<?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-6319551145986611831</id><updated>2011-11-27T16:15:41.795-08:00</updated><category term='xbox'/><category term='Videogames'/><category term='navy'/><category term='red ring of death'/><category term='360'/><title type='text'>SnapFoo</title><subtitle type='html'>Where fantasy just might marry reality.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>14</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-1586333313605976287</id><published>2010-08-16T07:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-16T07:50:24.645-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='navy'/><title type='text'>Its been long...</title><content type='html'>I've graduated high school and moved to a new state since last posting. And I have since decided to enlist in the United States Navy because:&lt;br /&gt;1) I dont know what I want to do for college and do not want to waste money being 'undecided'&lt;br /&gt;2) I want the adventure of going on the high seas&lt;br /&gt;3)  I do not want to spend my life paycheck to paycheck because I work at a dead-end job with no future&lt;br /&gt;4) I want to be proud of myself for something.&lt;br /&gt;Some of my family is happy, some not so much. I love my family to death but this is my decision, not theirs, its my life and I will do with it what I will, whether they are behind me or not.&lt;br /&gt;They are, however, making me wait until Im 18 to go forward with anything, which is a drag considering I plan things out carefully and the later I go in the later I get out. So this friday, the 20th, I plan on calling a recruiter.&lt;br /&gt;Im excited but nervous and at the same time terrified that I wont make it in due to stupidity of being young, but the stars say to be patient and things will fall into place.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-1586333313605976287?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/1586333313605976287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=1586333313605976287' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/1586333313605976287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/1586333313605976287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2010/08/its-been-long.html' title='Its been long...'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-7045519401357367251</id><published>2009-06-25T11:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-25T12:12:04.067-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='360'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='xbox'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='red ring of death'/><title type='text'>trouble in paradise</title><content type='html'>Time has passed, school year over, friends moved on, and spring is here. What more could a girl ask for? I've been in a relatively great mood for weeks now and all is good, except recently I've been notified by my ten-year-old brother that our nearly two-year-old &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Xbox&lt;/span&gt; 360 has been consumed by the ever dreaded Red Ring of Death. Now, at first I was understandably confused because I had no idea what it initially meant, so I looked it up on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; and found out that the number of notches( I had three) depicted what exactly was wrong with the machine. 1 notch was something very minor, 2 notches meant a wire &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;wasnt&lt;/span&gt; hooked all the way or something along those lines, but 3 and 4 notches &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;meant&lt;/span&gt; something was seriously wrong with the 360: as in 3 was a soon-to-come mechanical meltdown and 4 being your $200 360 was dead and there was really nothing you could do about it.&lt;br /&gt;Well, after a bit of research I looked up the problem and how to fix it and it was either spend a bit of money to have Microsoft themselves fix it, which I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;dont&lt;/span&gt; see why they &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;couldnt&lt;/span&gt; have just made sure the problem was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;solved&lt;/span&gt; before they shipped out the cargo but whatever, I could buy a new 360, which &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;wasnt&lt;/span&gt; going to happen or I could fix the problem myself, which included voiding the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;warranty&lt;/span&gt;, taking apart the entire system and messing around with the motherboard and soldering the disconnected wires myself.&lt;br /&gt;I've taken apart my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;ps&lt;/span&gt;2 and fixed a serious problem it had so I know my way around a game system, but my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;ps&lt;/span&gt;2 was &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;at least &lt;/span&gt;five years old when I fixed it and the 360 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;wasnt&lt;/span&gt; nearly as old or as cheap as the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;sony&lt;/span&gt; machinery and I was a little &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;apprehensive&lt;/span&gt; about 'having my way' with the white system. After about an hour and a half of exploration and tweaking I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;couldnt&lt;/span&gt; for the life of me find a soldering iron in my house and had to give up and put the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;xbox&lt;/span&gt; back together. Before I went to bed I made sure it would turn on again(&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;success&lt;/span&gt; on that but still red ring of death) and went to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;But, Nicole, did you fix the problem?&lt;br /&gt;Yes I did. How?&lt;br /&gt;A towel.&lt;br /&gt;Yes, you read right, a &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;towel. &lt;/span&gt;After a&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;bit more research on the 'trusty' &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt;, I found out that I could fix my $200 game system with a $3 towel from target. Let me explain...apparently if I wrapped my 360 in a towel and let it run for about 20 minutes the system would overheat and the disconnected wires would 'melt' themselves together. After I followed the above instructions I turned off and on my system once...victory! The formally red ring turned a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;cheerful&lt;/span&gt; green and I was once again able to spend hours on a game that would rot my brain.&lt;br /&gt;All is well in the gaming world once again thanks to a towel and a few &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;distraught&lt;/span&gt; fellow gamers who with a bit of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20"&gt;curiosity&lt;/span&gt; figured out the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21"&gt;simplest&lt;/span&gt; solution to a problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://boards.ign.com/xbox_360_general_board/b8266/134948270/p1/?115"&gt;The oh-so-helpful link&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-7045519401357367251?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/7045519401357367251/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=7045519401357367251' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/7045519401357367251'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/7045519401357367251'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2009/06/trouble-in-paradise.html' title='trouble in paradise'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-7086847091293676167</id><published>2008-07-27T16:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-27T16:53:44.782-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sunday bloody sunday</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;boredboredbored.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Why?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I'll tell you why.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Its sunday. A hot, lonely, sweaty sunday.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;On the plus side, its my mom's birthday. My sister and I got her a logic puzzle book when I saw Dark Knight for the second time, and we made her a card; along with my brother. My dad brought home an ice cream cake, which we'll all eat when they get home from the city.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And I felt like blogging.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But Im bored.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;boredboredbored.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-7086847091293676167?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/7086847091293676167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=7086847091293676167' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/7086847091293676167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/7086847091293676167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2008/07/sunday-bloody-sunday.html' title='sunday bloody sunday'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-2517464809200468424</id><published>2008-07-25T20:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-25T21:12:00.947-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I saw The Dark Knight the other day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;LOVED IT&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff6666;"&gt;Heath Ledger&lt;/span&gt; was amazing. Ive seen him in other movies before but he was so disturbing in Dark Knight.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;As great as the movies was there always has to be a flaw in the plan right? Right.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Let me lay down the setting: My house around 2ish maybe. Ashley call Lexlex and asked her if we wanted to see The Dark Knight, I asked if I could bring my sister and said yes. Plan set. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;However we planned on a silly boy,(lets just call him 'Unsure' for now, shall we?), Unsure, to give us a ride to the movies because he is the only one of us, with us, with his licence. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Lets skip ahead a few hours to lexlex's house.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Unsure tells us he wont give us a ride but lex's grandma can, which means my sister, who wanted to see this movie since they announced its premiere, couldnt go with us. I had been informed later that after I had told her she started crying, making me feel like shit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Well lexlex and I went with Ashley and a few other people. Fabulous except for 4 girls in front of us giggling and being the shit headed whores they'll be in 10 years. At least until I said 'shh'. Lol little thing to say except they didnt say anything else the rest of the movie. yay for raising self esteem!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Next day I see it again with my sister and had little kids behind us kicking our seat /:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Well Im tired so bonne nuit.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-2517464809200468424?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/2517464809200468424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=2517464809200468424' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/2517464809200468424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/2517464809200468424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2008/07/i-saw-dark-knight-other-day.html' title=''/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-9978321769702066</id><published>2008-07-22T14:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-22T15:00:03.048-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Honestly Im just bored.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;3 weeks ago I moved into my new house. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;huzzah.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I love it. Even the little dent mark in the kitchen and the cracked tile in the bathroom.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I forgot how much I loved apartment life. It always was comforting to me. There's a pond/lake thing right outside our patio that I can fish in. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I wanted to show my friends but after I unpacked my clothes I droped my phone in the box and moved it into the living room. I couldnt find it forevvvver. When I did actually get it back I had about 20 missed calls and only 1 new voicemail.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Honestly I think what annoys me the most is that of all the people who called me only one person had the decentsy to verbally let me know they called. If I have more than one missed call, my phone wont let me know who called except for the last person. So I only knew that my lexlex &lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;3&lt;/span&gt; called(besides her voicemail).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Then I ran past my friend Josh on my way home from the library and he tells me he called me on one of those 20 missed calls. bah.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I think I may actually be not 'likeing' this summer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;0&gt;-&lt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;0&gt;-=&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; 0]-{&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; 0}-[&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;lol see them?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-9978321769702066?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/9978321769702066/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=9978321769702066' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/9978321769702066'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/9978321769702066'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2008/07/honestly-im-just-bored.html' title='Honestly Im just bored.'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-7052020679962359386</id><published>2008-07-04T23:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-04T23:35:28.489-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ramblings of an insomniac or pure genuis?</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;blah.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;So, it's 1:20 am on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;saturday&lt;/span&gt; July 5 and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; too awake to go to sleep, but too tired to go down stairs and do anything. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I move on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;monday&lt;/span&gt;, the 7&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; really excited, mainly because I can still go to my high school. First time that's ever happened. My sister's birthday is tomorrow. News wise, I think that's it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;lexi's&lt;/span&gt; birthday was last week and we went to the Taste of Chicago with her sisters and their boyfriend/friend. Honestly, I was glad to go. I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;havnt&lt;/span&gt; left my house &lt;em&gt;once&lt;/em&gt; except for that day this summer( at least that I can remember). It was a lot of fun and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; glad I went. Then that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;sunday&lt;/span&gt; she had the party. Twas...depressing for me. I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;wasnt&lt;/span&gt; feeling well and was out of my comfort zone so I left early, knowing that if I stayed I would have started crying and ruining everything for her. As I started walking home I started feeling bad and now I think she may be mad at me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But when I went home that day I looked up a bunch of shit, as I always so, and started looking at info on shyness and started feeling so crappy about everything. Being shy sucks ass and the only people who understand that are people who are shy to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;atleast&lt;/span&gt; the extent that I am, because it is incredibly debilitating.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;What sucks more is I just realised I used a wrong flower for a spell and now it might not work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;hell :/&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-7052020679962359386?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/7052020679962359386/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=7052020679962359386' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/7052020679962359386'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/7052020679962359386'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2008/07/ramblings-of-insomniac-or-pure-genuis.html' title='Ramblings of an insomniac or pure genuis?'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-5527674876986312505</id><published>2008-06-22T15:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-22T15:13:45.416-07:00</updated><title type='text'>heaven forbid i speak the truth</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;For a while now I've been thinking about some things. Mostly just personal things, but also things that involve my future.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; graduating high school in less then 2 years and that &lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;scares&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt; me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My family cant afford to help me pay for college, mind I may not even go to college if I stick to what I want to be, I cant get a job because &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; too young and people wont hire me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; also worried about my passion, traveling. I want to travel everywhere, London, Paris, Dublin, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Mumbai&lt;/span&gt;, Tokyo, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Hong&lt;/span&gt; Kong. I get so excited about the very thought of meeting people from every country. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;But again sneaks up the issue of money. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; getting desperate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Really desperate.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;It gets so scary that I cant even talk to people about it. I just sit and think and hope.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-5527674876986312505?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/5527674876986312505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=5527674876986312505' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/5527674876986312505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/5527674876986312505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2008/06/heaven-forbid-i-speak-truth.html' title='heaven forbid i speak the truth'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-4118690248413936962</id><published>2008-03-09T18:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-18T15:20:10.482-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh man...</title><content type='html'>hmmm....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Im starting to hate school more and more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish it were all over. Yet. I don't want it to be over. I never want school to be over.&lt;br /&gt;I just want to get rid of everybody. Everybody in my classes, everybody in the hallway, and even everyone of my few friends.&lt;br /&gt;I don't want either of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All they do is insult me and make me feel stupid and alone. And honestly, it's not worth it.&lt;br /&gt;My friend always makes fun of me for being in regular Biology and I got mad so I told her that the only difference between my class and her class is that her class is "more faster". A simple grammatical mistake like that and she mocks me and says, " is that why you're in English regulars too?".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I laughed. Only because I didn't want people to see I was hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I was hurt. Really hurt. And I cant even say anything to her about it because I know she will just laugh it off as if it was no big deal and say she's sorry and didn't mean it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She just doesn't seem to understand what's coming out of her mouth and the impact it has on people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you. I really do, but if you cant stop insulting me like that, then something has got to give.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-4118690248413936962?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/4118690248413936962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=4118690248413936962' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/4118690248413936962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/4118690248413936962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2008/03/oh-man.html' title='Oh man...'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-8191266839250722427</id><published>2008-03-08T16:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-08T16:26:37.350-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;I FEEL LIKE NOBODY CARES!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;color:#ff0000;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;That's what I want to yell to everybody in this wretched world. To me it is as if I have to play stupid just to keep up with everyone. And what's worse is that I feel that even my friends don't notice the pain I'm in. The thought of hurting myself comes into my mind more and more everyday. The fantasy of staying in that white hospital bed with nobody around becomes ever more comforting.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;When I was at the peak of my depression, I used to have this fantasy that I was standing in a huge open field of tall crab grass, no house, roads, cars near. The clouds look as if they are going to drop rain, but they never do. The air smells of a storm and thunder can be heard in the distance. There is not another human for miles, I'm alone...peaceful and undisturbed. It brings tears to my eyes just to think about it, that longing for something I cant have. I should try and think more positive, but the more positive I get the more negative I realise I can be. It is as if nothing matters anymore. Nothing is important. Not school, friends, lovers, not even family. I secretly wish I could be taken from this world, with no memory of me to anyone I ever met.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;Nothing.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;As if I never existed.&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/6319551145986611831-8191266839250722427?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/8191266839250722427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=8191266839250722427' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/8191266839250722427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/8191266839250722427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2008/03/i-feel-like-nobody-cares-thats-what-i.html' title=''/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-4787359292055521190</id><published>2008-01-04T17:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-18T18:13:12.190-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;*Caution* Emo-ness coming up *You have been warned*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#cccccc;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#999999;"&gt;Is it so wrong to just want to feel 'accepted'? No matter where I go, what I do, who I'm with, I always feel as if I shouldn't be there. If I'm having a conversation with my friends, I feel as if I shouldn't even be there, as if people don't want me there but talk to me anyway(just so I don't feel left out). If I'm even a millimeter close to getting a guy to like me...BAM...he backs off and I hardly see him anymore, if I do, it just gets awkward. It sucks, for real, and everyone I express this to says, oh you should go find him, you should figure this out on your own, you should this, you should that. Wow you guys, thanks, this is why I don't tell anybody anything anymore. Again I will say that I love you all, I cant say that enough.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ff0000;"&gt;*Emo-ness has ended*&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-4787359292055521190?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/4787359292055521190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=4787359292055521190' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/4787359292055521190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/4787359292055521190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2008/01/caution-emo-ness-coming-up-you-have.html' title=''/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-2205254798313041844</id><published>2007-12-11T18:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-11T18:45:31.626-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hmm....</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I miss my friends. I do. I miss being with them and not having moments of silence. I love my friends so very much but lately it seems like we all are drifting apart. I know that is one of the consequences of going into high school, but I will do my utmost to try and make it not happen. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I just wish I could cry with them sometimes, or just hug them and never let go. Times are changing. We are no longer little kids, no, we are high school students with lives and jobs.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;But my other side...doesn't want to believe that. It wants everyone to come outside and play. To go to the park and just swing or slide down the slide.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;I'm moving away from them...so is another one of my friends. That only makes the situation that much worse.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Lets just cross our fingers and home things get better.&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/6319551145986611831-2205254798313041844?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/2205254798313041844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=2205254798313041844' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/2205254798313041844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/2205254798313041844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2007/12/hmm.html' title='Hmm....'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-1875864578996070916</id><published>2007-11-25T19:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-09T11:42:02.784-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I got a hair cut today! I absolutely love it. Though in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;beginning&lt;/span&gt; I was a bit nervous because I let my mom, whom has as much experience with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cosmetology&lt;/span&gt; as a monkey with a pair of scissors, cut my hair. Oddly I trusted her and while she was cutting away at my, then mid-back, beautiful &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;hippy&lt;/span&gt; hair all I could think about what why some people &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;dont&lt;/span&gt; even give their parents the time of day. Not a phone call, not a simple hello. When I see teenagers(about my age) walking ahead of their moms in a mall or yelling at their dads to stop 'embarrassing' them in front of that oh-so-cute boy, who may actually be a complete jerk, I want to cry for them because for some reason I feel the pain the parents are feeling, even if they are not showing it. I always wonder if their kids understand the pain their parents are feeling. Yes, health, life, and love are what a parent wants in their kids but I believe that all a parent really wants is to be trusted enough to cut their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;childs&lt;/span&gt; hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5137678717818855842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/R0yzksGtYaI/AAAAAAAAAAs/mhITq0wb3cQ/s320/Gatlinburg.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;Love ya mom and dad&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-1875864578996070916?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/1875864578996070916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=1875864578996070916' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/1875864578996070916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/1875864578996070916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-got-hair-cut-today-i-absolutely-love.html' title=''/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/R0yzksGtYaI/AAAAAAAAAAs/mhITq0wb3cQ/s72-c/Gatlinburg.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-190480530065275421</id><published>2007-11-23T16:34:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-09T11:42:39.026-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Videogames'/><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Today I was playing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Urbz&lt;/span&gt;: Sims in the City. The point to the game is to go around different cities with different people and become friends with them. After about half an hour playing the game I decided to look on the back of it and read what it said, just for the fun of it. What did I read? One line that caught my eye was "Change your look. It affects how people react to you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/R0dzJjbqd9I/AAAAAAAAAAU/8b0Q3xZseog/s1600-h/urbz.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5136200508006627282" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/R0dzJjbqd9I/AAAAAAAAAAU/8b0Q3xZseog/s200/urbz.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought this was funny, for many reasons, most of which &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; sure you can g&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;uess&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My 9 year old brother has a video game that completely off set me called 25 To Life. The cover seemed to explain the game but I thought I'd take a look on the back. I can tell you that I honestly almost &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;didnt&lt;/span&gt; give the game back to my brother. Right on the back where it tells you what the game is about it said, "Play with up to 16 people, make a gang, kill traitors, and run from the police..." I could not believe that my parents had let a 9 year old even look at such a game, but they did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will honestly tell you that I am not a big believer on the theory that video games with violence affect a kids decisions in life, but now that I think about it these two games are only a spoon-full of what kids are playing these days. In The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Urbz&lt;/span&gt;, you have to dress like the people in that city for them to accept you, is this not some how able to influence a kid's mind. In 25 To Life, you have to create a gang, kill people, rob casinos, and steal from stores, if that is not a little extensive for a game I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;dont&lt;/span&gt; know what is. Yes, parents should be watching what kids are playing and buying. In a perfect world everybody under 18 will only play E and T rating games but kids are getting a hold of games that are rated M and even the Devil of Ratings, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;AO&lt;/span&gt;. If a teen cant get a hold of the game from their parents, they go to a friends house, where they might have it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-190480530065275421?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/190480530065275421/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=190480530065275421' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/190480530065275421'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/190480530065275421'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2007/11/today-i-was-playing-urbz-sims-in-city.html' title=''/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/R0dzJjbqd9I/AAAAAAAAAAU/8b0Q3xZseog/s72-c/urbz.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6319551145986611831.post-8474380499138272207</id><published>2007-11-09T20:35:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-09T11:43:16.104-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Get out there and vote, for heavens sake.</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/RzU-zKyj1zI/AAAAAAAAAAM/ztrKJsya-M4/s1600-h/voting.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5131076399249217330" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/RzU-zKyj1zI/AAAAAAAAAAM/ztrKJsya-M4/s200/voting.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;At what point did the American way of 'Free Speech!' and 'Accept All!' become a second opinion? When did that philosophy end up being thrown out of the window? Now, I will not try to act like I am older then I actually am, but I do remember that when I was in fourth grade the Presidential debate had begun with George W. Bush and Al Gore. My school had done a thing where all the students would have a 'mini' vote. For some reason, even way back then, I had a strange feeling that George Bush was not someone who would bring a positive outlook to the people of the United States, but never the less George Bush ended up winning the mini-vote and the real vote and became the new President of the United States. From what I can remember, at first he was an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt; guy, then 9/11 happened. The sensitive subject of many people dying was fully blamed on Al-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Qaida&lt;/span&gt;; a terrorist group in the middle east. With the people of America in complete disarray and in a very weak point emotionally, we &lt;em&gt;needed &lt;/em&gt;someone to blame, so we believed what ever was thrown our way. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; going to safely say that that is when things started to go down hill. The first mistake Bush made was to go to war with Iraq. His reason? 1)To stop a civil war, 2)Stop, or at least slow down, the production and distribution of the plant used to make heroine, and 3)Stop anti-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;american&lt;/span&gt; propaganda or any thing related. My opinion? Bush had &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;absolutely&lt;/span&gt; no right to put the American people in danger because he &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;wasnted&lt;/span&gt; to appear as the 'hero' of his story, which we call &lt;strong&gt;LIFE&lt;/strong&gt;. Him saying that he wanted to kill to stop a civil war in a different country is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;absolutely&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ridiculous&lt;/span&gt;. It is really, none of our business, but because we were tricked in to a war it is now, in some way, our duty to carry out the mission of no missions. Does George Bush honestly think that he is going to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;be able&lt;/span&gt; to do &lt;em&gt;anything&lt;/em&gt; about the production and distribution of heroine? Is his sense of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;reality&lt;/span&gt; that far up in the clouds? Drugs are coming in from &lt;strong&gt;everywhere&lt;/strong&gt;! Not just the middle east, what makes them so special. What about, oh say, Cuba? Which is a LOT closer then the middle of Europe. His plan to stop people from hating us, has backfired so bad that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Im&lt;/span&gt; sure the American people will be feeling the shame for eons to come. Not only did we make a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;permanent&lt;/span&gt; enemy of places in the middle east, but now places far from the middle east are loathing us. The British think we all have never had a lick of education in our lives, the Asians think we will murder just for a wrong look, all because we voted for the wrong person. But &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;dont&lt;/span&gt; worry, George W. Bush is not all to blame for the United States downfall, no. The American people are. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Isnt&lt;/span&gt; it time that we open up our eyes to what surrounds us and take charge of what goes on in our country, is it a democracy, am I right. The world &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;doesnt&lt;/span&gt; see America as individual people, it sees us as the leader we vote for. If we vote for cocky morons to be our leader, American people are seen as cocky morons.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6319551145986611831-8474380499138272207?l=saturnascends.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/feeds/8474380499138272207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6319551145986611831&amp;postID=8474380499138272207' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/8474380499138272207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6319551145986611831/posts/default/8474380499138272207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://saturnascends.blogspot.com/2007/11/get-out-there-and-vote-for-heavens-sake.html' title='Get out there and vote, for heavens sake.'/><author><name>Nicole</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03343321672612351843</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/TGlQV5GNhiI/AAAAAAAAACU/XZnpvwrJsCw/S220/profile+picture.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Mkw7pWjJA0U/RzU-zKyj1zI/AAAAAAAAAAM/ztrKJsya-M4/s72-c/voting.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
