<?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-862597723815660425</id><updated>2011-11-04T21:46:23.251-07:00</updated><category term='facebook'/><category term='roadtrips'/><category term='singing'/><category term='The Eagles'/><category term='social networking'/><category term='different'/><category term='peace'/><category term='twitter'/><category term='family'/><category term='Tim McGraw'/><category term='Toby Keith'/><category term='new'/><category term='Kenny Chesney'/><category term='happiness'/><category term='first'/><category term='football'/><category term='love'/><title type='text'>The C-Side Chronicles</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>11</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-7395660771230301545</id><published>2011-11-04T21:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-11-04T21:46:23.292-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Being Okay</title><content type='html'>It has been a terribly long time since I've updated this thing... I'm just very busy and life has not granted me with many opportunities to do things like this for &lt;i&gt;at least&lt;/i&gt; the last six months.&lt;div&gt;Speaking of life: mine is very different than I thought it would be at them moment, and I've been thinking about how I used to think I would be preparing for some sort of study abroad at this point in time or something like that. But I'm not. I'm at home and I'm going to a community college. I've realized that there are many good things about stay home though: I get to go to my brother's football games and see my other brother march. &lt;u&gt;It's much less expensive,&lt;/u&gt; the list gets more and more personal from there. I've also realized that it's okay to not be doing what many of the people my age are doing because I've never been one to do anything the normal way. Sure I get upset about not being at a college far from home, but then my brother sings a solo in church or I make one of my kids at Kid's Club's day, or the make mine and God reconfirms to me that this is where I'm meant to be. This is where things for me are going to fall into place. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I read all these things about people at college studying their butts off or partying it up with their friends in one form or another and like I said, I get a little sad. But that's okay because we all get a little sad over this or that sometimes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;More recently I was taken from the elementary school where I started Kid's Club at and put into a completely new school with completely different kids and rules. Basically I went from a pretty wealthy school to one of the poorest schools in the district and I'm not going to sugar coat it: I do not like it. Every day on my way to work at my new school, all I can think about are all the sweet little faces of the children at my first school. Even when I see the actual kids from my new school all I can think about is how much I miss the other kids. How much I miss &lt;i style="font-weight: bold; "&gt;my &lt;/i&gt;kids. God has made it blatantly obvious why I'm at this school but it doesn't hurt any less. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what am I supposed to get out of this? I'm not sure yet, but I hope it's good because my heart is still completely broken. I know it's going to be okay, it's just hard and I just hate having to try to see the positives about all this. But what else can I do? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I come home tired and sad from work every night now. Just done with the day and with everything. I honestly believe that this is going to be one of those wounds that no amount of love from my new kids or new staff give me, can heal. Time is the only thing that will heal it and I've already gotten pretty good at taking it one day at a time. I know this is what it feels like to love somebody and have to let them go without a single say in the matter. It's funny but I would liken this to being broken up with. I hate this feeling. That's probably why I don't date... at all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But these kids need me. They need me, they need my love, and they need my heart. The only problem is that my heart is stuck at Chandler Elementary School.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Time, could you please hurry up and make this hurt less! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That's all....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-7395660771230301545?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7395660771230301545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2011/11/being-okay.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/7395660771230301545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/7395660771230301545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2011/11/being-okay.html' title='Being Okay'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-3820205277573789645</id><published>2011-04-17T00:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-17T01:10:32.756-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Wanna Come Home</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;It has been an appreciably long time since I last decided I had something worth blogging about, so I figure this is a really good time to say something. I must warn you, I'm not entirely sure what I am going to write so I cannot promise a comprehensive structure for this blog.&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;First and foremost, there are twelve days until I begin the long and glorious journey back to my beloved state of Texas and more importantly, home. This past year in college has been nothing but a trial BUT I did get quite a bit more out of being at school than I thought I would. I am almost positive about what I would like my future to hold and I have made some pretty awesome friends. Now these friends aren't those that I feel I could tell my deepest darkest secrets to yet, but they are people who have enriched my life in one way or another. One friend in particular reminds me on almost a daily basis of my goals just because they are doing what I would like to do. This friend in question has also shown me that just because someone looks a certain way does not mean they will act a certain way. I bet you're thinking, "Wow, way to be vague there, Christine..." but I just feel like if I get into detail about who this person is, I will babble on and on about them and I would really like to move on.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I sprained my ankle and it looks pretty nasty. This happened last Tuesday when I decided that it was time for me to get into shape. Guess that's not happening for a while. Three good things have come of this mishap:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;1) I do not have to take my P.E. final.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;2) I do not have to take my tap dance final.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;3) I have seen how kind people can be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Point number three deserves to be expounded upon. Since I've been gimping around on crutches (not as awesome as they look), people have either been super nice or incredibly rude. Example: I was gimping back from seeing the school play last night and some chick was sitting smack dab in the middle of the ramp texting. She heard my crutches and looked up, but she did not move from the middle of the ramp and continued texting. I'm thinking, "What a jerk!" but then I thought of how sad her life is going to be when people don't want to be around her anymore because of how rude she is. I would say about 99% of the people at Snow College were very kind to me this past week, that little snot would be included in the reprehensible few who only think of themselves here in Ephraim, Utah.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;Facebook has become more of a burden than anything else. There's only so much to do on there and it wastes my time like nothing else I'm involved in. I am constantly finding myself wondering why I'm on so much because it's a cesspool for teenagers to share their irrelevant and quite honestly, intelligible thoughts. I have come to really love Twitter, Tumblr, and YouTube because a good portion of the people I am "friends" with on facebook are not on those sights. I can't even begin to explain how I loathe opening up my facebook and seeing that Johnny is "chillin wit sum awsum bros" and Mary thinks that "Words can't even describe how [she] feels right now :/...". Being a person who uses incorrect grammar only in the case of making something funny or to prove a point, the first status bugs me. I'm pretty sure your mother taught you proper English (unless she didn't, in which case you should feel obligated to speak correctly). The second status ticks me off like no other thing on facebook does. I can honestly say that I feel stupid posting something about how sad I am because you know what? Most of the people I'm "friends" with do not need to know my every emotion. It is my strong, personal, belief that people who post sappy or sad statuses or tell all of their "friends" that they just wiped their butt are looking for attention. As for me, I prefer to keep my private life private.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;I could likely go on and on about things that are on my mind, but then I would probably have to turn my blog into a novel and then send copies of it to all three of the people who actually read my entries. With that, I say "Good marrow, kind gentlefolk." &lt;/span&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-3820205277573789645?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3820205277573789645/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-wanna-come-home.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/3820205277573789645'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/3820205277573789645'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-wanna-come-home.html' title='I Wanna Come Home'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-4653050110453133757</id><published>2010-12-01T15:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-01T16:01:09.147-08:00</updated><title type='text'>#facebookfast</title><content type='html'>I've been off of facebook for about seventeen hours and I'm okay...for the most part. I guess facebook is more or less of a time killer for me in a way that YouTube sometimes has trouble being. Twitter is well, twitter. All of these social networking sites are really awesome if you're a celebrity of some caliber but when you're a "normal" every day college kid (a.k.a. a peasant) they're just something to do to:&lt;div&gt;A) Kill time in between classes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;B) Talk to people at home who probably would have otherwise forgotten about you&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C) Waste time even when you're not in between classes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;While I recognize how much of a time suck facebook is, it's still quite entertaining. I've done what some might call a "facebook fast" at least two times before but only for about two weeks at a time. The thing that I do each time I'm on one of my "facebook fasts" is basically say as my status and in my profile somewhere that if anybody needs to contact me they can e-mail me and give me their number half hoping someone will actually want to talk to me despite my sudden inconvenience of not being on facebook. Alas, the weeks pass and not a single soul e-mails me anything. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Point? While in some cases social networking sites are wonderful for hermits and the generally socially awkward, they can also unleash the ugly trolls within people. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The definition of troll according to urbandictionary.com is "&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;A person whose sole purpose in life is to seek out people to argue with on the internet over extremely trivial issues. Such arguments can happen on blogs, Facebook, Myspace and a host of others." &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;People are usually fake on the internet. They say things they wouldn't say in real life and all of the sudden befriend people who they said earlier that day that they would rather stab than talk to. Don't get me wrong, I love the internet- especially &lt;i&gt;Google,&lt;/i&gt; &lt;i&gt;Wikipedia, &lt;/i&gt;and &lt;i&gt;YouTube&lt;/i&gt;, but I seriously doubt that&lt;b&gt; &lt;/b&gt;&lt;b style="font-style: italic; "&gt;all &lt;/b&gt;of the time we spend on the internet is valuable. I've looked at my tiny clock in the corner of my screen and thought "Yeah, I have enough time to get on facebook." and what seems like two minutes later I look up and realize it's been thirty! That is a problem. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: medium;"&gt;I think this is the reason why I love classic movies as much as I do. You never caught Rita Hayworth checking her facebook in the middle of &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: medium; font-family: georgia; "&gt;Gilda &lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: medium;"&gt;or Marlon Brando making a video response begging Stella to talk to him. That's because everything was much less complicated in the realm of social networking. In those days social networking liking consisted of corporate men exchanging business cards, not seeing if their business name was a trending topic on twitter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; line-height: 19px; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-size: medium;"&gt;Okay, okay, I need to get back to doing what I need to be doing, but I just thought I'd post something since I was in a blogging mood.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-4653050110453133757?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4653050110453133757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/12/facebookfast.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4653050110453133757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4653050110453133757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/12/facebookfast.html' title='#facebookfast'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-7506027609765999746</id><published>2010-10-27T16:53:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-27T17:14:24.470-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='The Eagles'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Toby Keith'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='happiness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='football'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tim McGraw'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='singing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kenny Chesney'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='roadtrips'/><title type='text'>I've Got a Peacful, Easy Feeling</title><content type='html'>Although the above title isn't correct grammar (as I'm sure a lot of the phrases in my posts are not as well), it reminds me of some good things both cognizant and immediate.&lt;br /&gt;That particular song is by none other than the band the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Eagles&lt;/span&gt;, and while this means absolutely nothing to any of you, it means a lot to me. The &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Eagles &lt;/span&gt;were just one of the many groups my family and I would listen to while driving sometimes across the country to visit family or simply to go to Disneyland! Among this set list of artists were &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Tim McGraw, Kenny Chesney, Toby Keith, The Beatles, &lt;/span&gt;and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Billy Joel. &lt;/span&gt;Just about every time I hear Tim McGraw's song "Somebody Must Be Prayin' for Me" or Kenny Chesney's "That's Why I'm Here" they bring back memories of driving through the mountains of Colorado and yelling until we reached the end of a tunnel and sneaking breaths so that I could last the longest.&lt;br /&gt;I miss those days now that I realize that my life will never be the same. I'm an adult in college and living on my own. Without my parents. Without my brothers. It makes me really sad to think about how much I miss at home not being there for my brother Grant's first school football game or my brother Garrett's first audition for the high school musical. And at the same time, it makes me incredibly thankful for all that my family is blessed with.&lt;br /&gt;I will admit that for a long time I was far from the perfect child. I would tell my mom that I was going to call CPS every time I didn't get my way and would subsequently get spanked- for being too smart, I think. I do think I made a very decent effort to appreciate my parents in my last few years at home. I just wish that I could fly home for the small things like auditions and football game but unlike my roommates, I don't live two hours away which probably for the best. I have to be resourceful and ask for things that I can't get from my parents from other people. I have to keep track of my own busy schedule and be on time to church. I also have to decide whether or not I want to go to church (I go mom, don't worry.)&lt;br /&gt;I guess all I really want right now is to take a road trip with my family to California, singing "Get Over It" by the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Eagles&lt;/span&gt; and praying that the CD doesn't skip on "Love Will Keep Us Alive" or "The Girl From Yesterday."&lt;br /&gt;But for now, I've got a peaceful, easy feeling about the way things are.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-7506027609765999746?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/7506027609765999746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/10/ive-got-peacful-easy-feeling.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/7506027609765999746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/7506027609765999746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/10/ive-got-peacful-easy-feeling.html' title='I&apos;ve Got a Peacful, Easy Feeling'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-4974931226838408630</id><published>2010-09-18T23:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-19T00:04:42.419-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Something's Gotta Give</title><content type='html'>Can I just say that frustration sometimes rules me life? Okay, so there it is. And it does.&lt;br /&gt;I'm currently far from home and have been for quite some time and it's been pretty great; well, it's been pretty great for the most part. There are people both at home and in my present situation who simply tick me off.&lt;br /&gt;For example: There are certain people in my general vicinity whom have every opportunity in the universe to choose to do the right thing and they choose the wrong thing simply because it seems much less complicated. I have seen all sorts of scantily clad young adults strewn about the campus. I'm almost certain that they know better, and that is what bothers me the most. Another taunting occurrence in my location is the prospect of young men who should be focusing on a completely different task than the task with which they have decided to concern their time with. You see, in my church young men are strongly encouraged to serve a church mission at the age of nineteen. I go to a junior college where the young men are either nineteen, home from their church mission, or simply eighty-sixing the whole "mission thing." I hesitate to become too incredibly interested in anybody at my school simply because they don't interest me. At the same time, I don't want to be the only girl in my apartment not going to a dance. That's what happened to me in high school and I guess I fooled myself into believing that college was going to be any different. It's all so superfluous that I don't know why I'm even writing about it.&lt;br /&gt;Now back home there are people who simply send me reeling and not in a good way. I do not understand how certain people can still enrage me when we're so far apart. I likely have facebook and texting to blame for those things. I cannot stand fake people who get everything they wish for and things they do not deserve. I do the best I can with the prospects I have and still seem to come up short socially. I've never been to a school dance of any sort. I've never been asked on a date because somebody actually liked me as more than a friend. I'm often alone when I don't want to be.&lt;br /&gt;It's just frustrating. Many things are frustrating. I think the most frustrating thing about humanity is it's love for blatant stupidity. I wish that people in general would just get a clue and come to realize that the world sure as heck doesn't revolve around their sorry rear-ends and it will not at any point in the near future. It can be difficult to look around and not like what you see; what I see is that I'm apparently the only one trying my hardest every day to be the best human being I can be. Yes I falter and make mistakes, but I don't let them define the rest of my life. They simply aide in my progression toward perfection. I just want people to make good decision and to not be fake. It would appear that I am asking too much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-4974931226838408630?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4974931226838408630/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/09/somethings-gotta-give.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4974931226838408630'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4974931226838408630'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/09/somethings-gotta-give.html' title='Something&apos;s Gotta Give'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-4050667218134204467</id><published>2010-08-12T20:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-12T21:17:57.543-07:00</updated><title type='text'>College</title><content type='html'>I just decided to pop in for a bit and update since I don't do that nearly as much as I should...&lt;br /&gt;College. That's where I'm headed here pretty soon. It's a grand prospect but I'm ready for it! I've been ready for about a year and a half now. Today pretty much solidified my impetuosity for college.&lt;br /&gt;First I received my high school year book and found that only three traces of my existence in high school exist in that book: my senior yearbook picture, my band picture (with all 500+ other members in attendance), and the listing of my college followed by my solitary name beneath it. That's real impressive high school. What was most interesting about this yearbook was the fact that I am the only girl- with the exception of one Muslim girl who wore her Khimar-&lt;span class="mContent"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt; in the &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;entire&lt;/span&gt; senior portrait portion who was not baring her bare shoulders. I was shocked because I thought that other girls who share my standards would wear something to cover their shoulders. I guess not. It's all good though, just pretty shocking.&lt;br /&gt;Second was today marking my second to last day of work. It's a rather joyous occasion, kind of like Christmas Eve when you know that tomorrow your siblings and parents will open the gifts you got them and are anxious to see what they think! Or maybe the eve of Thanksgiving when you drink a lot of water so you can eat all day because you can and nobody can tell you not to! Anyway, I had a really really good job. I got to play with children ages six months to eleven years and I must say the light of Christ exists in those children! Especially the younger ones. I have gained patience, love, a better understanding of what parents have to deal with as well as an appreciation for them, greater self confidence, excellent friends, a two year old boyfriend, a seven and a half year old best friend, and I have realized that I can really make a difference in a child's life even if I only take care of them for an hour or two out of their day. You never really know how you can effect people's lives just by loving their children. There are really large windows in the area I work in and therefore people are literally always watching what's going on inside. I can make a difference for them too, and I apparently have! My favorite part of my job is when I get there and get so into the stuff I'm doing with the kids that the next time I look up it's almost time to close! That means I've had a really good day. So what if I've been punched, kicked, bled on, thrown up and spit up upon? So what if I've had to clean up excrement from the bathroom floor and been yelled at by a parent? It's all helped me grow and I can say I'm pretty experienced where children are concerned! I loved working with those kids! Even the not so pleasant ones!&lt;br /&gt;Last was a profile picture on good old facebook. A grand time suck though it may be, it can also be kind of fun. I logged in and was looking at the news feed wall when I see that one of my friends changed his profile picture and it looked like he had bacon in his mouth or something. This was rather out of character for this particular friend so I ventured over to his profile to get a better look and lo and behold there was no bacon. Instead there was this spry looking man! My friend who left for college about one month ago already looks like he has experienced a whole new life and become a man! He is in Scotland for his military college and man-o-man does he look wonderful! I was initially jealous of him because he got to go to the United Kingdom for college, but now I jealous of him because he looks so good and has been off living the good college life... and he gets to go to the United Kingdom for college. I am so incredibly proud of him!&lt;br /&gt;It's hard to put into words how pumped I am for my new life to begin. I've decided that I'm done being bitter about all the atrocities that have ensued in my time here in my hometown. I'm just done. It's much less work to just let things be. It really is just whatever, to use a slightly archaic and eccentric phrase. It's just whatever.&lt;br /&gt;As the very wise Rafiki from "The Lion King" once said, "It doesn't matter, it's in the past... Oh yes, the past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to learn from it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-4050667218134204467?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4050667218134204467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/08/college.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4050667218134204467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4050667218134204467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/08/college.html' title='College'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-236693913559454536</id><published>2010-07-14T22:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-14T22:46:39.597-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Quick Post</title><content type='html'>I've really been thinking about what I value the most lately and I have come to this conclusion: I have the best family in the entire world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Mom:&lt;/span&gt; She is always there for me even if she doesn't exactly understand why the things happen to me that do. She puts us before herself and isn't afraid to be ugly to people who do her children wrong. Some would call that "going mama bear" on someone. No matter how our opinions differ, she always supports me in my decisions. Oh, and she tolerates my obsessions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;My Dad:&lt;/span&gt; He supports our family. He does the right thing no matter what anybody else thinks. He likes awesome music and has really interesting stories. He loves us all in the best manner he knows how, leaving no doubt in any of our minds that he does so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;William:&lt;/span&gt; He's on the Lord's errand in Barranquilla, Colombia and is subsequently blessing the lives of all those around him and his family back home (even if he doesn't e-mail his sister now and again). He is patient with my twinges of insanity. He is the most kind and loving human being on the planet and thinks the best of literally everybody; to me he represents the epitome of retaining child-like innocence in every sense of the phrase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Garrett:&lt;/span&gt; Ah Garrett... He and I do pretty much everything we can together. He likes most of the same things I like and is my biggest supporter in my obsessive musical ventures. He is probably the only person I can discuss music with because when we both like a band or artist, we find out as much about them as possible and then come back and compare "notes". I enjoy the time I spend with him and appreciate his efforts in trying to keep up with me and my musical knowledge;]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Grant:&lt;/span&gt; Oh goodness. I am with Grant more than Garrett actually. Grant has yet to become best friends with anybody outside of his family so we end up doing a bunch of stuff together. Even though our taste in music and movies differs and I'm nowhere near as knowledgeable about football as he is, we still get along. I love that he is always himself and pray that he stays that way all throughout high school because it will serve him well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So that's my family. I love them and hope they know that without a shadow of a doubt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-236693913559454536?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/236693913559454536/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/07/quick-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/236693913559454536'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/236693913559454536'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/07/quick-post.html' title='Quick Post'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-4760775554068708473</id><published>2010-06-05T16:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-05T16:35:44.869-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='social networking'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='facebook'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='twitter'/><title type='text'>Hey! Do You Wanna Be My Friend and Follow Me?:)</title><content type='html'>I have been wondering lately where I stand with my old friends... stupid right? Absolutely. But contemplating that is like contemplating what happens after the tide has turned. What is going to happen to all the sea creatures once the sand has been turned up? Where will they end up if their home is destroyed? How many gallons of water does it take to fill that stupid little crab hole? Who knows.&lt;br /&gt;I know a lot of people. I recently saw something that said "In the 1980's the average American had 20 friends. Now the average American has 200 friends." Astonishing, right? Well not so much. Once you factor in the social networking sites, you will find that is a pretty accurate count. I, myself have well over that many on facebook, but the thing is that the word "friend" has been totally redefined in the last few years. Now instead of meaning "&lt;span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;a&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;person&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;attached&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;to&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;another&lt;/span&gt; by&lt;span style="background-color: rgb(181, 213, 255);" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;feelings&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;of&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;affection&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;or&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;personal&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="cursor: default; background-color: transparent;" id="hotword" name="hotword" onmouseover="this.style.cursor='default'" onmouseout="this.style.backgroundColor='transparent'" onclick="this.style.backgroundColor='#b5d5ff';return hotWord(this);"&gt;regard," it can now be defined as, "a person that I've seen before and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;might&lt;/span&gt; have spoken to once." Basically, just because we're "friends" on facebook or you're following me on twitter, does not mean that I am actually friends with you in real life.&lt;br /&gt;What is comical to me is when a person deletes you on facebook. Congradulations, you just deleted me from your online life. Good job. Don't lose your arm patting yourself on the back for that one. Do they really think that just because I'm not on their friends list translates into me not existing in real life? Apparently it does.&lt;br /&gt;The most humrous occurence to brood over is when somebody stops "following" you on Twitter. Number one: that is a really awkward to say "keeping track of someon's status updates." Number two: I'm glad you're not following me anymore! That's just creepy...&lt;br /&gt;The long and the short of it is that I find people's sick obsession with their online lives quite funny. All these sychophants are really doing is forming a self-distructive habit of fusing (or confusing, if I may) their online lives with their physical lives.&lt;br /&gt;Like I said before, our being "friends" on facebook or your following me on my Twitter, is no reflection of our relationship in real life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="dndata"&gt;&lt;span id="hotword"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-4760775554068708473?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4760775554068708473/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/06/hey-do-you-wanna-be-my-friend-and.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4760775554068708473'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4760775554068708473'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/06/hey-do-you-wanna-be-my-friend-and.html' title='Hey! Do You Wanna Be My Friend and Follow Me?:)'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-4376299872498485682</id><published>2010-05-02T20:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-02T20:28:22.865-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Been A While</title><content type='html'>I know that I've only posted twice, but I promise I have more things to say than that. I have a few things written on paper that I'll get around to posting on the old blog when I get around to it, but as of right now I have 26 more days until I graduate from one of the best worst experiences of my life! I am pumped!&lt;br /&gt;A guy that I work with said that he's scared to graduate because he's the only one of his friends attending the college that he's attending. He said that he loves his friends more than anything else in this world and that he never goes anywhere without them. He also said that he's lost sleep over all of this because to him, the future is scary.&lt;br /&gt;Me? Well my family contains my best friends and I almost never go anywhere without them, but I'm not scared of the future. I haven't lost sleep. I am thrilled with going to a place where I know no one. The future holds incredible potential and I'm ready to have the freedom to take advantage of all that I can do.&lt;br /&gt;I'm ready for a new adventure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-4376299872498485682?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/4376299872498485682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/05/its-been-while.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4376299872498485682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/4376299872498485682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/05/its-been-while.html' title='It&apos;s Been A While'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-3808253154902474601</id><published>2010-02-14T17:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-14T17:54:37.802-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Today Was a Fairytale</title><content type='html'>So today is Valentine's Day... a day that I actually enjoy reguardless of the fact that I have been single for every single one for every year of my life.&lt;div&gt;Now, my peers seem to enjoy calling February 14th "Single's Awareness Day," but you know what? I don't need a day of the to remind me that I'm single. I have every weekday from 6 a.m. to 1 p.m. to remind me of that. In other words: high school. In my opinion, all of those relationships are silly and fleeting. It's almost too much for me some days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Picture this: You and the other nerd next to you in the hallway are rushing to economics class because you only have five minutes to get there before the door is slammed in your face and you have to drudge down to the office even to get a tardy pass even though you legitimately want to be in class. As you are power walking your way to your next class as you have been trained to do since middle school, a road block appears. That road block? A couple shamelessly eating each other's faces off. What the heck? Can you say, "Get a room?" And when you try to go around them, you find that the only way around them is inevitably &lt;i&gt;through&lt;/i&gt; them. Gosh darn it. So you play a small game of extreme Red Rover and break the bonds of love in order to get to the class that your parent's tax money so kindly payed for. As the couple proceeds to cuss you out, you must keep walking and avoid eye contact even though eye contact will not result in an altercation. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is procedure is practiced almost every day. Why? Because as the movie "Valentine's Day" so eloquently put it: "High school life: prominent with love, ignorant of reality." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Such a toxic and mildly depressing environment. Although it's all so clearly juvenile, one sometimes gets the feeling that there is something wrong with them if they aren't romantically involved with someone. I think that it's worth it to wait. It saves you all of the heartache and effort. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Of coarse I recognize that no teenager will head my advice but that's all part of growing up. Sometimes you have to have the crap kicked out of you (metaphorically) for you to actually learn your lesson. I am actually very glad that I had the crap kicked out of me because I really admire the person I am today... not to be vain or anything. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;To sum it all up, I will end with one of my favorite things: an esoteric quote!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:100%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 14px; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;“A loving relationship is one in which the loved one is free to be himself -- to laugh with me, but never at me; to cry with me, but never because of me; to love life, to love himself, to love being loved. Such a relationship is based upon freedom and can never grow in a jealous heart.”&lt;br /&gt;~Leo F. Buscaglia &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-3808253154902474601?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/3808253154902474601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/02/today-was-fairytale.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/3808253154902474601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/3808253154902474601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/02/today-was-fairytale.html' title='Today Was a Fairytale'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862597723815660425.post-1021379066552775151</id><published>2010-01-15T21:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-15T21:43:43.470-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='first'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='happiness'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='peace'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='new'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='love'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='different'/><title type='text'>The First of Many</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;A lot of things go through a person's mind at my age. Most of the time is silly things such as, "Does he like me?" or, "Why can't I think of that stupid answer for the test?!" or possibly, "Why does everybody have more fun than me?" But you know what? For me those thoughts do show up in my mind but they are few and far between. Now I'm not going to say at which stage of my life I'm in but I'm pretty sure you could already take a whack at it and be pretty accurate given the first question; the strangest part about me is what I actually find myself thinking about. This year is supposed to be the best year of my life thus far, and it is not. I've definitely learned a cornucopia of lessons I would have rather not learned and have found myself more lonely than I can ever recall being. But you know, I have never been one to dream of a huge school dance and who would whisk me away to it while I am adorned in the most perfect dress and with the most perfect boy (there I go again revealing my age!), or attempting to impress some guy that doesn't know who I am or what I stand for. I especially don't waste my time on people that don't appreciate my worth as a person. I do not appreciate those that undermine someone &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;else's&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; success because they are afraid of their own insecurities sustaining themselves. It's those kind of people that become the politicians and leaders of tomorrow. Scary, right? I think John Lennon presented a beautiful ideal when he begged for us to just, "give peace a chance."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I am not claiming to be some sort of saint of tree hugger- although my mom would beg to differ on the latter- but I am claiming to be a lover of peace. A lover of happiness. A lover of love. My prospects may seem so outlandish and bootless but let's face it, somebody has to promote the idea that peace, love, and happiness are tangible even today. Yes I guess you &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;could &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"&gt;write off&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt; my "hippie" beliefs as insipid or misinformed but then again, you could also just give them a chance. The whole rally in front of government buildings and other establishments is not my thing though. I would probably only go as far as making a poster or two for a rally if I believed in the cause strong enough. No, that's not the way I state my passion for something. I write and spread the word. I believe that if you get the youth on your side there is nothing you cannot do.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;As you can clearly tell, I am not your average "kid". My thoughts and desires are very, well, different which makes my life pretty difficult at my age as a result of there being very few people who share my ambitions. I want to help others, I don't care if I am never rich in the future, I have this aching desire to be something more than who I am at the moment. I don't want to wake up one day and find that I have let my precious years go by wasted. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:'times new roman';"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I hope that this entry has some type of continuity factor within it... And hey, if you found my writing even the slightest bit interesting you can wait for my next post to read whatever else I come up with to blather about! Sounds awesome to me!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/862597723815660425-1021379066552775151?l=csidechronicles.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/feeds/1021379066552775151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/01/first-of-many.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/1021379066552775151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/862597723815660425/posts/default/1021379066552775151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://csidechronicles.blogspot.com/2010/01/first-of-many.html' title='The First of Many'/><author><name>ghostiegirlc</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05108642011161288897</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_xC5c5TIPGn0/TGTI39VPN_I/AAAAAAAAABM/BY_xr5h2nqg/S220/39034_448623433435_764713435_6235812_7906314_n.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
