<?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-6742921109128412781</id><updated>2011-11-17T02:08:05.608-08:00</updated><title type='text'>pop-a-thought</title><subtitle type='html'>"It takes 46 muscles to frown, but only 4 to flip 'em the bird"</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>34</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-7393355125317645802</id><published>2008-02-19T14:39:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T23:42:07.824-08:00</updated><title type='text'>drawings + short story *these are all pretty messy... I was too lazy to clean them up and crop them, so... yeah.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tcB5gqw2I/AAAAAAAAADs/a06aeWnBD08/s1600-h/elephant.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168826185025241954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tcB5gqw2I/AAAAAAAAADs/a06aeWnBD08/s400/elephant.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;the most pimped-out elephant I've ever drawn. It's got like, what, 8 peircings?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tbcpgqw0I/AAAAAAAAADc/eyTLcTGF_0I/s1600-h/face+#1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168825545075114818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tbcpgqw0I/AAAAAAAAADc/eyTLcTGF_0I/s400/face+%231.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; breazy&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tbWpgqwzI/AAAAAAAAADU/hTP8_-1TwwI/s1600-h/face+#2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168825441995899698" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tbWpgqwzI/AAAAAAAAADU/hTP8_-1TwwI/s400/face+%232.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;mwahahaha. Oh, theres a reflection in the lip because its slightly indented from me pressing so hard with the lead... oops&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tbSpgqwyI/AAAAAAAAADM/chf9-GwptGI/s1600-h/lilly.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168825373276422946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tbSpgqwyI/AAAAAAAAADM/chf9-GwptGI/s400/lilly.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; since when the fuck do I spell people wrong?!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tbJJgqwxI/AAAAAAAAADE/FwqPW_Swj_Q/s1600-h/tree+(.5+cut+off).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5168825210067665682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tbJJgqwxI/AAAAAAAAADE/FwqPW_Swj_Q/s400/tree+(.5+cut+off).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; half of this drawing got cut off ;( the roots were awesome... also, theres a hole in it from when I had to put together a book thingie.... and I didnt feel like cropping the edges&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(SHORT STORY)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(spelling and grammar not included)&lt;br /&gt;(you steal this and I will track you down and burry you in my ex's backyard- I have trackers)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Her black hair billowed around her fragile body as she rounded down the curving path. Stones skipped under her dancing feet; blossoms wilted beneath her stony touch. Below her, a most horrific scene was spread: glass and weapons lay in pieces; corpses were strewn about like leaves on a crisp fall day. The stench of blood and death tainted the air. She smiled, bathing in her wondrous creation. How these humans were so dense, so trusting, she thought. She skipped down the remaining steps, humming a somber tune; the tune she first heard in this strange world, the tune that makes her what she is. Stepping over various corpses- her corpses- she found the one that had caused it all. The joy was immense, seeing his face again. She quickly stopped the smile from blooming on her face, knowing what it would do. But she was so happy, she thought. It wasn't the feeling of importance, but actual happiness. However, that wasn't right, as happiness would destroy every single part of what she was. She knelt before the frozen corpse, grasping the knife from his unmoving hand. She drew the knife swiftly across her palm, yelping slightly, as mortal metal burned her kind. The wind blew fiercely, tangling her hair in it's fury, blinding her very sight. She scraped her hands over her face, freeing some of the knots that blocked her vision. Quickly, she brushed her palm over the corpse's forehead, murmuring her ancient words. The corpse's eyes fluttered, becoming no longer a corpse- something a human would never encounter, or even want to. She grinned, but forced her features back into their neutral frown. Panic flooded the eyes of the thing that lay in front of her. Before it could make a sound, she hastily put a delicate hand over it's mouth, removing it to reveal a layer of ice. She dragged the thing to its feet, and lead it into the black churning hole of night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-7393355125317645802?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/7393355125317645802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=7393355125317645802&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/7393355125317645802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/7393355125317645802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/02/these-are-all-pretty-messy-i-was-too.html' title='drawings + short story *these are all pretty messy... I was too lazy to clean them up and crop them, so... yeah.'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7tcB5gqw2I/AAAAAAAAADs/a06aeWnBD08/s72-c/elephant.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-1592394515840860719</id><published>2008-01-27T15:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T17:20:14.089-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nuns and KFC</title><content type='html'>I was at New Port Creamery this fine evening, and we were discussing religion. Now, if you've read my profile, you'll well know I'm an atheist. No offence, and don't go off at me in the comments. I really &lt;em&gt;don't&lt;/em&gt; care what you think. But anyways, I was thinking about how if some scientist dude found out how to make a living cell from scratch, or discovered how the first cell came to be, that the government would probably obscure that information from being publicly known. Why, you ask? Because it would cause a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;freakin&lt;/span&gt;' uproar, that's why. All those religions out there would attack that one (or many) guy. Plus, if people actually believed this dude, then there would be a severe damage to our economy. Religion is worth &lt;em&gt;billions&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also managed to exclaim "Jesus Christ!" at the table, and minuets later found this priest guy giving me the evil eye. It was fucking hilarious. He had this ginormous frosted glass cross banging on his chest. He looked super strict, and his wife looked like she had been sucking on a lemon for a good hour. Either that, or she had some large, unknown object shoved up her ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another funny thing that had to do with food: my friends and I were eating ice-cream at the mall once in the food court, and we saw these two nuns eating friend chicken with cokes. &lt;em&gt;Actual&lt;/em&gt; cokes. There were in full dress, too- robes, HUGE crosses, those hat things... We managed to take a picture on one of my friends cell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Gah&lt;/span&gt;... I sound so tremendously boring in this post. It dismays me greatly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tot &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ziens&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(May no offence come to you, if you are indeed religious- I'm just enjoying being my plain old rude self :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-1592394515840860719?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/1592394515840860719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=1592394515840860719&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/1592394515840860719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/1592394515840860719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/nuns-and-kfc.html' title='Nuns and KFC'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-7841870840434762906</id><published>2008-01-22T16:21:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-22T16:53:28.926-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Me complaining about being depressed- move on to the previous post, if you will</title><content type='html'>I feel the need to express my sorrow and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;annoyance&lt;/span&gt; to you, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt; stranger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Yesterday&lt;/span&gt; I was 5 feet away from being hit by this drunk driver that was being chased high-speed by 3 cop cars. Scary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stuck my hand in the fan of one of the coolers at our store. Ouch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I counted about 8 guys who tried to pick me up &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;yesterday&lt;/span&gt; while I was walking down town. Joy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I won't be seeing my parents any more, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;they're&lt;/span&gt; too busy. I don't blame them, but I feel pissed that I'm pissed about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have something weird with my blood &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; been going on for years that is currently unidentified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I'm just pissed at myself for not caring about school and letting (some of) my grades get bad in the gifted program.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Huh, life sucks, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;doesn't&lt;/span&gt; it? The funny thing is that I know there are people out there who have worse lives than my teenage, self-pitied one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hey, I don't really care, but tell me how horrid (or good) your week has been in the comments. That should give me some source of entertainment and give me &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;something&lt;/span&gt; to think about for some five minuets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Random + last minuet thought:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;British&lt;/span&gt; man for performing arts today selling boot legged pets. Here's the script, I was the shop keeper (and Harry):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(fast paced)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man: Good morning, I'd like to buy a cat.&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: Certainly sir. I've got a lovely terrier. [indicates a box on the counter]&lt;br /&gt;Man: no, I want a cat really.&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: [taking box off counter and then putting it back on counter as if it is a different box] Oh yeah, how about that?&lt;br /&gt;Man: [looking in box] No, that's the terrier.&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: Well, it's as near as dammit.&lt;br /&gt;Man: Well what do you mean? I want a cat.&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: Listen, tell you what. I'll file its legs down a bit, take its snout out, stick a few wires through its cheeks. There you are, a lovely pussy cat.&lt;br /&gt;Man: Its not a proper cat.&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: What do you mean?&lt;br /&gt;Man: Well it wouldn't miaow.&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: Well it would howl a bit.&lt;br /&gt;Man: No, no, no, no. Er, have you got a parrot?&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: No, I'm afraid not actually guv, we're fresh out of parrots. I'll tell you what though ... I'll lop its back legs off, make good, strip the fur, stick a couple of wings on and staple on a beak of your own choice. [taking small box and rattling it] No problem. Lovely parrot.&lt;br /&gt;Man: How long would that take?&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: Oh, let me see ... er, stripping the fur off, no legs ... [calling] Harry! Can you do a parrot job on this terrier straight away?&lt;br /&gt;Harry: [off-screen] No, I'm still putting a tuck in the Airedale, and then I got the frogs to let out.&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: Friday?&lt;br /&gt;Man: No I need it for tomorrow. It's a present.&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: Oh dear, it's a long job. You see parrot conversion ... Tell you what though, for free, terriers make lovely fish. I mean I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;could do&lt;/span&gt; that for you straight away. Legs off, fins on, stick a little pipe through the back of its neck so it can breathe, bit of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;gold paint&lt;/span&gt;, make good ...&lt;br /&gt;Man: You'd need a very big tank.&lt;br /&gt;Shopkeeper: It's a great conversation piece.&lt;br /&gt;Man: Yes, all right, all right ... but, er, only if I can watch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-7841870840434762906?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/7841870840434762906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=7841870840434762906&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/7841870840434762906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/7841870840434762906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/me-complaining-about-being-depressed.html' title='Me complaining about being depressed- move on to the previous post, if you will'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-4481532106038400787</id><published>2008-01-21T10:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T10:37:41.598-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sex Dolls? WTF?!</title><content type='html'>Alright, I was watching this (46:52 long) "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;documentary&lt;/span&gt;" on &lt;em&gt;sex dolls. &lt;/em&gt;It wasn't even a spoof, I assure you it was all quite serious. Sappy background music and all. This was my face for forty minuets: O.o &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;wtf&lt;/span&gt; (um, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;don't&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;exactly&lt;/span&gt; know &lt;em&gt;why&lt;/em&gt; I was watching this, but it just kind of popped up...so I watched it...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, during the "documentary", they show all of these middle-aged men talking about their "loving partners" and them explaining how kissing is a bit awkward for them (this one came with a removable tongue...) and stuff. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;There's&lt;/span&gt; this black &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;emo&lt;/span&gt; guy talking about how "in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;beginning&lt;/span&gt;, it was just sex sex sex. But that we really got to know and love each other through all these years" or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;something&lt;/span&gt;. It showed him making out with it! UGH. First of all, if you need sex that bad, and your unable to obtain it, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;there&lt;/span&gt; are plenty of people willing to sell it. It &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;shouldn't&lt;/span&gt; be that hard. That would be cheaper than buying a $6,000-10,000 &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;piece&lt;/span&gt; of PLASTIC.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Here's&lt;/span&gt; the video if you want to enjoy making fun of it, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;certainly&lt;/span&gt; did... &lt;a href="http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3710987618964917848&amp;amp;q=sex+doll+documentary&amp;amp;total=9&amp;amp;start=0&amp;amp;num=10&amp;amp;so=0&amp;amp;type=search&amp;amp;plindex=8"&gt;http://video.google.com/videoplay?docid=3710987618964917848&amp;amp;q=sex+doll+documentary&amp;amp;total=9&amp;amp;start=0&amp;amp;num=10&amp;amp;so=0&amp;amp;type=search&amp;amp;plindex=8&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Excuse all the capitals and shit, by the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Peacies&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*extra random thought: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;yippi&lt;/span&gt;! Someone finally came out with melon-mint gum! I've been waiting for this moment for a year... I always mixed melon and mint...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-4481532106038400787?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/4481532106038400787/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=4481532106038400787&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4481532106038400787'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4481532106038400787'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/sex-dolls-wtf.html' title='Sex Dolls? WTF?!'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-4928670741694050284</id><published>2008-01-20T08:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-20T08:47:21.379-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Raver Techno and Screwups...and zombies</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Uuuuuugh&lt;/span&gt;. Tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe slept over to work on our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;science&lt;/span&gt; project...which was due last week. We have the hardest topic. The lung cells. There is NO fucking info on them. It's a tissue, for Jamie's sake! We &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt; get &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;a lot&lt;/span&gt; done, and we promised my parental units it would be done &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;yesterday&lt;/span&gt;. We ended up listening the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;raver&lt;/span&gt; techno until 3:00 am. It was fun I guess. Except for the fact that I'm not allowed to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;study with&lt;/span&gt; anyone ever again, due to lack of progress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Zoe took some pictures of me &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;posing&lt;/span&gt; in the creepy glow of the computer- I'll post them later when she Es them over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sound HALF-DEAD. Moans... stab-stab-stab.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eighty-eights. Peacies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-4928670741694050284?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/4928670741694050284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=4928670741694050284&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4928670741694050284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4928670741694050284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/raver-techno-and-screwupsand-zombies.html' title='Raver Techno and Screwups...and zombies'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-299630869089517687</id><published>2008-01-14T08:00:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-24T13:04:15.650-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fortune Cookies and Condoms</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;xD! I ate this fortune cookie today, and it said: pat yourself on the pat for making the right choice. Then I remembered this condom I found in the bathroom (eek! My mothers, presumably), and I taped the fortune to it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Can't wait till she finds it... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;toodles, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;me &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Guys! I'm so bored! Email me; it’s in the top right corner. I don’t care who you are, I just need some human interaction &lt;em&gt;quick&lt;/em&gt;!&lt;br /&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/6742921109128412781-299630869089517687?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/299630869089517687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=299630869089517687&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/299630869089517687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/299630869089517687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/xd-i-ate-this-fortune-cookies-today-and.html' title='Fortune Cookies and Condoms'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-450301946851590073</id><published>2008-01-13T12:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-13T13:15:08.866-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Rachel Ray Sucks!</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Teehee. We found a porno website that wasn't blocked on the school system... well, I didn't find it, but some other guy did, so we went around and opened the page on all of the computers. In case you were wondering what it was, it's &lt;a href="http://www.rachelraysucks.com/"&gt;www.rachelraysucks.com&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I transferred to my current school, I realized how perverted this age group was! It's like a fucking sexual kaleidoscope, that's how many couples there are. Alright, I'm not saying that I'm asexual or anything, but this is the year it's obvious everyone wants a boyfriend/girlfriend (or could it be sex?). OK, so I do want a boyfriend, but I just haven’t met anyone that I actually like in this school. The one guy I was kind of interested in is the only person I haven’t spoken to in my grade. I'm not even kidding. Either he doesn’t talk to anyone (which is completely untrue), or he's avoiding me. That kind of makes me laugh. Whatever, I dont really care. Why focus on that stuff when there so much else?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bleach! Very cliché post, I'll have to try harder than this :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peace.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-450301946851590073?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/450301946851590073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=450301946851590073&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/450301946851590073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/450301946851590073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/rachel-ray-sucks.html' title='Rachel Ray Sucks!'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-5577757584555281684</id><published>2008-01-12T11:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-13T12:55:32.274-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blood</title><content type='html'>I had to leave school early &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;yesterday&lt;/span&gt;, in the middle of a test, because I was getting really dizzy and hot and I couldn't concentrate. This happens often. The nurse checked my blood pressure or whatever, and it was really, really low. I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;couldn't&lt;/span&gt; really feel my pulse today. Guys, there really is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;something&lt;/span&gt; wrong with me. Even though it effects my joints too, it's been pretty obvious that it has to do with my blood. I get pounding headaches and burning eyes, and most of the time when I get up everything goes black and fuzzy, and then normal. It's really scary. Am I going to die or something?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still waiting to go get all the stupid tests done... going back to the doctors for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;hundredth&lt;/span&gt; time on Monday. Lots of blood tests to be done. Blood blood blood. It's weird. I like blood, but I hate it when other people but myself take it from me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-5577757584555281684?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/5577757584555281684/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=5577757584555281684&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5577757584555281684'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5577757584555281684'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/blood.html' title='Blood'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-4021797707437320044</id><published>2008-01-08T17:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-13T13:16:22.413-08:00</updated><title type='text'>the unfairity (?) of it all</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;FUUUUUCK! My dad changed my password on aim. I can’t even read my mail. I feel like committing suicide, that's how depressing it is. I rely on my PC for everything (they changed the pass on that too...)!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*just remembered! They haven't seized my gmail (which remains blissfully anonymous to them), so you can email me there: &lt;a href="mailto:Athene.of.the.Crows@gmail.com"&gt;Athene.of.the.Crows@gmail.com&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday in performing arts, I was a transgendered, pyro-lesbian. It was fun. Today I was some lady named Alice who lost her husband in a car accident enjoying a caramel frappaccino at Starbucks. It was stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gah! I was drinking some bottle of sticky, bright pink medicine lying on my back in the tub, and my brother randomly came in and threw something at me, which provoked my killer-cat-reflexes (!)... I ended up accidentally pouring the whole bottle down into my face and neck. It was gross. I had crunchy pink hair for about an hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gave myself another henna, but all I had time for was my palm. It's got a crescent moon in the center with a star inside of it, the triple goddess sign under that (except I put some sun rays coming out from under the full moon for some reason), some dots above that, and a circlely pattern up my fingers and around the moons. I’ll post it if I can get my hands on my mom’s camera.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm writing a short story for English, and it’s about this girl smoking marijuana and overcoming peer &lt;/span&gt;pressure or whatever. It's cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, so writing about random things is all I can come up with today...so... get over it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-4021797707437320044?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/4021797707437320044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=4021797707437320044&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4021797707437320044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4021797707437320044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/fuuuuuck-my-dad-changed-my-password-on.html' title='the unfairity (?) of it all'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-876239702054545870</id><published>2008-01-04T18:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-11T17:40:46.328-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Poetry</title><content type='html'>If you steal my poetry, I will track you down and kill you, and then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;bury&lt;/span&gt; you in my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ex's&lt;/span&gt; backyard (its called a tracker, you &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;dumb ass&lt;/span&gt;). OK, hey guys! So, yeah, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;here's&lt;/span&gt; some poetry I've written- but it &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;doesn't&lt;/span&gt; sound half as good, cause blogger &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;wouldn't&lt;/span&gt; let me keep their original fonts...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her eyes are like beads &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;lifeless and cold&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her face is like porcelain&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;broken and old &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her hair is like flax&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;moldy yet golden &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her dress is like gauze&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;mossy and broken&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;her cheeks are pale &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;lips shining like rubies &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;she cries through the dark &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;if only if only&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;the trees parade &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;in masquerade &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;their branches in mid-sway &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;the creepers creep &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;and loved ones weep &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;yet no tears &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;seep from their eyes &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;as they are laid &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;goodbyes are bade &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;the night no longer night &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;say goodbye for them &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;from me &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;while their faces &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;bask in blight &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;(I removed some of them)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Hahaha, I hope you enjoyed my crappy poems. If your in a good mood, consider rating them for me and putting it in the comments. I love knowing what I can improve on...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-876239702054545870?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/876239702054545870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=876239702054545870&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/876239702054545870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/876239702054545870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/poetry.html' title='Poetry'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-1848101739845820082</id><published>2008-01-02T13:16:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T23:42:08.258-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ice skating and smooching windows</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R3v_g6dlrWI/AAAAAAAAABQ/sUQYi0H5UVc/s1600-h/untitledttt.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5150991539742551394" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; CURSOR: pointer" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R3v_g6dlrWI/AAAAAAAAABQ/sUQYi0H5UVc/s320/untitledttt.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;- Me (pink lips and funky scarf), Rosie (red lips), Mio' (purple lips), Zoe (maroon sweater) and Andrew (fake cheesy white smile). Let me make this clear, I'm not attempting to hit on Andrew, the cameras at a bad angle... he's been my friend for three years- no ideas.&lt;br /&gt;(as you can see, I had myself some fun with Paint)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had the most fun ice skating this week with friends. We planned to go at 10, but they opened at 12, so we all had to pile in a car and chill at my house for a while...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we went back, there wasn't enough room in our car (seven seats), so Rosie and I had to squish in the trunk. We sat facing the window, and every time a car came up, we started smooching the windshield- it was hilarious (especially when they're old people :)! There was this one gross guy who actually seemed to be enjoying it, but that pretty much made it even funnier for us... anywho, i guess I should get off and do my homework. C yas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-1848101739845820082?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/1848101739845820082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=1848101739845820082&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/1848101739845820082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/1848101739845820082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/me-pink-lips-and-funky-scarf-rosie-red_02.html' title='Ice skating and smooching windows'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R3v_g6dlrWI/AAAAAAAAABQ/sUQYi0H5UVc/s72-c/untitledttt.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-4558882328258398469</id><published>2008-01-01T18:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-11T17:42:10.907-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Random injuries</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;My family and I have the weirdest conversations at dinner... Tonight was injuries, so I thought I'd tell you about mine. Here are the most memorable:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;I was watching TV with a wine glass in my hand and I was really tired. I squeezed it, and thought I saw it bend (matrix!!:). I squeezed it again, and it shattered. Blood everywhere. Somehow this big piece of glass sliced through the tip of my finger when I squeezed it. It was really weird- I couldn’t really feel any pain (because of shock, I guess), but I was really panicked and crying because I thought I deformed my finger... which didn’t happen- the tip reattached itself... Couldn’t fully use right hand for 4-5 weeks&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;During gymnastics I did some flip thing and whacked my foot on the edge of the radiator lining the walls... The edge gauged a whole in the side of my foot, really deep, too. I had trouble walking for about a week. Foot looks normal, no scar anymore.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Gymnastics, again: foot caught in the spring of a trampoline... limping for about a week and a half.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Gymnastics... walking on my hands with wrist supports on a wooden floor. Slipped, hit shoulder/chin/elbow.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Metal works- drip of melted lead landed on hand... major fucking ouch! Couldn’t take it off until it cooled.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Hot glue guns... you get the picture&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Oven cooling rack, burned hand.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Walking home with a bag of groceries. Dropped it, picked it up, and ended up with a piece of a glass jar stuck in my arm right over a vein (got yelled at all the while for dropping stuff).&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Scraped foot in a pool. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;Blood, blood, blood! Lots of blood.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Jeez! After all of this crap, I don't have any scars. It’s weird. Whatever, hoped you enjoyed that as much as I did :)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Shalom, bro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;(eek! It's 2008! Happy New Year)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-4558882328258398469?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/4558882328258398469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=4558882328258398469&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4558882328258398469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4558882328258398469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-family-and-i-have-weirdest.html' title='Random injuries'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-5489012843959034324</id><published>2007-12-30T17:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T18:00:01.885-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Yet another weird dream</title><content type='html'>Another weird dream... I can't believe I'm dreaming again! I love it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in some weird school place... almost like an abbey. The walls are made of rotted wood, and the floor is cold gray slate. The piping is filled with blood. I have to fix a leak. Blood is pouring onto my head, as I struggle beneath the pipe. Dripping off of the tips of my hair, snaking its way to the floor. Below the pipe is a staircase. I can't fix it, and its spewing blood everywhere. It pools on the floor, it's level rising steadily. Surprisingly it doesn’t fill the staircase. I walk down the stairs to escape the overflowing room. At the end of the steps sits a small door. It's a vibrant red and gilded with gold. It looks similar to the one is Alice in Wonderland. I push it open and see a room, with low ceilings and never ending darkness. I squeeze through the door, and crawl. I end up in a store, like one of those huge discount places. I'm walking through an isle of costumes. Hats, crowns, wigs, skirts, and ballet slippers cover the floor. I walk through as fast as I can, and end up at a makeup counter. There is a wall of lip gloss, and I examine them. My mom is in the store also, and she as if I want my allowance or not. I say yes, and pocket the money. I pick up a tube of gloss, and look at the price tag. $49.99. Above the rows of identical tubes, a sign proudly displays "discounted name brands". I put it back, and pick up another tube. It fits my price range. I wander off into another isle, and find my self looking for eye shadow. Me, who hardly ever wears makeup, is looking for eye shadow. I find some black and blues, and head off to the cash register. Its taking too long, so I drop my supplies and head off to a towering enclosure made of bookcases, each as tall as a skyscraper. Some how I end up at the very top of them, browsing the selves. I'm standing on one of those platforms painters use. I look down, and it looks as if I'm looking down into a rainforest. Vines and exotic flowers cover everything. I’m suddenly sad. There are so many wonderful books down their. Precious gems. I start climbing down, the book cases sway. After a very long time, my feet reach the bottom, it's covered with hardpacked dirt. Stones peirce my feet. I feel as if I've wandered underground, but the truth is, this is the ground, I just wasn’t on it. I'm looking at books, they have beautiful titles with winding script. I feel happy. I see a librarian. She’s struggling through thick vines. She looks surprised to see me, almost impressed. Somehow, I feel as though I'm passing on my thoughts to her. I think this section of the book shelf should be open again, reachable, and she agrees. Wake up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-5489012843959034324?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/5489012843959034324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=5489012843959034324&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5489012843959034324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5489012843959034324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/12/another-weird-dream.html' title='Yet another weird dream'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-7022974594101090768</id><published>2007-12-29T09:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-29T09:27:20.307-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Johnny Depp &amp; Tim Burton</title><content type='html'>Rosie and I have come to the conclusion that Johnny Depp and Tim Burton must be sleeping together. I mean, Johnny Depp is in a ton of his movies. How else would that happen? :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ACK! I'm in the last minuet rush to get all of my late-christmas presents finished. I've kind of neglected getting together with my friends for christmas... hope they don't mind...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oi- for all you Paul Cuffians out there reading this, your all coming iceskating, right? Moday, 10:00.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing left to write... c ya&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-7022974594101090768?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/7022974594101090768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=7022974594101090768&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/7022974594101090768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/7022974594101090768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/12/rosie-and-i-have-come-to-conclusion.html' title='Johnny Depp &amp; Tim Burton'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-8633421901910545828</id><published>2007-12-28T15:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-28T17:37:47.586-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My weird dreams</title><content type='html'>I am having the weirdest dreams ever... the last two I had took place in school:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm in school, taking my classes as usual, but everyone seems to know me and wants to say hi. I realize that I left my army jacket in my last class along with some of my notebooks. I go look for my jacket, walking into some classes, and find it in an unidentifiable heap. I take it and realize that I missed the bell 20 minuets ago. I take the nearest staircase up towards the third floor, where my science class is located. On the staircase, there are tendrils of seaweed hanging in the gap between the stairs, dangling off of the ceiling. I touch some of them and then have a vision of the most beautiful seascape I have ever seen, except for the fact that it's badly polluted. The water on the farthest side seems to have turned black and somewhat sludgy. It looks like the canals in Holland, except wider, less even, and with more waves. All of a sudden I feel like I'm going to cry, and tear my hair out. I take a few steps towards the water on the grassy bank, and try to step in the water. But before my foot falls, I'm back in the staircase, and I seem to have lost all of my clothes, but I don’t realize it. I keep walking towards my science class and realize I'm naked. I try to cover myself and keep heading towards my class. I look at my hands and see that I have found a gray blanket. I cover myself with this and enter the hallway where my class is located. I don’t remember passing a class full of Goth kids lined up against the hallway, but I end up standing next to them. The guy I’m standing next has seemed to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;have&lt;/span&gt; unhinged his one of his lip piercings with his tongue, though I don’t see it. It falls to the floor. I automatically bend to pick it up, unintentionally exposing my self as I do. He laughs, staring cruelly. I stare at some of the other people in the line, trying to see if they noticed. One guy with a glass eye/eye patch at the end of the line stares at my face sadly. I find this strange, since I once was in love with a guy who had a glass eye, also… A teacher calls the group of goths back into the classroom. I’m left in the hallway. One teacher steps out of my science class. She is new here, and seems to be around 20 years old. She offers me some clothes from her locker. While I’m changing, my other teacher walks into the hallway and says he wants to speak to me, but I tell him after I’&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ve&lt;/span&gt; changed. Wake up.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm in school, in an auditorium that looks like a courtroom. It's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;enormous&lt;/span&gt;, with rows upon rows of seats, some on elevated stairs, but it looks small. We are all in formal dress, and I'm wearing a lavender ball gown. I hear myself saying somthing about a practise. I have trouble finding my class, so a group of people offer me a seat. I'm sitting next to a guy, and we are all holding tickets that look like movie ticket stubs. The principle is wearing a white wig, and he calls a class down to a large open space in the middle of the auditorium. He throws a thousand similar tickets on to the floor, and tells them all to find a matching ticket to their own. This act seems to hold a great importance, like if they didnt do it, they would be exicuted. The guy next to me says something like, "this is cruel". The class is pecking at the tickets like a group of chickens, picking up tickets in hope of finding a match. The event seems to be timed. Dissmisal. I end up on a school bus, next to some of my friends. One of them seems to be hitting on me. I get off the bus, and end up with another group of people. We are walking along a bricked edge, a few feet below us lies thrashing water. Some how one of the boys in the group ends up in the water. We panic, debating on what to do. It is taking too long, and the boy is struggleing. The group is overtaken by their own fright, ignoring the boy in the water. I dive in and try to help him, trying to pull him against the wall of stone. My feet are scraping rocks. We try to climb out, but the wall is too steep, and we are swept away by the current. Wake up.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-8633421901910545828?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/8633421901910545828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=8633421901910545828&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8633421901910545828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8633421901910545828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/12/i-am-having-weirdest-dreams-ever.html' title='My weird dreams'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-8401591581141048466</id><published>2007-12-27T18:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T19:39:08.869-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Leave an opinion</title><content type='html'>...girl gets beaten to death for falling in love and being accused of losing her virginity outside of marriage... she was a virgin, but even if she wasn't, i think it was still wrong to be sentenced to death...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://ballyblog.wordpress.com/2007/05/04/warning-uncensored-video-iraqis-stone-girl-to-death-over-loving-wrong-boy/"&gt;Read the article.&lt;/a&gt; maybe watch the video. comment. leave an opinion. i hope you guys are as saddened by it as i am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Sorry for such a bogus post. I'm not exactly in a mood to write, only to inform.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*forgot to add: the next week I start school my friend and I are vowing to silence for a week. Pretty much for no particular reason... or for a really big one I just can't exactly put in words. Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just wondering- from my previous writing, how old do you guys think I am?&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/6742921109128412781-8401591581141048466?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/8401591581141048466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=8401591581141048466&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8401591581141048466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8401591581141048466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/12/leave-opinion.html' title='Leave an opinion'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-3322035388243464966</id><published>2007-12-25T10:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T11:47:02.860-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Fears</title><content type='html'>This post will be dedicated to my fears. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;, so I get the impression that people get the impression that I'm not &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;afraid&lt;/span&gt; of anything. That's good for me, I suppose... but since you're all oh-so-cluless, I've decided to fill you in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Walking up stairs (you can see out of the corner of your eye shadows and people creeping up behind you)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Still water (like in a bathtub or a lake, not in a shower)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Eggplants (Courage the Cowardly Dog)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Microorganisms (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;dust mites&lt;/span&gt;, for instance)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Getting overweight&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Being exposed&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Not being covered from the dark (but not the dark, and not dark outside)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;p&gt;Eh, thats all I got. I have to go get dressed for the family outing...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-3322035388243464966?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/3322035388243464966/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=3322035388243464966&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/3322035388243464966'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/3322035388243464966'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/12/this-post-will-be-dedicated-to-my-fears.html' title='My Fears'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-3046411549842099341</id><published>2007-12-15T09:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T14:00:34.615-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Feel the Wrath of My Emoness-ness</title><content type='html'>I've decided that in this post I'm going to complain about my life, k?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm fucking sick. I feel like crying all the time. My parents are jerks. I screwed up school the last quarter and a half. I'm probably going to die early with my unknown blood disease or whatever. I keep wanting to cut my self again. School rocks too much. I have some stupid-ass crush on some kid I don't know that won't go away. People are swarming me at school. I just missed one of my best friends birthday party. I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;writing&lt;/span&gt; about this shit in a blog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;, if you are reading this, I'm highly &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;surprised&lt;/span&gt;. This blog is like a dairy for me. It &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;doesn't&lt;/span&gt; get lost or destroyed, cause it's everywhere. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;That's&lt;/span&gt; partly why started it. The point of that rant was not for you to feel bad for me, because I know know one is going to read this, anyway. The point of that was to write down what I feel at the moment. Don't take it all that seriously.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-3046411549842099341?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/3046411549842099341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=3046411549842099341&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/3046411549842099341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/3046411549842099341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/12/ive-decided-that-in-this-post-im-going.html' title='Feel the Wrath of My Emoness-ness'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-1150737196732514396</id><published>2007-12-12T16:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-13T13:52:17.305-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Modeling?</title><content type='html'>I think I'm going to sign up with a modeling agency... people keep telling me I should model, and it seems like easy money...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, yeah, I know, modeling is for lifeless plastic people, but imagine modeling for a career, and making it big- beats teacher or doctor any day for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing much today... the best thing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;happened&lt;/span&gt; to me is my dad chucking a fork at my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;shoulder blade&lt;/span&gt;. Oh, and some friends of mine are bringing vodka for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;tomorrow&lt;/span&gt;... their thinking of mixing it with Vitamin water- easy drinks in school. The best they can come up with so far is getting high off sharpies, which doesnt exactly work well by the way. Pfft.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eek! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Tomorrow&lt;/span&gt; is flower day at my school! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;That's&lt;/span&gt; when they sell carnations in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;cafeteria&lt;/span&gt; at lunch and breakfast. Cant wait. *gags*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-1150737196732514396?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/1150737196732514396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=1150737196732514396&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/1150737196732514396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/1150737196732514396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/12/i-think-im-going-to-sign-up-with.html' title='Modeling?'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-4234169269530708760</id><published>2007-12-07T12:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T11:56:14.769-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Joints</title><content type='html'>So apparently I'm not normal (it's been semi-confirmed). Take that, Asshole Gym Teacher and/or other figures of authority! As most of you know, I have joint problems (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; right, bitches, I smoke way too much...). This means I can't walk down a flight of stairs with out my knees and ankles feeling like crap. It's not just those, though. It's everything- knees, ankles, shoulders, jaw, back, fingers, elbows, hips, wrists, etc... I feel like such a loser.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;doctor&lt;/span&gt; thinks I've been &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;bullshitting&lt;/span&gt; about it for a couple years, so he tries to let himself off the hook by feeding me a bottle of ibuprofen. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Yay&lt;/span&gt; for drugs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My docter is really quite an idiot, actually. This other time he tried to blame my joints for being weird on my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;platelets&lt;/span&gt;. He gave this visual &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;demonstration&lt;/span&gt; on how platelets were like "overlapping plates," the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;dumb ass&lt;/span&gt;. Platelets, for all you smart people out there, are actually blood cells. They help blood &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;clot&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Whoo&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;hoo&lt;/span&gt;. It's kind of sad when you know that and your doctor &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;doesn't&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The docter we saw today was like, thats so not normal for your age (YOUR GONNA DIE!). Makes me want to laugh or something...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now we are getting somewhere. We went to see some other dudes in lab coats, and now I'm going to have to have a ton of blood work done and other things that have names far too fancy for my brain to handle. I've already been tested for lime disease and been x-rayed a year or so ago- that sucked mega. Can't wait for a few more rounds of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry, I must sound like such a wimp right now. I just feel kind of crappy. Oh well!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*flash back of the day: Brothers ask why I'm going to some joint doctor guy again: "I'm going to die. They're are going to put me down. Harry, here. You can have my bracelet. Luca- take my left shoe. I'm sure I won't need it anymore. (good times...)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-4234169269530708760?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/4234169269530708760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=4234169269530708760&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4234169269530708760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/4234169269530708760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/12/my-joints.html' title='My Joints'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-8276607541944713387</id><published>2007-12-04T13:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-08T15:14:26.015-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Some Party and Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>Life is so incredibly weird right now. I'm too lazy to write more about it though, so I shouldn't have even put that down...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanksgiving sucks. My whole family pretty much (discreetly) hates each other. Most of the time we just watch tv. I played cards with two of my older cousins, though. Their pretty cool...&lt;br /&gt;Its funny- they both think I look like a super model on drugs, because of all the black stuff I wear on my eyes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Went to a pretty cool party on Saturday, one of my friend's from school. During some point I mentioned that you can smoke cinnamon, so we all ran out side (which is like below 30 degrees) coatless down the street to go buy some. They didn't have any, so we ran a couple of blocks over to another store. Same problem... oh well. There was this gross security guard who kept hitting on all of us- he was like 40 or something. He seemed especially concerned about me going out side with out a jacket. Whatever.... psycho perv. *flashback* :) We were dancing to Jeffree Star with out bras over our shirts stuffed with tissue paper- that made pretty funny pictures... they are floating around on myspace somewhere...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever... I don't feel like writing more, so of I go-go&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-8276607541944713387?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/8276607541944713387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=8276607541944713387&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8276607541944713387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8276607541944713387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/12/life-is-so-incredibly-weird-right-now.html' title='Some Party and Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-8400950697942759123</id><published>2007-11-23T06:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-08T15:20:37.944-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I might not be on for a while- parental units have decided to take utter control of all electronics. Apparently my small child brain is already too much influenced by the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt;. Like I don't see enough porn at school! Jeez!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*cough cough. I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;wasn't&lt;/span&gt; looking up porn, mind you. It was one of those pop-up things that are marked "click here for music &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;vids&lt;/span&gt;" or whatever. Luckily, one of my parents was on one of the compters right next to me...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-8400950697942759123?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/8400950697942759123/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=8400950697942759123&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8400950697942759123'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8400950697942759123'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-might-not-be-on-for-while-parental.html' title=''/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-211711699224116938</id><published>2007-11-21T19:48:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-22T15:50:33.282-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Spaztastic</title><content type='html'>Holy shit! I just found out that the band members of Triangle Forest are regular customers at our liquor store, and I just met 'em! Scusies, I just had two or three red bulls in under an hour...So are the White Mice. Probably some other ones I don't know of, too, because there are a ton of bands here...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woo... I can breathe again. Just had to make you jealous for a sec :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, nothing that interesting going on today. Except that I probably made a total fool of myself (discreetly). I was having lunch in our usual spot (one of the unused class rooms for that period) with some of my friends. They were talking about this guy I was sort of interested in. Some how they figured that out. And I unknowingly confirmed it by laughing uncontrollably. Sighs. I'm such an idiot. Later I looked back in the hallway and I locked eyes with him for a sec. I didn’t know he was there, but I had some psycho feeling someone was staring at me. His facial expression was different. And he was staring at me. Fuck, I hope they didn’t tell him. One of the guys I was eating lunch with was practically his best friend. And, um, my best friend had before reported some of the staring, so maybe it wasn’t because of this... Whatever- I'll try not to sound so self-conscious and girly anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, let me get one thing straight. Not all of my entries are so... cliché. So don’t turn away just because of this one...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kumbaya, kitties. Peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-211711699224116938?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/211711699224116938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=211711699224116938&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/211711699224116938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/211711699224116938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/11/spaztastic.html' title='Spaztastic'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-5946013171247291547</id><published>2007-11-20T15:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-11-23T08:49:31.739-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Blackmailed Years of Pretense</title><content type='html'>I seriously have to get this off my chest, as well a spread the fact that most teachers are blackmailing bastards. I was blackmailed. For two years. Yeah. (That sounds so serious, I love it... but still, I was &lt;strong&gt;blackmailed&lt;/strong&gt;.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, here it is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was this girl in my old school who had ADHD (I have absolutely nothing against that, by the way. I have many other friends who have it, too. I just had something against this girl). She was a total loony, a stalker, and many other words I wish to use, but won't, because I'm too lazy to write them down. But the worst thing about her was that she was over protected, by everyone in authority that got paid. Aside from her own mind, this kept her in a state of oblivion. She knew nothing about the hate that surrounded her, the people that disliked her so much. Because of this over protection, she had no notion that she had to develop. No notion, that she, aside from her ADHD, was not normal. As much as I hate to use that word, I think it fits quite well. She was still in her 7 year old state at 13.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the point of this is not (mainly) to rant on about how horrible this girl was, but to rant on about how horrible and closed minded some adults can be. So I'll continue now...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes we had run-ins with each other in the bathroom, the hallways... I always said hi, or smiled, because that’s what you do in a small school. But one day she decided to attach herself to me. At first I had no problem with this; I thought it was semi-normal and that she wanted to become friends. But she went too far, to the near point of stalking me. I wanted to break the relationship that I had with her and decided to confide in a friend. We discussed "safe" ways to break it to her. One night, she got sick of me not doing anything (due to my lack of backbone at the time), so she phoned this girl herself and told her it was me, and that I wanted to speak with her tomorrow. She pretty good at duplicating my voice, I'll have you know. Naturally, the next day my personal stalker came up to me waiting for the schedulald dialogue. Of course I had not a clue in hell what she was talking about. About an hour later I got called into the guidance office, where I'd usually crash at for lunch time- just because the cafeteria sucks and that’s where some of my friends ate. The guidance counselor asked me about the phone call, which later my close friend choose to tell me about the existence of. Of course I was furious that my friend did that, and the situation was still a bit vague to me. So I got a couple of details wrong. Bam. Busted. I tried to lie and fix things, but they were still uncertain about what happened. So I pulled the whole thing on myself, trying to cover up for my friend and I at the same time. This worked, since they all appreciate honesty. If I hadn’t of done that, we would have both been suspended or something of the like, my friend and I. So after an hour long rant from the teachers about how wrong it was to take advantage of this poor mental girl (WTF, MATE?!) and a couple of yell sessions, we were free. Sort of. My friend was still in a bit of trouble for making the phone call. No more lunch with us for a month or two. What absolute bull. We got in trouble for some out of school activity, and for not wanting to be friends with this girl. There was nothing wrong with what we did, at all. They can't make us be friends with some one, or control our out of school lives. But at this school, they tried to. I was blackmailed into being her friend for two years. Even out side of school. One decline to a play-date or sleepover and I was dead. I would have been suspended or expelled if I didn’t plaster a smile on my face and parade the halls with the girl. Doing this also ruined my current friendships at the time. No one wanted to hang with me when this girl was around, which was most of the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt bad for her, that she was so over protected, because it didn't do her any good- unlike what her set of six parents and the school thought. I feel bad when this happens to people. It's a waste of effort, and you make things worse. And ruin other peoples lives while doing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sighs. I'm done. Amazing how fucking idiotic adults can be, huh? Excuse me if you are one, but you do know what I'm talking about. If not you, someone you know. Or someone you know who knows someone. Think about it. (Laughing my ass off)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was fun. I got to vent and practice my writing. Whatever... I'm going now. Bye.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Casey&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just so you know, that was a completely true story, no exaggerations at all. Ask any of my buddies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-5946013171247291547?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/5946013171247291547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=5946013171247291547&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5946013171247291547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5946013171247291547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/11/my-blackmailed-years-of-pretense.html' title='My Blackmailed Years of Pretense'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-8342335132900193433</id><published>2007-11-07T19:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T11:54:59.246-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Odd</title><content type='html'>I noticed that people are astounded when they realize someone they know made something beautiful- like a painting or a drawing. When a person realizes what they are looking at is made by the person they are talking to, they go, "Really? You made that? It's amazing." Like, we look at a mug and think, "Yeah. Its a mug. So what?" But if a person you knew made that mug, it would change everything, "Holy Shit! You made that?" There is beautiful stuff all around us, but it's so rare that we know who made it that way. Or even realize that its beautiful. Sometimes we see what is beautiful by relating it to ourselves, or people we know. But what is beautiful?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, You behind the screen- "Oh, GAG. What is this girl thinking?" Well, yeah. But I need some way of keeping my thoughts in track.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm going veggie. I can't stand the thought of biting into a piece of dead flesh, webbed veins breaking apart, blood seeping out of steak, the abuse.... I'm fine with blood and gore (I admit it's perfectl entertaining), but I think it's cruel just to eat another living think that thinks as we do- to think ourselves superior. But someone’s gotta be in charge, huh? Whatevs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me to the topic of anarchy and tyranny! I'm all for anarchy, but it wouldn’t work at all. Imagine... peace... no one in anyone's business... then some motha-fucka with a machine gun stomps in and wants to take everyone over. It would just be this never ending war, and someone would always want to lead or own- it's our nature. I think a good government should be between tyranny and anarchy- not to much control, but enough to keep that motha-fucka with the machine gun in line, to prevent warfare amongst our people. Yeah, yeah, I know, Government sucks, but imagine we lived with out it. It would be total chaos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Which would you be more afraid of, by the way? Just wondering. I think I would be more afraid of anarchy, because then I wouldn’t know where anything is coming from- attacks, blah blah blah... Tyranny would be from one side, more predictable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much randomness...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;...and this is Kelly (Casey) signing off!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;arrivederci&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note to self: Sleepy Hollow? Ignore, all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-8342335132900193433?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/8342335132900193433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=8342335132900193433&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8342335132900193433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8342335132900193433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-noticed-that-people-are-astounded.html' title='Odd'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-171532006597104552</id><published>2007-11-03T11:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T12:07:28.180-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pervy Mark</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"  style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Ok- there is this total perv in my art class. I'm forced to sit next to him every Thursday and Friday. Joy. So yesterday I sat at my friends table cause we had a sub. She was wondering if he had ADHD- so I walked up to him and asked. Of course the dumbass didn’t know what it meant. After class he came up to us and was like, "What the hell is ADHD?" I told him it’s when you have an erection that lasts over four hours. You should have seen his face!! It was a mix of awe, wonder, disgust, and sorrow- sorrow that he didn’t have this so called "ADHD". Of course, he made this big scene in the hallway for everyone to hear, but that, clearly, was the joy of it. Later I told him what ADHD really was- attention deficit hyperactivity disorder :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;?xml:namespace prefix = o /&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;Nothing much happening in school- well, except that I'm behind three reports and I'm pretty much failing math... I have to maintain a B- average in this program.... I got a D+ in math because my idiotic, ditsy, horrible-taste-in-fashion teacher didn’t tell the class about like the first five homework assignments. I’m not exaggerating. Plus the math level in this school is higher than my old one I guess- I’m kind of clueless about the stuff they learned last year... so that makes it a bit harder... eh- maybe I’m just a wimp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was just wondering why I made my blog pink. I mean, I'm ok with pink, but I won't wear it and it is certaintly not my favorite color. Why wont I wear it, you ask? Cause it so frigging stereotypical for girls to wear pink. I hate it when it makes guys think they can walk all over you or makes them think they're better. By the way, does pink really turn you on that much? Whatever, I'm not a guy, so I won't comment on it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;My cousin came over today and she thought I dressed like Janis from Mean Girls. My outfit was randomly thrown together and swept of my floor today- so... yeah. Ugh- I'm going to stop thinking about my clothing, its making me vain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want some freaking body mods now!! We're talking tattoos, piercings, scarifications... I just WANT them. Partly to piss people off, but mostly cause I already have in mind what I want done- and I have to wait what seems like forever till I can get them done. Heres a list of what I want:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Corset piercings (I probably wont get them done, but I think they look awesome)&lt;br /&gt;-My ears completely pierced- at least 5 piercings (a row of them on my lobe, a conch, multiple helixes, a daith, a rook, an industrial...)&lt;br /&gt;-Scarification done on the lower left part of my rib cage- a couple of roses sweeping from below my armpit to below my breast&lt;br /&gt;-A tree (leafless, and with it's roots) starting at my lower back and ending at my shoulders, with lots of branches&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;-Maybe really small plugs- I hate the big ones&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;Maybe I'm totally vain, but I'm obsessed with body mods. I don't know why. Ever since I've studied the Mayan religion and culture, I got crazy over them. It gets my parents pissed because they think its retarded, and they seem to relate everything I do to them- rubbing skin off with erasers (totally random, and not my dumb idea, by the way- it was Taylor's, and we were bored in art...), my crazy hairstyles and clothing, schoolwork... the list goes on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="FONT-FAMILY: arial"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-171532006597104552?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/171532006597104552/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=171532006597104552&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/171532006597104552'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/171532006597104552'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/11/pervy-mark.html' title='Pervy Mark'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-695896945853512003</id><published>2007-09-22T14:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T11:53:29.198-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stuff</title><content type='html'>I went skateboarding for hours today- it felt good to actually exercise. The ramps/etc were totally crowded... couldn't use them... so I wave boarded instead. Its really cool, its this board with only two wheels, and they swivel. You have to move your hips to control it. Its hard, but tons of fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Hmm&lt;/span&gt;... i have like nothing to write about... Detentions? I got my first one yesterday (my first because my old school didn't have them). For "vandalism". My friend and I were picking at the already picked at and peeling paint on a table. :P Well...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seem to be making a ton of friends at my new school. I eat lunch in the library every day with my new friends Zoe and Amy (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cafeteria&lt;/span&gt; phobia). The only thing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;that's&lt;/span&gt; kind of annoying though is that Amy always feels the need to report to me who likes me. Ive counted about 16 so far. X/&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bye bye....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-695896945853512003?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/695896945853512003/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=695896945853512003&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/695896945853512003'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/695896945853512003'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/09/i-went-skateboarding-for-hours-today-it.html' title='Stuff'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-5489418932371775167</id><published>2007-09-09T14:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-25T18:39:10.689-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mohawk</title><content type='html'>I gave my brother a mohawk! I did the entire thing with sissors because we didnt have a buzzer. So now he has pretty awkward sides... very patchy. He went to his friend's dad's barber salon so he could buzz it and make them (semi) smooth... had to buzz 'em again later anyways when we found the buzzer.   XD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(as you can see I am so bored that I feel the need to talk about someones hair...)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-5489418932371775167?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/5489418932371775167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=5489418932371775167&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5489418932371775167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5489418932371775167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/09/mohawk.html' title='Mohawk'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-8229407531344234992</id><published>2007-08-30T15:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-30T16:06:10.926-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Brunch and dizzisodes</title><content type='html'>I can just imagine fighting with my little brother when he gets older... something along the lines of this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You frigging mustard head!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why you little relish head!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Damn it, you random condiment head!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Vaguely similar to the present... Ugh- I went to breakfast my parents today to some fancy little cafe/ restaurant thing. A couple years ago, we would be talking about school, my sports and art, future plans, etc... Now, all &lt;em&gt;they&lt;/em&gt; could talk about was the liquor store. Stock, customers, pricing, &lt;em&gt;wine tastings!&lt;/em&gt; It seems that’s all they talk about now, and they are certainly crabbier than they were a couple years ago. I can't imagine how pleasant they must have been before they had kids. Whew!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seem to be getting dizzier and dizzier every week; it has seriously come to be annoying. Every time I stand up I almost faint. How the hell am I supposed to participate in gym with my joints and dizzisodes? I don’t want to seem like one of those barbies who can't participate in volley ball because they don’t want to chip a nail (which, by the way, can be extremely aggravating if you actually have nails, cough cough), or like I am anorexic or something (believe me, I probably eat more than I should). I hate when people think that. I would give anything to play sports like a normal person, but I can't, so I'm, screwed. People don't get that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-8229407531344234992?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/8229407531344234992/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=8229407531344234992&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8229407531344234992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/8229407531344234992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/08/brunch-and-dizzisodes.html' title='Brunch and dizzisodes'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-1582112239855853749</id><published>2007-08-28T14:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T16:12:26.979-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hmmm... Smoking Cinnamon?</title><content type='html'>I probably just did the dumbest thing ever. My brother told me that some people smoke cinnamon for fresh breath, and I was like, wtf? So my little brother and I were smoking cinnamon sticks... and now my breath smells like cinnamon. Just wondering anyone, is that healthy? If you have a reply, please leave it in the comments for this post. Thnx...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-1582112239855853749?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/1582112239855853749/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=1582112239855853749&amp;isPopup=true' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/1582112239855853749'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/1582112239855853749'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/08/i-probably-just-did-dumbest-thing-ever.html' title='Hmmm... Smoking Cinnamon?'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-181795505592739492</id><published>2007-08-28T08:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T16:18:09.196-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Weirdness, love, and half baked suger cookies</title><content type='html'>Why does everyone think that if you think someone’s cute or attractive or whatever that your in love with them? Bull. I think plenty of people are attractive; that doesn't mean I'm in love with them... whatever- school sucks. I don’t think I would go if it wasn’t required to get a job. Sometimes you learn all this useless stuff like... how cod affected America, or how to... well, you know the rest. I think we should learn about different jobs early, and maybe get to experience them and try out new ones, and then study on your chosen job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was thinking about the way I used to act when I switched to my old school. I thought it was incredibly fun to act like someone else. Not a specific "someone else", but to pick a new personality and to act on it. I kind of realized I was doing that so no one knew the real me, so no one could get to know me better... but then I started loosing touch with my old friends rapidly from lack of communication, and I was left with no one. I don't get why I kept pushing myself to be someone else... but I did, and it ruined my rep, and the people I wanted to be friends with. I have these weird, deep-in-thought periods when I'm supposed to be doing home work on the computer... :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made sugar cookies yesterday and forgot to refrigerate the dough. They made everyone sick XD&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything seems to be turning out half-raw these days&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(oh the motherfuckin' DRAMA! Please, im just experimenting with writing here...)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-181795505592739492?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/181795505592739492/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=181795505592739492&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/181795505592739492'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/181795505592739492'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/08/weirdness-love-and-half-baked-suger.html' title='Weirdness, love, and half baked suger cookies'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-9188230019913652269</id><published>2007-08-27T13:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-30T15:47:03.537-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gaterade Shots</title><content type='html'>Hehe- yesterday a friend and I where out on the porch drinking gaterade out of shot glasses. It was so incredibly funny; we kept spitting it everywhere because we couldnt stop laughing. We were dancing in the street barefoot trying to shoot each other with a Nurf gun with a key chain for amo... much randomness. Um... I might take belly dancing...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-9188230019913652269?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/9188230019913652269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=9188230019913652269&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/9188230019913652269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/9188230019913652269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/08/hehe-yesterday-friend-and-i-where-out.html' title='Gaterade Shots'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-5900019279975089170</id><published>2007-08-26T14:46:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-29T13:12:27.485-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bearded Dragon</title><content type='html'>Kick ass- I just got bearded dragon out of now where. My dads friends neighbor couldn’t take care of it any more, so... it got dumped on me (laughs)! My little brothers are so incredibly jealous, but they are rather horrible with pets... Well... I had to go pick up crickets for it, and we have this cool container for them. It's a plastic box with four tubes resting on the edges, covered at the tops. The crickets climb up the tubes, and when you need to feed your lizard, you slide a tube out and off it goes into the tank. Why I am telling you about my new pet? I'm not sure, but it is something to put in my "blog".&lt;br /&gt;One of my friends (justalifeofrosita.blogspot) is over, and we are trying to perfect our blogs... quite a lot of mishaps have been going on with her backgrounds, but it looks pretty cool now.&lt;br /&gt;I have pretty much nothing to write now, so off I go-o...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-5900019279975089170?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/5900019279975089170/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=5900019279975089170&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5900019279975089170'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/5900019279975089170'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/08/kick-ass-i-just-got-bearded-dragon-out.html' title='Bearded Dragon'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6742921109128412781.post-983558403499448326</id><published>2007-08-26T08:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-29T13:11:58.003-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mini Oreos</title><content type='html'>Ok- so whats the deal with mini Oreos? They cost more than the regular ones, and, (of course) they're smaller. Wouldnt you just want to stuff your face with a normal sized oreo that cost less and taste better? Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry, had to get that out of the way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, I have to go be forced to eat a canoli now, so I'll hopefully get to work on this later...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6742921109128412781-983558403499448326?l=anuoki.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/feeds/983558403499448326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6742921109128412781&amp;postID=983558403499448326&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/983558403499448326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6742921109128412781/posts/default/983558403499448326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://anuoki.blogspot.com/2007/08/ok-so-whats-deal-with-mini-oreos-they.html' title='Mini Oreos'/><author><name>Anuoki</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/03887264836571158212</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='27' src='http://bp0.blogger.com/_CHKX5jxDJdY/R7ZsDpgqwkI/AAAAAAAAABg/mdNsUT-UvLc/S220/me+emo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
