness...</title><content type='html'>... Is something many people take for granted, but aren't actually good at.&lt;br /&gt;Being obnoxious IS an art, for it takes the right kind of personality to pull it off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example, the following&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; (hypothetical)&lt;/span&gt; conversation is between Person A &amp;amp; a normal person:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Person A- "Do these pants make my ass look fat?!"&lt;br /&gt;Normal Person- "NO! Of course not! You look GORGEOUS, as usual! Lets go grab a pizza, you red hot hottie!"&lt;br /&gt;Person A- "Oh yay! NOW maybe i can get some action, ifyouknowwhatimsaying. *wink*&lt;br /&gt;Normal Person- "Oh suuuure, sure" *nervous chuckle*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, the same question is posed to an Obnoxious Person &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(hypothetically)&lt;/span&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Person A- "Do these pants make my ass look fat?!"&lt;br /&gt;Obnoxious Person- "Let me put it this way- it must suck to have an ass the size of a miniature Mediterranean donkey's. I have to ask, do guys ever ask for a ride home? &amp;amp; by that I mean, not in your car. We should probably head to a salad bar instead of pizza now, dont you think?&lt;br /&gt;Person A- "MOMMYYYYYYYY!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get what I mean?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh sure, you might say obnoxious people suck, because they hurt people's feelings, they're unnecessarily mean, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No. Nuh uh. Quite the opposite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, it's the normal, 'NICE' people who are at fault here, &amp;amp; it is THEM who should be getting yelled at. See, they're LYING to you! It's like they WANT to make you feel good about yourself when there is obviously room for improvement- &amp;amp; they probably even laugh at you behind your back for being so naive! You see what im sezzin'?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whereas obnoxious people tell the truth all the time! How can you even SAY that obnoxious people are terrible? HOW?! *puppy eyes*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I digress.  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-1638293200458415560?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/1638293200458415560/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=1638293200458415560' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1638293200458415560'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1638293200458415560'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/07/art-of-obnoxiousness.html' title='The Art Of Obnoxiousness...'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-6788683766948201068</id><published>2009-07-01T10:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-11T12:53:49.168-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Lonely Sock</title><content type='html'>No, I'm not high. My sock is actually missing.&lt;br /&gt;I've filed a missing sock report, &amp;amp; i've already scoured the many possible crime scenes (washing machine, clothes line, etc), but still not sign of it.&lt;br /&gt;If any of you see it, inform me immediatly! Unfortunately, i dont have picture of it. You'll just have to imagine it- it's a white sock with horizontal pink stripes :$&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; the matching sock refuses to come out of hiding due to depression, so I cant take a picture of it.&lt;br /&gt;Cheh, these socks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well... the sock is not the only one who's feeling lonely.&lt;br /&gt;Uh huh, yours truly is also NOT feeling the love.&lt;br /&gt;Oh dont get me wrong, im not doing my emo thang anymore :D that was just bullshiite.&lt;br /&gt;no, im actually feeling lonely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; it's summer now too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know what THAT means..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yes. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;SUMMER LUUUUURVE&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*retches*&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry, what? Oh, you disagree with me? Oh so, summer love is the best part of summerrr, nobody's lonely during summerr...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;well SCREW YOU, bucko.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because 97% of summer flings never see the dawn of December. Okay?&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; this 'summer love' thing is such a hoax. You want to know why?&lt;br /&gt;Here's my theory:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pollen in the air around this time gets infected with some germ or another. Some idiot catches this germ, &amp;amp; falls sick. But he thinks its love sickness, directed at some random chick he hooked up with yesterday at XYZ's YayItsSummertime party. &amp;amp; they dont care, coz they're on vacation &amp;amp; its highly unlikely they'll bump into each other again&lt;br /&gt;OH EM JEE, ANEI! BRAINWAAAAVE!&lt;br /&gt;Lets hook up &amp;amp; be all fake-lovey dovey! Then we'll always have someone to buy us ice cream throughout the hot summer days.&lt;br /&gt;FUN FOR ALL.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wuddeva.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you ask me, the summer fling thing is a sad excuse to get comments on your ever-changing relationship status on Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some might argue that summer 'love' is what makes summer magical&lt;br /&gt;To which i reply- HOW CAN SOMETHING BE MAGICAL WHEN IT DOESNT LAST HALF A MINUTE?!&lt;br /&gt;Thats not magic, thats just desperation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But if you really have found your soulmate through what was meant to be just a  summer fling- congratulations. You're either very good with choices, or you lucked out.&lt;br /&gt;Which is faaaaiiine, both ways.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, before i get clobbered by some pollen-struck (haha, not love. Geddit? *goday grin*) individual/pair, i'll run away &amp;amp; hide under my quilt.&lt;br /&gt;With a nice big cookie &amp;amp; a RomCom.  To ward off evil pollen &amp;amp; depressing thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;kthxbye :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-6788683766948201068?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/6788683766948201068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=6788683766948201068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6788683766948201068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6788683766948201068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/07/dun-duh-duh-dun-dun-jet-lag.html' title='The Lonely Sock'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-6397988339978023124</id><published>2009-07-01T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-11T23:59:49.041-07:00</updated><title type='text'>P-p-p-Poke Her Face. Please.</title><content type='html'>Be honest. Don't you all know that person, who you really really cannot stand, but they just cant take the hint?&lt;br /&gt;That person who just keeps nagging and nagging, who thinks you're their best friend, how they keep bragging about their life, &amp;amp; you can never get a word in sideways? That you suspect they're behind some problems in your life?&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes even more than one person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No? It's just me?&lt;br /&gt;Wait, that cant be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YOU LIE. You DO know a person like that! We all do! It's 'human nature' (cliches are like a whole differant language on their own. Everybody understand them. O_o )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I'm really not going to go into details about the person I know. (I'm a mean byotch, but not THAT mean. One person I know will probably disagree. No comment.)&lt;br /&gt;But it's true. I've never been in more shit (pardon the language, i cant help it) than i have ever been in before I met Person X&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So lemme share valuable advice on how to deal with such people, learned through sheer experience:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, see things from their point of view. They dont know that you dont like them. To them, you're the only friend who'll listen to them. Who'll be there for them. They geniunely think you guys are friends.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; I know, you dont want to break it to them that... well, you're really not.&lt;br /&gt;&amp;amp; whatever problems they caused, they did it unknowingly. They're probably that kind of person, the kind who has a selective memory, &amp;amp; who just cant help being like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you've gotta let them know at some point. Maybe you'll tell them point blank. Maybe they'll FINALLY get the hint. Maybe they've known it all along, &amp;amp; it's finally sunk in &amp;amp; they're doing something about it.&lt;br /&gt;Any which way it happens, it has to happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which means I have to take my own advice, swallow the guilt, &amp;amp; just do it (grab the bull by the horns, if you will. That was for all you cliche-mongers.).&lt;br /&gt;Because no-one appreciates being lied to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, because I learned the hard way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AHHH! This is so depressing. -_-&lt;br /&gt;Sunday blues, man. Wut to do anei. :P&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-6397988339978023124?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/6397988339978023124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=6397988339978023124' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6397988339978023124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6397988339978023124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/07/p-p-p-poke-her-face-please.html' title='P-p-p-Poke Her Face. Please.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-8528747043893152850</id><published>2009-05-31T09:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-31T09:12:51.159-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tomato potato wtf is up with the english language'/><title type='text'>The Differance Between Tomatos, Potatos... Just read it :P</title><content type='html'>-      ×  Sαsнiпi  ×    says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt; Shuddup. I shall throw puhtayyytuhs at yuh.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[c=14][a=1][b]ĸεн-Ιsiιδυя[/b][/c][/a]  | [b][c=19]Is It Any Wonder?[/c][/b] says:&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt; puhtayyytuhs. xD&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-      ×  Sαsнiпi  ×    says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt; Puhtayyyyytuhs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt; Does anyone actually say 'pot-ah-toes' as opposed to potatoes?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt; O_o&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt; I say to-mah-to  :P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[c=14][a=1][b]ĸεн-Ιsiιδυя[/b][/c][/a]  | [b][c=19]Is It Any Wonder?[/c][/b] says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt; Yes. o_o&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt; They sound retarded, I swear. =/&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt; Wait, to-mah-to? O_o&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt; Or tuh-mah-toe"?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-      ×  Sαsнiпi  ×    says:&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt;Erm...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt; wait, lemme say it a zillions times  :P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[c=14][a=1][b]ĸεн-Ιsiιδυя[/b][/c][/a]  | [b][c=19]Is It Any Wonder?[/c][/b] says:&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt;Howkay.  ;P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-      ×  Sαsнiпi  ×    says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt; To-mah-to. With less emphasis on the 'to' at the end.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(51, 204, 255);"&gt; Oh god, this is such a classic conversation. O_o&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[c=14][a=1][b]ĸεн-Ιsiιδυя[/b][/c][/a]  | [b][c=19]Is It Any Wonder?[/c][/b] says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt; Hm, okay. As in "2-mah-toh?" I don't get how YOU pronounce it as! O_o I say "tuh-mah-toes". It's as easy &amp;amp; simple as it gets.  ;P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 204, 0);"&gt; Classic conversation indeed&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-      ×  Sαsнiпi  ×    says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt; As in, I don't drag out the word. &amp;amp; yeah, '2-mah-to' it is  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(51, 204, 255); font-weight: bold;"&gt; This should be quoted somewhere xD&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(204, 204, 255);"&gt;Yes, we're a couple of modayas. :P Dont judge us :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So- I hope this clears up the decade-long 'To-may-to, To-mah-to' debacle.&lt;br /&gt;Potatoes, too.&lt;br /&gt;I love the British &amp;amp; the Irish. :P&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/4389686513908441265-8528747043893152850?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/8528747043893152850/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=8528747043893152850' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8528747043893152850'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8528747043893152850'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/05/differance-between-tomatos-potatos-just.html' title='The Differance Between Tomatos, Potatos... Just read it :P'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-6360677127313197525</id><published>2009-05-14T04:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-14T04:33:52.488-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Pocket god pocket blog game app application iPod iPhone reveiw'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Hey you guys! Guess who finally remembered she even had a blog? ;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, in my defence- everythings been pretty hectic lately. Exams, love-life crisis, my trip to Sri Lanka &amp; my impending trip to Italy &amp; France etc. So HAH! I have a perfect alibi. ^^&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually had no purpose as such in mind when I first logged in. Not writing-wise, anyway. &lt;br /&gt;I logged in to become a follower of the Pocket Blog- which is Allan (creator of Pocket God)'s blog, &amp; portal into the world of all things Pocket God. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So then it hit me- Im going to do a reveiw on Pocket God. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is Pocket God, you ask? It's an iPhone/ iPod Touch application that you can purchase from the App Store for $0.99 (Soon to be $1.99). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What you do in Pocket God is basically be the god of these two islands which are inhabited by these cute little natives called Oogs (previously called 'pygmies', but some nutjob made a huge fuss over it &amp; it had to be changed. Bummer). &lt;br /&gt;Basically all you do is kill them in all these fantastic ways- like with lightning,a  shark, hurricanes, a volcano, etc. Even a dinosaur &amp; a vampire! &lt;br /&gt;Well, you gotta feed them too. Fish &amp; coconuts are on the menu 24/7. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There really isn't a word good enough to describe this mini-world adventure. All I can say is that it will always remain my favourite app. &amp; I know I'm not the only person this applies to. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So if you have an iPhone or iPod Touch- I would recommend this app. It's well worth the money, &amp; the weekly (well, not exactly 'weekly' anymore. Let's say... Frequent) updates that makes this app even more priceless.&lt;br /&gt;For more information, &amp; tons of PG news, go to www.pocketgod.blogspot.com&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pocket God forever!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All right, I'm off to toss a few Oogs into the volcano. Ciao, people!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-6360677127313197525?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/6360677127313197525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=6360677127313197525' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6360677127313197525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/6360677127313197525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/05/hey-you-guys-guess-who-finally.html' title=''/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-1294747443990859620</id><published>2009-02-16T08:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-16T10:04:31.719-08:00</updated><title type='text'>All I Wanna Do Is [BANGBANGBANGBANG] &amp; [$$$$] &amp; Take Your Money..</title><content type='html'>Just so you know, I am suffering from an insane bout of insomnia, and cannot be held responsible for any nonsense that may offend you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right. Excuses made. Now to the good stuff!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, I shall rant about Valentines Day. Bit late, but who cares. It was such a sucky day for me, and deserves to be bitched about. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However,I know that  all of you may disagree with me when I  say that Valentines Day was only created to:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A) Celebrate your love for all those near and dear to you&lt;br /&gt;B) buy them thoughtful little presents to fully highlight the fact&lt;br /&gt;C) Appreciate the love that you are surrounded with. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PAH! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I hope you really didn't think that I was saying that shit. I'd rather shoot myself instead. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hell- to be honest, I think V-Day is grossly overrated. All it does is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A) make Hallmark &amp; such companies richer than they already are. And it's not like the card-artists who actually MAKE the cards are the people who benefit. They get only a teeny-tiny fraction of the total income collectively.&lt;br /&gt;Man, I almost forgot the damn chocolate companies! JESUS H. CHRIST! Those people might as well make chocolate with money in it, since they're so over-loaded with the stuff! (Lamest thing I could say. But I've suddenly run out of steam.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;B) Okay, fine- the people with significant others might have a great time &amp; all, but what about us poor losers who're all alone with absolutely no chance of scoring a date? I am actually surprised that the suicide rate doesn't rise that much on V-Day, because hell- I felt like killing myself (metaphorically. Because that's just too emo.). The loneliness, well, sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C) You can barely go out anywhere!!!! The air is too thick with all the luuuurve.&lt;br /&gt;*gags audibly* &amp; all the restaurants are packed with lovey-dovey couples &amp; all you want to do is throw a cream pie at their faces (What is it about cream pies that make you want to throw them at someone? They must not taste very nice, I guess.).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then again, there is the odd scene where the girl(/guy?) gets all tearful/angry/hysterical &amp; throws her drink at her(/his) date (no jokes! I've actually seen this happen in real life. &amp; here I thought cliches were for the movies. -__- )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could go on &amp; on. But now I fear that all of you who actually like V-Day might hunt me down &amp; try to kill me (To which I say: Join the queue, bud.), so I shall shut up now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keep the peace!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-1294747443990859620?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/1294747443990859620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=1294747443990859620' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1294747443990859620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1294747443990859620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/02/all-i-wanna-do-is-bangbangbangbang-take.html' title='All I Wanna Do Is [BANGBANGBANGBANG] &amp; [$$$$] &amp; Take Your Money..'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-4160601060942261134</id><published>2009-02-12T06:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-12T06:48:39.155-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dancing Pigeons &amp; Theories</title><content type='html'>Haha, the funniest thing just happened!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, you know me nahh. I tend to go a little psychotic sometimes (Sometimes? Hmm. Try often.), &amp; I do wierd &amp; random stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, today, I was dancing to 'Just Dance' by Lady Gaga (It gets me hyperactive, at least for now.) &amp; all of a sudden there's this tap on my window, &amp; I'm like 'MOTHERF... THE MI5 ARE HERE TO PERMANENTLY SILENCE ME!" &amp; then I started praying, &amp; asking for forgiveness for that one time I stole a ginormous jar of cookies &amp; ate them in one go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;..Aaaand it turns out to be a pigeon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that wasnt the wierd bit! The pigeon started BOBBING IT'S FREAKING HEAD IN TIME WITH THE BEAT!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man, normally I hate pigeons- But this pigeon is TEH SEX! WHO CAN DANCE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, okay, it cant dance. But it BOBBED IT'S HEAD! That has to be the smartest pigeon I have ever met.&lt;br /&gt;Well, I cant say 'met', can I? It's not like I suddenly went upto it &amp; shook its claw &amp; said 'Hi, Pigeon. You've got fab moves!' or something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that made me think. Do animals dance? I mean, do they even recognise music?&lt;br /&gt;&amp; I'm not talking about the Disney animals who not only dance, but sing &amp; rule in absolute monarchy over 'all that the sun touches' (See: Lion King. I love it. xD )&lt;br /&gt;But, I mean real animals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Huh. I have some major testing to do on my dog (If that lazy fat-ass actually gets up &amp; doesnt flop back down in 5 seconds.).&lt;br /&gt;But then, animal testing is wrong. Elle Woods enlightened us all of that fact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess it will remain an interesting if slightly ignored mystery for ever more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unless someone take in interest in all I have to say, &amp; finds the solution. But like most geniuses, I'll be dead by then- so I wouldnt know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-4160601060942261134?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/4160601060942261134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=4160601060942261134' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/4160601060942261134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/4160601060942261134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/02/dancing-pigeons-theories.html' title='Dancing Pigeons &amp; Theories'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-682259190573699301</id><published>2009-01-28T08:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-28T09:19:21.153-08:00</updated><title type='text'>[Too frazzled to think of a good title]</title><content type='html'>You know how it is when there's this certain day where you feel that nothing can go right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah. Imagine a whole year or more of that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp; I do mean that absolutely NOTHING is going right. It's been such a disasterous year already. A fresh new batch of problems to add to last years miserable, old ones. &lt;br /&gt;Forget the whole optimistic crap. I'm back to whining, &amp; if you don't like it &amp; can't "put up with it", I suggest you go do whatever the hell you want to, &amp; never return- instead of getting me to shut the hell up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I won't. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know why I won't? Because I'm a born whiner. Okay? I whine. It's the only thing I have going for me. Usually, I would whine to the peope I love, but since they can't take it, I whine to myself. Because that is all I know how to do. I don't have the freaking courage to actually solve the problem, but I do the next best thing. You don't need me to repeat the word again, yes?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp; yes, it may not be a very admirable quality. &amp; yeah, I can be very stubborn &amp; annoying. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But that's who I am. I mean, it's not ALL of me- but it's part of the whole package. Unfortunately- or fortunately- nobody is perfect. &amp; I am pretty damn far from it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm not going to change who I am just because a few people can't stand it. Okay, I'll try to cut down, but it'll never go away completely. &amp; you can't expect me to do that. You can't expect me to change who I am just because you don't like it, &amp; it pissed you off. There's the good AND the best. It's either both or bust. Take it or leave it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because if someone tells me to shut up one more time... It won't be very pretty. Trust me on that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-682259190573699301?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/682259190573699301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=682259190573699301' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/682259190573699301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/682259190573699301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/01/too-frazzled-to-think-of-good-title.html' title='[Too frazzled to think of a good title]'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-3095251623110605615</id><published>2009-01-14T03:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-14T03:43:24.936-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Do fresh starts exist...?</title><content type='html'>...No, but I'd like to think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because that's what I'm doing now. Starting fresh. I got a completely differant hairstyle, &amp; I like to think I'm a completely differant person from who I used used to be. A better one. Lets call the new me Sashi 2.0 .&lt;br /&gt;See, I have this daydream. Sashi 2.0 is an ultra-cool ,uber-smart, supermodel-ish person, &amp; she goes around acting as if she owns the world. &amp; she does, practically. The people she doesn't like &amp; who dont like her dont stand a chance HERE. She will KICK THEIR ASSES.&lt;br /&gt;(Sometimes, I have a daydream about the real me kicking HER ass for being a too-perfect unicorn. But that's another story.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, obviously my daydream is not going to come true. &amp; I wont LET myself get all pompous like that. Buuuuut, she's a good role-model. I'm working towards that. Not that I'll achieve it, but hey. We all need something to push us on. For me, it's the idea of an upgraded version of myself (amongst other things.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See? I'm moving on. I never thought I would, but I am&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-3095251623110605615?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/3095251623110605615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=3095251623110605615' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3095251623110605615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3095251623110605615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/01/do-fresh-starts-exist.html' title='Do fresh starts exist...?'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-440513522869341390</id><published>2009-01-05T05:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T05:24:26.818-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Note:</title><content type='html'>Well, as I've just been made aware of, a whole lot of stuff has been happening while I was gone. Involving this blog. Well, one post of it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just so all of you know, I was only kind of exaggerating. Okay, I was really exaggerating. She's not at all a skank. In fact, she's one of the nicest people I know. &amp; that stuff about, like, him. I was a bit mean. He's not so bad, i guess.&lt;br /&gt;But hey, I was pissed off. For good reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now, I guess it doesn't matter. The damage is done &amp; all. But I'm not too upset. Because this whole experience has taught me who my real friends are. &amp; I'm thankful for that, I guess. All that I have &amp; those I rely on, I'm thankful for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp; I think that's how it should be.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-440513522869341390?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/440513522869341390/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=440513522869341390' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/440513522869341390'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/440513522869341390'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2009/01/note.html' title='Note:'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-8151621965666620002</id><published>2008-12-20T06:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-20T06:08:27.984-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hellooooo...</title><content type='html'>Well, I'm back. &amp; happier than ever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I've been annoyingly depressing so far. It's all apparently a 'tragi-comedy' according to my buddy Aisu. I agree. O_o&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my New Year's resolution (wayyy too early, I know. But sooner the better.) is to be more optimistic. It's gonna be pretttty hard, but I'm getting there. Starting RIGHT NOW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, just logged on to say MERRY CHRISTMAS &amp; A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! I know most of you are probably atheists/pessimists/downright scrooges but still. It's not the rituals that counts. It's the love. I'm a little low on that now, but I'm working on that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Keep the peace, people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-8151621965666620002?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/8151621965666620002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=8151621965666620002' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8151621965666620002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8151621965666620002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2008/12/hellooooo.html' title='Hellooooo...'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-3031456288027123368</id><published>2008-12-11T08:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-11T08:32:02.048-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='virtual wall'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='ex'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='rut'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='seriously'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='immature'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='suicidal'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='hate'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='emo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='questions'/><title type='text'>Like hahahahaha... What? Oh.</title><content type='html'>Well here I am. What left of me.&lt;br /&gt;God that was emo. OKay, NO emo. I hate emos. Unless it's my one &amp; only Sexy Emo.&lt;br /&gt;But I'm straying off the topic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well- believe it or not- I started this blog with the honest intention of saying something worthwhile. But I think I forgot.&lt;br /&gt;This wouldn't be the first time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh yes. I am unintentionally suicidal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No I'm not. WTF. I cant believe I said that. That is EMO. I do not LIKE emo.&lt;br /&gt;But if this is so, WHY are emo thoughts running through my head? Okay so big deal: My ex left me in his dust as he moved on to bigger &amp; better things in life. Whooo hooo. Big whoop. I'm happy for him, really. I mean, that proves that he's not as pathetic &amp; 'immature' as I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But seriously: where the hell does that leave me? Am I the ONLY retard who didn't move on? Seriously? SERIOUSLY?! Seriously. Am I forever destined to sit in this rut six feet under &amp; just look up at everyone moving on, wondering what it would feel like to be happy again? Are you freaking kidding me?! Does the big ruler-dude REALLY hate me as much as he/she seems to? What the HELL did I DO?!!?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dont even know why I'm posting all this here. It's not like anyone cares, right? Nobody's actually reading this, yeah? I'm just talking to a virtual wall here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, great. More questions. JUST what I needed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-3031456288027123368?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/3031456288027123368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=3031456288027123368' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3031456288027123368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3031456288027123368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2008/12/like-hahahahaha-what-oh.html' title='Like hahahahaha... What? Oh.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-3155111340201190004</id><published>2008-11-22T10:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-22T10:42:31.473-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='freyja odin oppressive insomnia kickass song'/><title type='text'>OPPRESSIVE INSOMNIA</title><content type='html'>ROOFS OPEN WIDE AND YOU FLY UP INTO THE SKY! SINGING LIKE MANIAC WANTING TO SET FIRE TO THE AIR! HEY HEY HEY! LET ME BE WHAT I WANTED ME TO BE!&lt;br /&gt;DONT TRY TO STAND IN MY WAY!!! DONT TRY TO TELL ME TO STAY!! REACHING UPTO THE STARS IS MY INCENTIVE- NOT YOURS!!! HEY HEY HEY! LET ME BE WHAT I WANT ME TO BE!&lt;br /&gt;GETCHA SELF A CHAIN TO HANG IT ON YER MANE! TO GET YER FEET BACK ON FUCKIN' EARTH BEFORE I SHOOTCHYA DOWN! DOWN DOWN DOWN! DON'T YOU TELL ME WHAT I WANT ME TO BE! HEY HEY HEY!!&lt;br /&gt;NOT GONNA RUN, NOT GONNA HIDE! GONNA FIGHT IT UNTIL I DIE! YOU CANT STOP WHATS RAGING WITHING! HEY HEY HEY! I'LL BE WHAT I FUCKING WANNA BE!&lt;br /&gt;LALALALALALA&lt;br /&gt;GODDAMN BUKKITS LET'S KILL THAT FUCKIN' WET SON OF A UMBALAKADA! HE DON'T DESERVE TO LIVE NOR BREATH! EE--YAAA! GROW YASELF SOME BALLS AND STAND UP LIKE A MAN, PUSSY!&lt;br /&gt;WHEN IT ALL COMES TEARING OUT, YOU'LL SEE! ALL WHAT I KNOW THAT I CAN BE! YOU'LL REALISE YOU'RE IN WAY OVER YOUR HEAD! &amp; IN YOUR GODFORSAKEN GRAVE YOU'LL BE LAID! WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO&lt;br /&gt;ME IS THE GREATEST! ME IS TEH FUCKING SEX! &amp; IF YOU CANT HANDLE IT, THEN GO FUCK A TREE YOU NOOB!&lt;br /&gt;HAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAAA&lt;br /&gt;UP YOOOOOOURS!!!&lt;br /&gt;SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM YOUR LUNGS OUT! TIL THE END OF THE UNIVERSE HERES US SCREAAM! LET THIS BE THE NIGHT TO CHANGE TO SEE TO HEAR TO DREAM! RAAAWRRR!&lt;br /&gt;Ooooooh YES I CAN! &amp; HELL YEAH, I WILL!&lt;br /&gt;MESS WIV ME ONCE MORE- YOU'D BE ROADKILL.&lt;br /&gt;STAND UP, DO IT LIKE IT YOU MEAN IT MOTHERFUCKER!"&lt;br /&gt;READ &amp; WEEP, BITCH!&lt;br /&gt;NANANANANANANANA&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-3155111340201190004?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/3155111340201190004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=3155111340201190004' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3155111340201190004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/3155111340201190004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2008/11/oppressive-insomnia.html' title='OPPRESSIVE INSOMNIA'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-1792425208348437928</id><published>2008-10-26T10:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-26T10:39:31.704-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='25 signs that computers and the internet rule your life'/><title type='text'>25 Signs That Computers &amp; The Internet Rule Your Life</title><content type='html'>Another random list that I found while browsing the Net. Needless to say: This list accurately describes me in some way or another. I admitted it- now it's your turn! =D&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt; You can't remember the last time you wrote an entire paragraph using a pen &amp;amp; paper.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You consider the Internet a basic utility.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; Between your Internet and your TV, you would rather lose your TV.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; Between your Internet and your phone line, you would rather lose your phone line.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; The Internet IS your phone line.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You carry a flash drive in your purse or pocket.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You carry a laptop you wherever you go-or you wish you could.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You have a callous on your right wrist, where you rest your hand when you use your mouse.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; Your “diary” is not protected with a lock and key, but with a username and password - and it is open to be read by anybody in the world.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You've joined an online forum and regularly post messages on it.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You are - or have been - a member of a Yahoo group.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You've watched 1,500 orange-clad prisoners dancing “Thriller” on YouTube.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You know the meaning of the word “google” - and if you don't, you simply Google it.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; When you hear the word “spam,” you don't think of food.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You've bought and sold things on eBay.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You've had an online love affair.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; Half your friends only know you by your user-name.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; The other half know your real name AND your user-name.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You've mastered computing the time in several different time zones because of all those online meetings you schedule with your Internet friends.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You no longer buy greeting cards; you get them free online and send them through email.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You no longer buy newspapers; your morning news is regularly sent to your inbox.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You no longer buy calendars; you use the one in your email reader or taskbar.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; If your wall clock suddenly disappeared, you wouldn't miss it very much either.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You don't keep pictures of your kids in your wallet, but you set them as your wallpaper and screen saver.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt; You need a computer view your children's photos.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;h3&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:&amp;quot;;" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/h3&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-1792425208348437928?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/1792425208348437928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=1792425208348437928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1792425208348437928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1792425208348437928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2008/10/25-signs-that-computers-internet-rule.html' title='25 Signs That Computers &amp; The Internet Rule Your Life'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-1386278021800290333</id><published>2008-10-15T06:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-15T07:13:09.578-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='67 reasons why it&apos;s great to be a girl'/><title type='text'>67 Reasons Why It's Great To Be A Girl</title><content type='html'>Well, while I was surfing the Net (as I am prone to doing on a fairly regular basis) ,  I found this inspiring list &amp;amp; I really want to share it with all of you.&lt;br /&gt;Girls- when you're feeling down, this list is sure to remind you of the "the advantages of womanhood" (quoted from my friend &amp;amp; fellow GA lover, Gayumi) =)&lt;br /&gt;Guys....This is how much we rock. Deal with it. =P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. You live longer.&lt;br /&gt;2. You mature faster.&lt;br /&gt;3. You never have to pay for a drink.&lt;br /&gt;4. Doors just get opened for you everywhere you go.&lt;br /&gt;5. Heavy things are for boys to take care of.&lt;br /&gt;6. So are spiders.&lt;br /&gt;7. You’re patient when it doesn’t work right and don’t opt to immediately throw it out the window.&lt;br /&gt;8. Taking pictures has real importance… it’s a documentation of your life.&lt;br /&gt;9. You can multi-task.&lt;br /&gt;10. You actually listen to directions.&lt;br /&gt;11. When going to a formal event, you get to wear just one article of clothing.&lt;br /&gt;12. You’re supposed to have a little woman meat on your hips.&lt;br /&gt;13. Johnny Depp.&lt;br /&gt;14. The bed is all yours.&lt;br /&gt;15. You can love and hate something at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;16. You (usually) get to be on bottom.&lt;br /&gt;17. You can fake it if you’re tired or bored and they’ll never know.&lt;br /&gt;18. Valentine’s Day is all about you.&lt;br /&gt;19. Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable” just makes you happy even if you hate the song.&lt;br /&gt;20. Baking is also a stress reliever.&lt;br /&gt;21. You can get a massage without a hard-on.&lt;br /&gt;22. “That time of the month” is a great excuse to be a bitch for a week.&lt;br /&gt;23. It’s also the best and most effective way to turn a guy down.&lt;br /&gt;24. OMG shoes. (!!!!)&lt;br /&gt;25. You think the idea of sack-tapping a guy is funny.&lt;br /&gt;26. It’s perfectly normal to have a 2 hour conversation with your best friend.&lt;br /&gt;27. In books or movies, happy endings actually make you happy.&lt;br /&gt;28. You read instructions.&lt;br /&gt;29. You already know you’ll be successful.&lt;br /&gt;30. The current president just makes you realize women should rule the world.&lt;br /&gt;31. You too get to think about sex 90% of your waking hours.&lt;br /&gt;32. Clothes shopping is not just a chore.&lt;br /&gt;33. Sex and the City &amp;amp; Grey's Anatomy.&lt;br /&gt;34. You never have to worry that by just picking up something you’ll crush it.&lt;br /&gt;35. If there’s a mirror, you’ll find it.&lt;br /&gt;36. No one seriously questions your sexuality if you kiss the same sex.&lt;br /&gt;37. Video games will forever be retarded.&lt;br /&gt;38. You love miniature things, like mini gummy bears or tiny marshmallows.&lt;br /&gt;39. Victoria's Secret Lip Plumper is just fun.&lt;br /&gt;40. God gave you enough blood to work both.&lt;br /&gt;41. Your ego isn’t the size of the US.&lt;br /&gt;42. Everything you need is in your purse.&lt;br /&gt;43. You take hot baths when you need to relax.&lt;br /&gt;44. You’re not considered a pussy if you don’t hook up.&lt;br /&gt;45. You feel totally comfortable asking for help or advice when lost or stuck.&lt;br /&gt;46. They buy the condoms.&lt;br /&gt;47. The Notebook.&lt;br /&gt;48. You can cry your way out of a speeding ticket.&lt;br /&gt;49. The thought of dinner with his family doesn’t scare you.&lt;br /&gt;50. The closet is yours and yours alone.&lt;br /&gt;51. The movie &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;300&lt;/span&gt; kinda made you orgasm.  Just a little. (haha.)&lt;br /&gt;52. When you’re mad, they might not find out until later when it’s convenient for you to let them know.&lt;br /&gt;53. Girls’ nights whomp ass over boys’ nights.&lt;br /&gt;54. You never have to deal with fixing electronics or cars.&lt;br /&gt;55. You’re hygienic.&lt;br /&gt;56. You can dance with the same sex at every opportunity.&lt;br /&gt;57. You know how to match.&lt;br /&gt;58. You know how to fold clothes.&lt;br /&gt;59. No one is afraid of you when you walk down a dark alley at night.&lt;br /&gt;60. Just talking about it makes you feel better.&lt;br /&gt;61. Prince William is now single.&lt;br /&gt;62. You never have to worry that the kid isn’t really yours.&lt;br /&gt;63. No one thinks it’s weird if you squeal or make noises instead of words.&lt;br /&gt;64. The idea of a man servant really appeals to you.&lt;br /&gt;65. You will never be drafted.&lt;br /&gt;66. No one secretly wonders how big you really are.&lt;br /&gt;67. You support world peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-1386278021800290333?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/1386278021800290333/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=1386278021800290333' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1386278021800290333'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1386278021800290333'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2008/10/66-reasons-why-its-great-to-be-girl.html' title='67 Reasons Why It&apos;s Great To Be A Girl'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-5648206664642507119</id><published>2008-10-11T13:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T13:53:25.674-07:00</updated><title type='text'>And the sugar kicks in....</title><content type='html'>Here I am, it's about 2 am, I've had a busy day- By all rights I should be knocked out stone cold by now...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yet I cant bloody sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Insomnia is just plain cruel. My internal clock is all messed up now, and I swear I'm becoming delirious- on top of all my normal problems &amp;amp; ailments.&lt;br /&gt;THIS IS NOT FUNNY! Its becoming pathetic. And sad. And annoying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And oh my god, I don't even want to think of what's going to happen in the morning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jeez, I'm losing it. I live in a zombie-like state by day &amp;amp; waste my time browsing mindlessly on the Net by night. I snap at my best friends, I'm irritable, I'm unreasonable, I'm incorrigible, I'm horrible by day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh God, what's happening to me? I wasn't like before. I was a total morning person before. &amp;amp; I used to knock out completely by about 10 every night.&lt;br /&gt;I was happier, brighter, perkier, more patient &amp;amp; overall &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;nicer&lt;/span&gt; before....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before what, exactly? Not before moving here. Not before I met...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh. Okay. Yeah, I know whats keeping me up. What's tormenting me so much. What's completely shook up my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love. Bloody, stinking love. The best &amp;amp; worst thing that could happen to anyone like me.&lt;br /&gt;Bloody fucking cruel, insufferable, annoying, wonderful love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck. This just got more complicated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-5648206664642507119?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/5648206664642507119/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=5648206664642507119' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/5648206664642507119'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/5648206664642507119'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2008/10/and-sugar-kicks-in.html' title='And the sugar kicks in....'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-8745933892970348306</id><published>2008-09-21T00:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T00:31:17.959-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Don't get me wrong...</title><content type='html'>...This is so not a self-help site. Honestly- &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I'm&lt;/span&gt; the one who needs help here.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-8745933892970348306?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/8745933892970348306/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=8745933892970348306' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8745933892970348306'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/8745933892970348306'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2008/09/dont-get-me-wrong.html' title='Don&apos;t get me wrong...'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-690901131617035466</id><published>2008-09-20T11:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T02:23:42.752-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Wow. This is pretty addictive.</title><content type='html'>So much to say- so little words that can convey it the way I want it to.&lt;br /&gt;So what should I write about? &amp;amp; in answer to your unasked question- Yes- I am ranting &amp;amp; No- I will not shut &lt;span&gt;up&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;So I'm going to rant about...Ranting.&lt;br /&gt;Everyone does it- whether unintentionally or not. Its human nature. When we feel the need- we contract a case of verbal diarrhea &amp;amp; we spill our guts out about whatever subject that is at the top of our list of thoughts. Simple, no?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;For the introverted species of human (like me.) this is not as easy as it sounds. We have...&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Issues&lt;/span&gt;- concerning laying our thoughts down for everyone to hear &amp;amp; see. As I said before- It's human nature. But even introverts have to get it out in some way or another.&lt;br /&gt;Hence, the many benefits of &lt;span&gt;blogging&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is -nowadays- not just for the budding artists, authors, poets &amp;amp; such to express their unpublished work, or something like that. It also helps the many '&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;hermits&lt;/span&gt;' &amp;amp; such people in the world to get out a bit. Stretch our cramped-up, creative wings. Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In any case- My advice to all the introverts out there, nursing a pent-up urgency to share their thoughts, or in any case- Looking for a way to share their ideas against their nature...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span&gt;Blog it&lt;/span&gt;. I'm serious. It helps a LOT. &amp;amp; in this way, those of you want it to remain anonymous (as many are wont to do), you can. &amp;amp; those of us (myself included) who have issues about public speaking, or anything to do with standing out - we can just tap it out on the keyboard &amp;amp; press one little button that will guarantee us peace of mind- it is possible now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So get started. Tap out your current state of mind, whatever you have penned up &amp;amp; are dying to get noticed for- but are too scared to take the first steps. It's all worth it- Believe me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honestly, I'm feeling a lot better now. Ranting really does help.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-690901131617035466?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/690901131617035466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=690901131617035466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/690901131617035466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/690901131617035466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2008/09/wow-this-is-pretty-addictive.html' title='Wow. This is pretty addictive.'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4389686513908441265.post-1493492527541989225</id><published>2008-09-20T11:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T02:20:41.083-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='first blog human wordprocessor rant gifted'/><title type='text'>Hmmm...</title><content type='html'>Well...My first blog.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not going to pretend that I know anything about it. I most certainly do not- &amp;amp; I am most certainly not one of those human word-processors who convulsively swallow up seemingly random words &amp;amp; spit it out in perfect order. I know many people who can- but, unfortunately, not all are blessed with this so-called 'gift of gab'.&lt;br /&gt;So....blogging. So far- it just seems to me like I'm just talking to myself. Or to a wall or something. Is there really a point to this? To the above-mentioned literary connoisseurs, there is. But to the rest of us- the 'little people'? Yeah..Not so much.&lt;br /&gt;So- what do the poor, normal mortals do to make up for their lack of special ability?&lt;br /&gt;Bloody hell. I don't know, really. They probably just curse the lucky bastards, like I'm doing now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/4389686513908441265-1493492527541989225?l=invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/feeds/1493492527541989225/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=4389686513908441265&amp;postID=1493492527541989225' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1493492527541989225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/4389686513908441265/posts/default/1493492527541989225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://invasivesinkholes.blogspot.com/2008/09/hmmm.html' title='Hmmm...'/><author><name>She Who Eats Cookies</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02648357928311722000</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='29' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_zqgk71uLjPw/SlmkoiPRFvI/AAAAAAAAABI/TalRhEUULKI/S220/coolmelulz.bmp'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
